At the funeral service for Stephen, Shimei was a skulking attendant. He catches at a mention there overheard by him of the name of Saul in connection with that of Stephen, to plot an instigated persecuting visit on Saul's part to Bethany; Shimei hoping that Saul will thus encounter his own sister identified as a Christian. Saul takes a band of men and makes the visit. He finds his intended victims all together at the house of Ruth condoling with her—Rachel indeed among them. After sharp inward conflict, and much effort put forth without success to make his victims abjure their faith, Saul finally takes them to prison. But Rachel, she vainly entreating to share her companions' fate, he leaves behind. She takes upon herself the charge of Ruth's children in their own home, where Saul, month after month, secretly sends to her supply of every need.
Among the sons of God, when these one dayCame to present themselves before the Lord,Satan came also; and so Shimei,Amid the throng that mourned at Stephen's death,Intruded. With smooth face of sanctimony,Skulking to be unseen or heeded not,He hovered furtive on the outer edgeOf audience, when those words of praise were saidTo hearten—eye and ear alert to markAll that befell. His thought was, 'Here perhapsI shall learn something to the true behoofAnd profit of our cause—right aim secureFor the next blow of vengeance to be struck.'The name of Saul mysteriously conjoinedWith Rachel's, in abhorrent prophecyAs seemed—this, Shimei caught at eagerlyAnd said, 'Aha!'Then, as the throng dispersedAll to their several homes, straight ShimeiWent to seek Saul. Him found that spy malignWith the chief priests in council, plotting deepTo hunt the sect of Jesus to the death.These had armed Saul with writ and warrant sealedEmpowering him to enter where he would,House after house, and whomsoever found,Man be it or woman, guilty of beliefIn Jesus as Messiah, such to seizeAnd drag to prison.Instantly conceivedShimei a subtle snare to enmesh the feetOf Saul. The proud young zealot PhariseeShould be set on to visit first in searchThose homes of Bethany; where, unadvisedPerhaps, so Shimei guessed, the brother might,To his dismay, find his own sister oneWith the disciples of the Nazarene.Then to make prisoner his own flesh and blood,Or openly spare Rachel for kin's sake—This, scandal against scandal doubtful weighed,Would be the hard alternative to Saul."Belovéd brother Saul," so Shimei spoke,"Imourned at Stephen's funeral to-day.Not loud, you know, but deep, my mourning was;Not loud, for I am modest, and my wishWas less to be seen than to see; but deep,For there was cause, to one that loved you, Saul,To be sincerely sad on your behalf.Incredible it seems, they spoke your name,Not, as might honor it, with hate and dread,But very ambiguously, to say the least.In fact, I fear you may be compromised,Unless you take prompt measures in the matter.Hark you, a certain orator stood upWho, after praising Stephen to his worth,Distinctly hinted Saul was looked uponAs hopeful future pervert to their causePredestined to fill Stephen's vacant room.The fellow founded on some prophecyWhich, as I gathered, Stephen had put forth.Now this preposterous notion, with such folk,Is far more like to prosper, and thus beNoised undesirably, than you might guess,As a report injurious to your name.You will be tainted with disloyalty,In general esteem—to our great loss."What I propose is that you strike a strokeSo sudden and so ringing and so aimedAs shall decisively and neatly nipThis precious piece of prophecy in the bud,And put you out of reach of calumny.You have your warrant and commission; good,Use them at once, sleep not upon them; now,This very night—for domiciliary workLike what you purpose, night is the best time,Birds to their nests, you know, at night come home—This very night, take you a trusty bandAnd make a bold foray at Bethany.There Stephen lived, and there a hotbed yetThrives of this pestilent heresy. No placeFitter than the abode and vicinageOf your late overmatch in controversyTo make first theatre of the exploitsYou aim at in this different field—field where,With odds so in your favor, you should win.Easier far, given the right support, to dragTo dungeon and to death a hundred menOr praying women, all as tame as sheep,Than one impracticable fellow likeThat Stephen manage in fair controversy!"You have my best kind hopes and all good men's.Ask for the house that harbored Stephen's corpseAnd whence the funeral issued—quarry thereYou cannot fail to find. The widow tooOf Stephen, I watched her, and what I sawMakes me misdoubt her Hebrew orthodoxy.Sound her—an ounce of thorough work done now,Unquestionably thorough, will be worthA hundred weight of paltering by and by.Despise the fear that now and then a manMay call you cruel; the worst cruelty,As you and I well know, is ill-timed softness.This thing must be stamped out; it is a plague,It creeps from house to house, no house is safe.Your house, Saul, mine—that sister fair of yours,Yes, treat the thought with scorn, but some fine day,Why not? Saul wakes to find his sister lost."How far unconsciously, Saul could not guess,But Shimei, in that last home thrust of his,Either by pure fortuity, or elseWith malice the most exquisitely wise,Had hit the quivering quick of Saul's sore pride.Saul winced visibly, and Shimei, satisfied,Left him alone the prey of his own thoughts.Saul's thoughts were visions rather; first, he sawHis sister as in that farewell with herBowed beautiful beneath a brother's scorn,Like a meek flower broken with tempest; then,Stephen he saw, his face with God in himAfire, before the council; next, that faceToward heaven upturned, he, far within the veilAgaze, beholding there the glory of God;Once more, the martyr lifting holy handsOn high, with his last breath praying for thoseThat slew him, praying also then for Saul!Rachel the while—she rather felt than seen—With tears that did not gather, but that madeHer deep eyes deeper than the soundless sea,Looking at him. Swift then the vision changed,And he saw Stephen in the temple courtTurn suddenly round on Saul his blinding faceTo threaten him with promise that, one day,He, Saul himself, should grovel in the dustBefore the feet of Jesus crucified!Those visions were as when the lightning-flash,By night, fast following lightning-flash, reveals,One instant and no more, the world, but printsIts image on the eye intensely bright.The final vision wrought a fierce revoltIn Saul from that relenting which, before,The earlier visions almost made him feel.As with a mortal gripe, his vise-like willClutched at his heart and held it fast and hard.Scorning to be diverted from his pathBecause, forsooth, the meddling ShimeiPointed it out to him offensively,Saul moved at once to go to Bethany.Seven servitors he chose, strong men whom useHad, hand and heart, seasoned to such employ—With these a guide—and started on his way.Again the moon shone, as the yesternight,And flooded heaven and earth with glory mild.But her mild glory now was a rebukeTo human passion, not a balm to pain.With swords and staves armed, as that night came theyWho looked for Jesus in Gethsemane—The needless lamps and torches in their handsWith flare and smoke affronting the moonlight—They marched, those seven, following the guide with Saul.At first these chattered lightly as they walked,But soon the stern, stark, wordless mood of Saul,And his grim purpose in his pace expressed,Urgent and swift, taxing their utmost strengthTo follow and not fall behind, quite quelledThe social spirit in all, and on all wentIn sullen silence like their chief. Like him,Insensibly each moment more and more,While thought and feeling they shut strictly upWithin them from all vent in speech, they theseChanged to brute instinct of vindictiveness;Insensibly, like him, with every stepOf vehement ongoing, vehementPropulsion gathered they in mind and willTo reach and grapple with their task. So onAnd up with speed they pressed toward Bethany.At Bethany, meanwhile, the flock in foldAbode the coming of those prowler wolves—Unweeting, in sad sense of safety lulled.The sisters, with the brother Lazarus,Had to Ruth's house at eve repaired; they thereWith Rachel sat together, in the courtUnder the open sky, and spake with Ruth,Or spake for Ruth to hear, comforting her."'I am the Resurrection and the Life'"—Thus Martha—"how the very words to meWere spirit of life, were resurrection power,So spoken, from such lips, at such a time,When Lazarus lay sleeping in that swoonWhich we call death! I did not need to waitUntil my brother should indeed againArise, obedient, at His word, to feelThe utterer of that saying was the Christ.""But when He wept, when Jesus with us wept,"Said Mary, "I felt solace in His tearsSuch that almost I would have always grieved,To be always so comforted." A pause,Then eyes on Lazarus turned, and he: "From whereI was—but where I was, although I seemWell to remember, yet could not I tellIn any words, or show by any signs,However I might try—I heard His voiceSay, 'Lazarus, come forth.' Those round me heard,I thought they heard, with me, that potent voice,And they were not surprised, as was not I,Seeming to know it and to understand.That voice goes everywhere and is obeyed,To all the perfect law of liberty,And I obeyed as naturally as I breathe;And I am here, in witness of His power,Whose power is universal through all worlds.""His power is great," said Ruth, "and wide His sway,Yet seems His grace the sovereign of His power.""Yea," Rachel said, "for doth not power in HimBend to the yoke and service of His grace?""We easily err," said Lazarus, "seeking hereTo comprehend the incomprehensible.All difference is in us, for all in HimOne and the same is; power is grace and graceIs power, in Him, nay, power and grace is He.And He is ours and we are His, and oneAre we with Him and in Him one likewiseEach with the other, all." "How blest!" they said,"And the whole family in heaven and earthAre one, and Stephen is with us or weWith him, and heaven is here or here is heaven!"A little while in silence and deep muse,And, by the Holy Spirit, fellowshipWith the Almighty Father and His Son.Then, "Lo, let us join hands," they said, "and singThat psalm which breathes of unity like this."With braided tones, in unison they sang:'Behold, how good it is for brethren here,'How pleasant, thus in unity to dwell'Together! It is like that costly chrism'Upon the head which overflowing ran'Down Aaron's beard and down his garment's folds,'Abundant as the dew of Hermon drops,'Distilled, upon the heights of Sion where'Jehovah fixed the blessing, life, even life'Forevermore.'"A sweet strain and a rich,"Said Lazarus; "David touched it to his harp,Taught by the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless,Something it lacks to fill the measure upTo that deep sense of oneness which we feelIn Jesus, since He came, since Jesus cameAnd spake, then went, but came again, in usForever to abide. Cannot we singSome words of His, as tunable, more deep?Such words He spake in a celestial rhythmThat night before He sought Gethsemane.They sat as in the Holy of holies with Him,And John leaned on His bosom where He sat.I have heard John rehearse the heavenly wordsUntil at length I too have them by heart."Then Lazarus gave them sentences, which allChanted in simple measure low and sweet:'Let not your heart be troubled, ye believe'In God, also in Me believe. Within'My Father's house there many mansions are.'I should have told you, had it not been so,'Because I go to fit a place for you.'And if I go and fit for you a place,'I shall return and take you to Myself,'That where I am there ye may also be.'Was it a premonition, or did griefSurge up through peace and joy to claim its own?Said Lazarus: "Yet He told us, 'In the worldYe will have tribulation, though in MeYe shall have peace.' With tribulation, peace!"His closing words they took from Lazarus' lips,"With tribulation, peace!" and of them madeA musical refrain half sad, half glad,Or wholly glad in sadness, which they sang.When ever were there cadences more sweet,More sweet or more pathetic? Thrice sang theyThose words together; but, at the fourth time,Just in that breath between the rise and fall,Before from 'tribulation' they touched 'peace'—A shock as of a mace struck on the door,Which yielded, and abrupt there strode in—Saul!Saul was alone; his men he left without.The band had first the sisters' dwelling sought,To find the inmates gone—fled, as Saul guessed.Without delay, they came to Ruth's abode,Fiercer from disappointment Saul. But thoughRuthless he came, he now, arrested there,Ruthful a moment stood at gaze. He sawFour women and one man in simple sortSitting together in communion still.They did not look like culprits, nay, a lightPurer than purest moonlight seemed to shineFrom out their faces underneath the moon.It was a feast of comfort that they kept,Those four, with Ruth the widowed—this Saul saw,And his heart thawed to pity and sheer shame.He would have turned and left them, but—his menWithout! The chief priests and the Sanhedrim!And Shimei! And Saul, with all Saul owedTo Saul's fair fame, his conscience, and his God!This all was in an instant, while he yetOnly the group and not the persons sawWho made the group, and so before he knewHis sister in her sombre different garbDisguised and in the half light of the moon.As Rachel now he fully recognized,Dismay almost unmanned him once again.Then anger to dismay succeeding madeHis brother's heart in him against her burnThe hotter that it was a brother's heart.Speechless he hung, because he could not speakFor anger; but when she, adventuring, drewNear him and said, "Brother, I pray thee letMe speak with thee apart a moment," thenThe vials of his speech he broke on her:"'Brother'! Thou shalt not 'brother' me. Thou hastNo brother more, no sister I. Once, yea—But that is long ago, and she is dead,My sister, and inhername will I hearNo woman speak henceforth. Thou hast missed thy markIn that appeal. Better hadst thou bode dumb.Go, woman! Thither! Sit thee with thine own!"Saul, with his finger pointing to her seat,Just left, in added scorn, spurned her from him.Then Lazarus spoke: "With me do what thou wilt;But these are women, let me stand for them.""Stand for thyself," said Saul, "and answer me.Thou art called Lazarus, I trow?" "Thou hast said,"Lazarus replied. "Well, friend, with thee," said Saul,"I have to speak. Disciple art thou, then,Of Jesus Nazarene, late crucified?""Of Jesus," full confessing, Lazarus said,"Of Jesus, whom, not knowing what they did,Men crucified, but whom God glorified,Raising Him from the dead and seating HimAt the right hand of glory in the heavens—Of Him I am disciple. Bless His name!""Thou art young to utter blasphemy," said Saul;"Sure unadvisedly thou hast spoken this.Unsay it instantly, and swear it false,Or, by the warrant of the Sanhedrim,Thou goest with me to prison, perhaps to death,The way of Stephen and all heretics!""Thou speakest idly," Lazarus said to Saul;"Prison and death no terrors have for me.The Lord I serve is Lord of life and death.""Yea, I have heard," said Saul to Lazarus,"Thou boastest to have been from death itselfCalled back to life by whom thou namest Christ.Let him, once more, call thee from out the tombTo which I shall consign thee—if he can.Saul then perhaps will his disciple be!Poor fool, fanatic, what shall I call thee?Persist not in this folly. Be a Jew,A Jew indeed, nor fling thy life away.Anathema be Jesus!' say but that,Thou, Lazarus, and all the rest, with thee,And I go hence taking the sword away,The sword of just authority, undrawn,Asleep within its scabbard, ye all safe,All Jews indeed, and I given back againA sister, Rachel mine, won from the dead!'Anathema be Jesus!' say those words."Saul ceased, awaiting what those five would do.They did not look at one another; all,As with one will to all—their eyes upraised,And their hands clasped in ecstasy of awe—Together "Alleluia Jesus!" said.On Saul a power like lightning fallen from heavenFell, at that adoration from their lips.A moment he stood stupefied, and then,With a great wrench of scornful will, he freedHimself and summoned his retainers in.These entered rudely, but abashed they hung,And wondering saw their master half abashed,Before that little company clothed onWith virtue like a dreadful panoply.Half with the air of one subdued, or oneFeeling he acts by sufferance not by power,Saul bids bind all—save Rachel—and forthwithLead them to prison."Also me, bind me,"So Rachel to the men said eagerly,And offered her fair wrists. They looked at Saul,But Saul vouchsafed to them nor word nor sign.Still, 'No,' they gathered from that cold aspectIn him which seemed to say, 'That which I bid,Do, further, naught.' Rachel to Saul himselfBeseechingly then turned and said: "O Saul,Full well I know thou doest this, constrainedBy conscience. Then by conscience be constrainedTo let thy men bind also me, who amAs guilty as these are and with them should shareOne lot.""I did not come here to be taughtMy duty," Saul said, "least of all by thee.And least of all from thee will I abideTo be adjured as by my conscience. OnceI had a sister, she was conscience to me,But, as I told thee, that was long ago,And she is dead, my sister!"Sadness mixed,Unmeant, resisted, irresistible,With Saul's enforced hardheartedness, which brokeHis tone to pathos, and, despite himselfWith those last words he burst in tears. He shookIn shudders of strong agony, while allWondered, but Rachel did not wonder, sheKnew far too well her brother, far too wellKnew their joint past, the two pasts they had hadTogether, long and happy one, and oneSo brief, so bitter,—and she pitied Saul.She pitied him, but strongly did not weep—Though afterward, alone, remembering,She wept as if her eyes were fountains of tears—With him now Rachel would not weep, for sheKnew far too well her brother, that he scornedHimself for weeping those hot tears, and wouldBe vexed to see tears wept in sympathyAs if with will he let his mood relent.So Rachel held her pity hard shut upWithin her heart, which ached the more deniedIts wished-for vent in tears, and Saul soon curbedHis passion and in other passion veiled."Haste, there!" he said, sharp turning on his men,"The night flies, while ye loiter."Now the menAlready had bound Lazarus. He, ere yetThe shameful needless bonds upon the wristsOf those four gentle women were made fast,Said: "Saul, what evil have these women doneThat they deserve roughness like this? I goWillingly with thee, albeit innocent,For I a man am and can well endureBonds, stripes, dungeon, or death, having such hopeWithin me as makes all afflictions light,Whatever they may be, compared with thatEternal weight of glory nigh at hand.Like hope have also these, and they will bear,Doubtless, supported, whatsoever illUnmerited thou choosest to inflict.But wilt thou choose to inflict indignityAnd pain on such as these?""I do not choose,"Said Saul; "I without choosing do, not whatI would, but what I must. I too wear chains,Am bond of conscience, heavier chains wear IThan these light manacles that bind the handsBut leave the heart free and one's will one's own.Chained am I and driven. Conscience drives me on,Both will and heart in me under the lashCower, and I here as but a galley-slaveDo what my conscience bids, joyless, and fierceFrom lack of joy, more miserable far,Binding, than ye are bound, with your fool's joyOf windy hope! For me, I only knowThat, in whatever way, this thing accursed,This craze to thinkthatman the Christ, must beCurbed, checked, stopped, crushed, brought to an utter end,Forever. All the future of our raceHangs on it. Woman, tempted, fell, she first,In Eden, whence is all our woe, and nowWomen it seems are the peculiar preyOf this new trick of devilish subtlety;And, as of old, woman deceived becomesDeceiver, and through her the mischief spreadsUngovernably. So women, too—the causeIn part of the disease—must in part payThe price of cure. For remedy this is,Not punishment. Ye for the general healthSuffer—for your own health not less, if yeYield wisely, and not foolishly resist.Yield wisely now, and let me hence departCheered to have healed a little here the hurtWith which the daughter of God's people bleeds!"How little prospered this his new appeal,Saul learned, when Ruth, as not having heard even, said:"At least let me, if I indeed must leaveMy children double orphans so, let meNow go and see them in their helpless sleep,And take a farewell of them with my eyes.But who will care for them when I am gone?I cannot, will not, go away from them.Nay, ye may bind me, ye may slay me, dragMe hence may ye, alive or dead, but makeMe go with my own feet away from them,My children, in their innocent infancy,And leave them to pine motherless, forlorn,And perish in their innocent infancy—That is beyond your strength—I will not go—A mother may defy the Sanhedrim!"Ruth spoke dry-eyed, with holy mother's wrath,Sublime in her indignant eloquence.Saul, not unmoved, although inexorable,Said: "Woman, as thy wish is, thou shalt goFreely to see thy children. May the sightDispose thee to a better mind! Come backReady to say, 'For their sake, I renounceMy folly, I will be true Jewish motherTo them, so let me stay,'—and thou shalt stay.Ruth going, Rachel thought, 'Shall I too goWith her, that I may help her bear to partFrom her dear babes?' Quickly resolved behindTo tarry, she, Ruth gone, went up to Saul,And said: "I pray thee, Saul, let Rachel goInstead of Ruth to prison. Let Ruth bideTo nurse her children. I will take her placeGladly in her captivity, and beA surety for her. Young and strong am I,And I will be a firm good surety, Saul,Not fleeing and not complaining, always there,—And if, hereafter ever, it should seemNeedful to have Ruth come herself to prison,Why, she will still be here, under thy hand,As now, so then, to be hence thither led.Be kind, and have me bound straightway, beforeRuth comes again, that she be left no choiceBut to let Rachel have her wilful way,Perceiving that I have my bonds on meTo go to prison with her, if not without,While much I wish to go without her—wish,And, by thy kind permission, have the power.Dost thou not think, Saul"—wherewith Rachel smiledOn Saul a starlight smile, which made him feelHow high she was above him in her sphereUnconsciously—"Dost thou not think that IWill make as good a prisoner as Ruth?"Had she not smiled that smile, Saul might have thought,'Infatuated child!' and thought aloud.But that bright smile of almost humor sadShowed him how sanely her true self she was,And he was baffled, sudden-smitten dumb.He could not answer her; much less could heBid bind those slender wrists with manaclesAnd send his sister to imprisonment!So there Saul stood before her, marble-mute.Not long—for Ruth soon now came back, more calm,She having prayed beside her sleeping babes,And trusted them again to the Most HighAs Father, and from the Most High receivedGrace to bear graciously her testimony,Even by imprisonment, and children reft,For Stephen's Lord and hers. The others markedRuth's placid changed demeanor, and gave thanksSilent to God who thus their prayer had heard."I go," she said to Saul, "for Jesus' sakeWherever thou mayst lead. My babes I trust,As Stephen trusted them before he suffered,Unto the Father of the fatherless.Lo, I am ready—bind me—for His sake!"Never so ruefully had those hard menBound any hands for prison as they bound hers;And scarcely Saul found steady voice to say:"Thy children shall be cared for tenderly,Till thou return to them in sounder mind;The fathers of our tribes will see to this."Then Rachel said, and saying it wept at last:"They would not bind me, Ruth, to take thy place,Though I entreated them while thou wert gone.I shall be left, unworthy to be left,If ye, beloved, are worthy to be taken!But, Ruth, if thou wilt let me, I shall stayAnd myself be a mother to thy babes,Nurturing them most lovingly, alikeFor thine, their father's, and their own sweet sakes.And I will daily bring thee word of them,Treasuring for thee each little syllableThey lisp from day to day of loving speechConcerning father or mother gone away.They shall not lack whatever I can giveOf mother's tendance, so as yet to feelThat I am not their mother, only oneLess wise, less good, less loving, and less fairThan she, who for their mother's sake loves them!All this, I trust, will not last very long,This motherlessness for them, this childlessnessFor thee—thou wilt come back—but, O Ruth, pray"—Thus Rachel softly for Ruth sole to hear—"For surely now thou understandest well,Too well! what then I meant when once I told thee,'I too am widow as thou art, yet notAs thou, since me stroke heavier has bereaved!'—O Ruth, pray thou and never cease to prayFor Saul, my brother!"So they went away,And, lodged in prison, those four captives sang,A silent melody making in their hearts,"With tribulation, peace!" until they slept.But Rachel having followed at removeBehind them, saw where they were put in hold,Then, hedged about meanwhile with purity,With convoy doubtless too of angels hedged,Gladly on such an errand earthward come,Invisible bright legion hovering round!—Safely returned to sleep in Stephen's house.There she abode, and thence, an angel she!Went daily to and fro between Ruth's houseAnd Ruth in prison, bearing messages,Refections often bearing, food or drink,Her own housewifely skill and instinct nice,With other comforts portable, sometimes,Pillow or cushion, rug or robe or shawl,Such as might serve to cheer the homesick heartIn any there imprisoned, with sweet senseAt least of loving thought from one for thoseIn bonds, as herself with them bound; the whileThat for the orphaned children she made home.Nor ever failed to Rachel full supplyOf all whatever need there was to her.Month after month, her cruse was brim with oil,With meal her measure, large replenishment.God put it in the heart of Saul to send,Diverted like an irrigating rillFull all its season from the affluent Nile,A secret stream of various providenceFor Rachel and for Rachel's fosterlingsFed from the fountain of his patrimony.
Among the sons of God, when these one dayCame to present themselves before the Lord,Satan came also; and so Shimei,Amid the throng that mourned at Stephen's death,Intruded. With smooth face of sanctimony,Skulking to be unseen or heeded not,He hovered furtive on the outer edgeOf audience, when those words of praise were saidTo hearten—eye and ear alert to markAll that befell. His thought was, 'Here perhapsI shall learn something to the true behoofAnd profit of our cause—right aim secureFor the next blow of vengeance to be struck.'The name of Saul mysteriously conjoinedWith Rachel's, in abhorrent prophecyAs seemed—this, Shimei caught at eagerlyAnd said, 'Aha!'Then, as the throng dispersedAll to their several homes, straight ShimeiWent to seek Saul. Him found that spy malignWith the chief priests in council, plotting deepTo hunt the sect of Jesus to the death.These had armed Saul with writ and warrant sealedEmpowering him to enter where he would,House after house, and whomsoever found,Man be it or woman, guilty of beliefIn Jesus as Messiah, such to seizeAnd drag to prison.Instantly conceivedShimei a subtle snare to enmesh the feetOf Saul. The proud young zealot PhariseeShould be set on to visit first in searchThose homes of Bethany; where, unadvisedPerhaps, so Shimei guessed, the brother might,To his dismay, find his own sister oneWith the disciples of the Nazarene.Then to make prisoner his own flesh and blood,Or openly spare Rachel for kin's sake—This, scandal against scandal doubtful weighed,Would be the hard alternative to Saul.
"Belovéd brother Saul," so Shimei spoke,"Imourned at Stephen's funeral to-day.Not loud, you know, but deep, my mourning was;Not loud, for I am modest, and my wishWas less to be seen than to see; but deep,For there was cause, to one that loved you, Saul,To be sincerely sad on your behalf.Incredible it seems, they spoke your name,Not, as might honor it, with hate and dread,But very ambiguously, to say the least.In fact, I fear you may be compromised,Unless you take prompt measures in the matter.Hark you, a certain orator stood upWho, after praising Stephen to his worth,Distinctly hinted Saul was looked uponAs hopeful future pervert to their causePredestined to fill Stephen's vacant room.The fellow founded on some prophecyWhich, as I gathered, Stephen had put forth.Now this preposterous notion, with such folk,Is far more like to prosper, and thus beNoised undesirably, than you might guess,As a report injurious to your name.You will be tainted with disloyalty,In general esteem—to our great loss.
"What I propose is that you strike a strokeSo sudden and so ringing and so aimedAs shall decisively and neatly nipThis precious piece of prophecy in the bud,And put you out of reach of calumny.You have your warrant and commission; good,Use them at once, sleep not upon them; now,This very night—for domiciliary workLike what you purpose, night is the best time,Birds to their nests, you know, at night come home—This very night, take you a trusty bandAnd make a bold foray at Bethany.There Stephen lived, and there a hotbed yetThrives of this pestilent heresy. No placeFitter than the abode and vicinageOf your late overmatch in controversyTo make first theatre of the exploitsYou aim at in this different field—field where,With odds so in your favor, you should win.Easier far, given the right support, to dragTo dungeon and to death a hundred menOr praying women, all as tame as sheep,Than one impracticable fellow likeThat Stephen manage in fair controversy!
"You have my best kind hopes and all good men's.Ask for the house that harbored Stephen's corpseAnd whence the funeral issued—quarry thereYou cannot fail to find. The widow tooOf Stephen, I watched her, and what I sawMakes me misdoubt her Hebrew orthodoxy.Sound her—an ounce of thorough work done now,Unquestionably thorough, will be worthA hundred weight of paltering by and by.Despise the fear that now and then a manMay call you cruel; the worst cruelty,As you and I well know, is ill-timed softness.This thing must be stamped out; it is a plague,It creeps from house to house, no house is safe.Your house, Saul, mine—that sister fair of yours,Yes, treat the thought with scorn, but some fine day,Why not? Saul wakes to find his sister lost."
How far unconsciously, Saul could not guess,But Shimei, in that last home thrust of his,Either by pure fortuity, or elseWith malice the most exquisitely wise,Had hit the quivering quick of Saul's sore pride.Saul winced visibly, and Shimei, satisfied,Left him alone the prey of his own thoughts.
Saul's thoughts were visions rather; first, he sawHis sister as in that farewell with herBowed beautiful beneath a brother's scorn,Like a meek flower broken with tempest; then,Stephen he saw, his face with God in himAfire, before the council; next, that faceToward heaven upturned, he, far within the veilAgaze, beholding there the glory of God;Once more, the martyr lifting holy handsOn high, with his last breath praying for thoseThat slew him, praying also then for Saul!Rachel the while—she rather felt than seen—With tears that did not gather, but that madeHer deep eyes deeper than the soundless sea,Looking at him. Swift then the vision changed,And he saw Stephen in the temple courtTurn suddenly round on Saul his blinding faceTo threaten him with promise that, one day,He, Saul himself, should grovel in the dustBefore the feet of Jesus crucified!Those visions were as when the lightning-flash,By night, fast following lightning-flash, reveals,One instant and no more, the world, but printsIts image on the eye intensely bright.
The final vision wrought a fierce revoltIn Saul from that relenting which, before,The earlier visions almost made him feel.As with a mortal gripe, his vise-like willClutched at his heart and held it fast and hard.Scorning to be diverted from his pathBecause, forsooth, the meddling ShimeiPointed it out to him offensively,Saul moved at once to go to Bethany.Seven servitors he chose, strong men whom useHad, hand and heart, seasoned to such employ—With these a guide—and started on his way.Again the moon shone, as the yesternight,And flooded heaven and earth with glory mild.But her mild glory now was a rebukeTo human passion, not a balm to pain.With swords and staves armed, as that night came theyWho looked for Jesus in Gethsemane—The needless lamps and torches in their handsWith flare and smoke affronting the moonlight—They marched, those seven, following the guide with Saul.At first these chattered lightly as they walked,But soon the stern, stark, wordless mood of Saul,And his grim purpose in his pace expressed,Urgent and swift, taxing their utmost strengthTo follow and not fall behind, quite quelledThe social spirit in all, and on all wentIn sullen silence like their chief. Like him,Insensibly each moment more and more,While thought and feeling they shut strictly upWithin them from all vent in speech, they theseChanged to brute instinct of vindictiveness;Insensibly, like him, with every stepOf vehement ongoing, vehementPropulsion gathered they in mind and willTo reach and grapple with their task. So onAnd up with speed they pressed toward Bethany.
At Bethany, meanwhile, the flock in foldAbode the coming of those prowler wolves—Unweeting, in sad sense of safety lulled.The sisters, with the brother Lazarus,Had to Ruth's house at eve repaired; they thereWith Rachel sat together, in the courtUnder the open sky, and spake with Ruth,Or spake for Ruth to hear, comforting her.
"'I am the Resurrection and the Life'"—Thus Martha—"how the very words to meWere spirit of life, were resurrection power,So spoken, from such lips, at such a time,When Lazarus lay sleeping in that swoonWhich we call death! I did not need to waitUntil my brother should indeed againArise, obedient, at His word, to feelThe utterer of that saying was the Christ.""But when He wept, when Jesus with us wept,"Said Mary, "I felt solace in His tearsSuch that almost I would have always grieved,To be always so comforted." A pause,Then eyes on Lazarus turned, and he: "From whereI was—but where I was, although I seemWell to remember, yet could not I tellIn any words, or show by any signs,However I might try—I heard His voiceSay, 'Lazarus, come forth.' Those round me heard,I thought they heard, with me, that potent voice,And they were not surprised, as was not I,Seeming to know it and to understand.That voice goes everywhere and is obeyed,To all the perfect law of liberty,And I obeyed as naturally as I breathe;And I am here, in witness of His power,Whose power is universal through all worlds.""His power is great," said Ruth, "and wide His sway,Yet seems His grace the sovereign of His power.""Yea," Rachel said, "for doth not power in HimBend to the yoke and service of His grace?""We easily err," said Lazarus, "seeking hereTo comprehend the incomprehensible.All difference is in us, for all in HimOne and the same is; power is grace and graceIs power, in Him, nay, power and grace is He.And He is ours and we are His, and oneAre we with Him and in Him one likewiseEach with the other, all." "How blest!" they said,"And the whole family in heaven and earthAre one, and Stephen is with us or weWith him, and heaven is here or here is heaven!"
A little while in silence and deep muse,And, by the Holy Spirit, fellowshipWith the Almighty Father and His Son.Then, "Lo, let us join hands," they said, "and singThat psalm which breathes of unity like this."With braided tones, in unison they sang:'Behold, how good it is for brethren here,'How pleasant, thus in unity to dwell'Together! It is like that costly chrism'Upon the head which overflowing ran'Down Aaron's beard and down his garment's folds,'Abundant as the dew of Hermon drops,'Distilled, upon the heights of Sion where'Jehovah fixed the blessing, life, even life'Forevermore.'"A sweet strain and a rich,"Said Lazarus; "David touched it to his harp,Taught by the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless,Something it lacks to fill the measure upTo that deep sense of oneness which we feelIn Jesus, since He came, since Jesus cameAnd spake, then went, but came again, in usForever to abide. Cannot we singSome words of His, as tunable, more deep?Such words He spake in a celestial rhythmThat night before He sought Gethsemane.They sat as in the Holy of holies with Him,And John leaned on His bosom where He sat.I have heard John rehearse the heavenly wordsUntil at length I too have them by heart."Then Lazarus gave them sentences, which allChanted in simple measure low and sweet:'Let not your heart be troubled, ye believe'In God, also in Me believe. Within'My Father's house there many mansions are.'I should have told you, had it not been so,'Because I go to fit a place for you.'And if I go and fit for you a place,'I shall return and take you to Myself,'That where I am there ye may also be.'
Was it a premonition, or did griefSurge up through peace and joy to claim its own?Said Lazarus: "Yet He told us, 'In the worldYe will have tribulation, though in MeYe shall have peace.' With tribulation, peace!"
His closing words they took from Lazarus' lips,"With tribulation, peace!" and of them madeA musical refrain half sad, half glad,Or wholly glad in sadness, which they sang.When ever were there cadences more sweet,More sweet or more pathetic? Thrice sang theyThose words together; but, at the fourth time,Just in that breath between the rise and fall,Before from 'tribulation' they touched 'peace'—A shock as of a mace struck on the door,Which yielded, and abrupt there strode in—Saul!
Saul was alone; his men he left without.The band had first the sisters' dwelling sought,To find the inmates gone—fled, as Saul guessed.Without delay, they came to Ruth's abode,Fiercer from disappointment Saul. But thoughRuthless he came, he now, arrested there,Ruthful a moment stood at gaze. He sawFour women and one man in simple sortSitting together in communion still.They did not look like culprits, nay, a lightPurer than purest moonlight seemed to shineFrom out their faces underneath the moon.It was a feast of comfort that they kept,Those four, with Ruth the widowed—this Saul saw,And his heart thawed to pity and sheer shame.He would have turned and left them, but—his menWithout! The chief priests and the Sanhedrim!And Shimei! And Saul, with all Saul owedTo Saul's fair fame, his conscience, and his God!
This all was in an instant, while he yetOnly the group and not the persons sawWho made the group, and so before he knewHis sister in her sombre different garbDisguised and in the half light of the moon.As Rachel now he fully recognized,Dismay almost unmanned him once again.Then anger to dismay succeeding madeHis brother's heart in him against her burnThe hotter that it was a brother's heart.Speechless he hung, because he could not speakFor anger; but when she, adventuring, drewNear him and said, "Brother, I pray thee letMe speak with thee apart a moment," thenThe vials of his speech he broke on her:
"'Brother'! Thou shalt not 'brother' me. Thou hastNo brother more, no sister I. Once, yea—But that is long ago, and she is dead,My sister, and inhername will I hearNo woman speak henceforth. Thou hast missed thy markIn that appeal. Better hadst thou bode dumb.Go, woman! Thither! Sit thee with thine own!"
Saul, with his finger pointing to her seat,Just left, in added scorn, spurned her from him.Then Lazarus spoke: "With me do what thou wilt;But these are women, let me stand for them.""Stand for thyself," said Saul, "and answer me.Thou art called Lazarus, I trow?" "Thou hast said,"Lazarus replied. "Well, friend, with thee," said Saul,"I have to speak. Disciple art thou, then,Of Jesus Nazarene, late crucified?""Of Jesus," full confessing, Lazarus said,"Of Jesus, whom, not knowing what they did,Men crucified, but whom God glorified,Raising Him from the dead and seating HimAt the right hand of glory in the heavens—Of Him I am disciple. Bless His name!"
"Thou art young to utter blasphemy," said Saul;"Sure unadvisedly thou hast spoken this.Unsay it instantly, and swear it false,Or, by the warrant of the Sanhedrim,Thou goest with me to prison, perhaps to death,The way of Stephen and all heretics!"
"Thou speakest idly," Lazarus said to Saul;"Prison and death no terrors have for me.The Lord I serve is Lord of life and death."
"Yea, I have heard," said Saul to Lazarus,"Thou boastest to have been from death itselfCalled back to life by whom thou namest Christ.Let him, once more, call thee from out the tombTo which I shall consign thee—if he can.Saul then perhaps will his disciple be!Poor fool, fanatic, what shall I call thee?Persist not in this folly. Be a Jew,A Jew indeed, nor fling thy life away.Anathema be Jesus!' say but that,Thou, Lazarus, and all the rest, with thee,And I go hence taking the sword away,The sword of just authority, undrawn,Asleep within its scabbard, ye all safe,All Jews indeed, and I given back againA sister, Rachel mine, won from the dead!'Anathema be Jesus!' say those words."
Saul ceased, awaiting what those five would do.They did not look at one another; all,As with one will to all—their eyes upraised,And their hands clasped in ecstasy of awe—Together "Alleluia Jesus!" said.On Saul a power like lightning fallen from heavenFell, at that adoration from their lips.A moment he stood stupefied, and then,With a great wrench of scornful will, he freedHimself and summoned his retainers in.
These entered rudely, but abashed they hung,And wondering saw their master half abashed,Before that little company clothed onWith virtue like a dreadful panoply.Half with the air of one subdued, or oneFeeling he acts by sufferance not by power,Saul bids bind all—save Rachel—and forthwithLead them to prison."Also me, bind me,"So Rachel to the men said eagerly,And offered her fair wrists. They looked at Saul,But Saul vouchsafed to them nor word nor sign.Still, 'No,' they gathered from that cold aspectIn him which seemed to say, 'That which I bid,Do, further, naught.' Rachel to Saul himselfBeseechingly then turned and said: "O Saul,Full well I know thou doest this, constrainedBy conscience. Then by conscience be constrainedTo let thy men bind also me, who amAs guilty as these are and with them should shareOne lot.""I did not come here to be taughtMy duty," Saul said, "least of all by thee.And least of all from thee will I abideTo be adjured as by my conscience. OnceI had a sister, she was conscience to me,But, as I told thee, that was long ago,And she is dead, my sister!"Sadness mixed,Unmeant, resisted, irresistible,With Saul's enforced hardheartedness, which brokeHis tone to pathos, and, despite himselfWith those last words he burst in tears. He shookIn shudders of strong agony, while allWondered, but Rachel did not wonder, sheKnew far too well her brother, far too wellKnew their joint past, the two pasts they had hadTogether, long and happy one, and oneSo brief, so bitter,—and she pitied Saul.She pitied him, but strongly did not weep—Though afterward, alone, remembering,She wept as if her eyes were fountains of tears—With him now Rachel would not weep, for sheKnew far too well her brother, that he scornedHimself for weeping those hot tears, and wouldBe vexed to see tears wept in sympathyAs if with will he let his mood relent.So Rachel held her pity hard shut upWithin her heart, which ached the more deniedIts wished-for vent in tears, and Saul soon curbedHis passion and in other passion veiled."Haste, there!" he said, sharp turning on his men,"The night flies, while ye loiter."Now the menAlready had bound Lazarus. He, ere yetThe shameful needless bonds upon the wristsOf those four gentle women were made fast,Said: "Saul, what evil have these women doneThat they deserve roughness like this? I goWillingly with thee, albeit innocent,For I a man am and can well endureBonds, stripes, dungeon, or death, having such hopeWithin me as makes all afflictions light,Whatever they may be, compared with thatEternal weight of glory nigh at hand.Like hope have also these, and they will bear,Doubtless, supported, whatsoever illUnmerited thou choosest to inflict.But wilt thou choose to inflict indignityAnd pain on such as these?""I do not choose,"Said Saul; "I without choosing do, not whatI would, but what I must. I too wear chains,Am bond of conscience, heavier chains wear IThan these light manacles that bind the handsBut leave the heart free and one's will one's own.Chained am I and driven. Conscience drives me on,Both will and heart in me under the lashCower, and I here as but a galley-slaveDo what my conscience bids, joyless, and fierceFrom lack of joy, more miserable far,Binding, than ye are bound, with your fool's joyOf windy hope! For me, I only knowThat, in whatever way, this thing accursed,This craze to thinkthatman the Christ, must beCurbed, checked, stopped, crushed, brought to an utter end,Forever. All the future of our raceHangs on it. Woman, tempted, fell, she first,In Eden, whence is all our woe, and nowWomen it seems are the peculiar preyOf this new trick of devilish subtlety;And, as of old, woman deceived becomesDeceiver, and through her the mischief spreadsUngovernably. So women, too—the causeIn part of the disease—must in part payThe price of cure. For remedy this is,Not punishment. Ye for the general healthSuffer—for your own health not less, if yeYield wisely, and not foolishly resist.Yield wisely now, and let me hence departCheered to have healed a little here the hurtWith which the daughter of God's people bleeds!"
How little prospered this his new appeal,Saul learned, when Ruth, as not having heard even, said:"At least let me, if I indeed must leaveMy children double orphans so, let meNow go and see them in their helpless sleep,And take a farewell of them with my eyes.But who will care for them when I am gone?I cannot, will not, go away from them.Nay, ye may bind me, ye may slay me, dragMe hence may ye, alive or dead, but makeMe go with my own feet away from them,My children, in their innocent infancy,And leave them to pine motherless, forlorn,And perish in their innocent infancy—That is beyond your strength—I will not go—A mother may defy the Sanhedrim!"
Ruth spoke dry-eyed, with holy mother's wrath,Sublime in her indignant eloquence.Saul, not unmoved, although inexorable,Said: "Woman, as thy wish is, thou shalt goFreely to see thy children. May the sightDispose thee to a better mind! Come backReady to say, 'For their sake, I renounceMy folly, I will be true Jewish motherTo them, so let me stay,'—and thou shalt stay.
Ruth going, Rachel thought, 'Shall I too goWith her, that I may help her bear to partFrom her dear babes?' Quickly resolved behindTo tarry, she, Ruth gone, went up to Saul,And said: "I pray thee, Saul, let Rachel goInstead of Ruth to prison. Let Ruth bideTo nurse her children. I will take her placeGladly in her captivity, and beA surety for her. Young and strong am I,And I will be a firm good surety, Saul,Not fleeing and not complaining, always there,—And if, hereafter ever, it should seemNeedful to have Ruth come herself to prison,Why, she will still be here, under thy hand,As now, so then, to be hence thither led.Be kind, and have me bound straightway, beforeRuth comes again, that she be left no choiceBut to let Rachel have her wilful way,Perceiving that I have my bonds on meTo go to prison with her, if not without,While much I wish to go without her—wish,And, by thy kind permission, have the power.Dost thou not think, Saul"—wherewith Rachel smiledOn Saul a starlight smile, which made him feelHow high she was above him in her sphereUnconsciously—"Dost thou not think that IWill make as good a prisoner as Ruth?"
Had she not smiled that smile, Saul might have thought,'Infatuated child!' and thought aloud.But that bright smile of almost humor sadShowed him how sanely her true self she was,And he was baffled, sudden-smitten dumb.He could not answer her; much less could heBid bind those slender wrists with manaclesAnd send his sister to imprisonment!So there Saul stood before her, marble-mute.Not long—for Ruth soon now came back, more calm,She having prayed beside her sleeping babes,And trusted them again to the Most HighAs Father, and from the Most High receivedGrace to bear graciously her testimony,Even by imprisonment, and children reft,For Stephen's Lord and hers. The others markedRuth's placid changed demeanor, and gave thanksSilent to God who thus their prayer had heard."I go," she said to Saul, "for Jesus' sakeWherever thou mayst lead. My babes I trust,As Stephen trusted them before he suffered,Unto the Father of the fatherless.Lo, I am ready—bind me—for His sake!"
Never so ruefully had those hard menBound any hands for prison as they bound hers;And scarcely Saul found steady voice to say:"Thy children shall be cared for tenderly,Till thou return to them in sounder mind;The fathers of our tribes will see to this."
Then Rachel said, and saying it wept at last:"They would not bind me, Ruth, to take thy place,Though I entreated them while thou wert gone.I shall be left, unworthy to be left,If ye, beloved, are worthy to be taken!But, Ruth, if thou wilt let me, I shall stayAnd myself be a mother to thy babes,Nurturing them most lovingly, alikeFor thine, their father's, and their own sweet sakes.And I will daily bring thee word of them,Treasuring for thee each little syllableThey lisp from day to day of loving speechConcerning father or mother gone away.They shall not lack whatever I can giveOf mother's tendance, so as yet to feelThat I am not their mother, only oneLess wise, less good, less loving, and less fairThan she, who for their mother's sake loves them!All this, I trust, will not last very long,This motherlessness for them, this childlessnessFor thee—thou wilt come back—but, O Ruth, pray"—Thus Rachel softly for Ruth sole to hear—"For surely now thou understandest well,Too well! what then I meant when once I told thee,'I too am widow as thou art, yet notAs thou, since me stroke heavier has bereaved!'—O Ruth, pray thou and never cease to prayFor Saul, my brother!"
So they went away,And, lodged in prison, those four captives sang,A silent melody making in their hearts,"With tribulation, peace!" until they slept.But Rachel having followed at removeBehind them, saw where they were put in hold,Then, hedged about meanwhile with purity,With convoy doubtless too of angels hedged,Gladly on such an errand earthward come,Invisible bright legion hovering round!—Safely returned to sleep in Stephen's house.
There she abode, and thence, an angel she!Went daily to and fro between Ruth's houseAnd Ruth in prison, bearing messages,Refections often bearing, food or drink,Her own housewifely skill and instinct nice,With other comforts portable, sometimes,Pillow or cushion, rug or robe or shawl,Such as might serve to cheer the homesick heartIn any there imprisoned, with sweet senseAt least of loving thought from one for thoseIn bonds, as herself with them bound; the whileThat for the orphaned children she made home.Nor ever failed to Rachel full supplyOf all whatever need there was to her.Month after month, her cruse was brim with oil,With meal her measure, large replenishment.God put it in the heart of Saul to send,Diverted like an irrigating rillFull all its season from the affluent Nile,A secret stream of various providenceFor Rachel and for Rachel's fosterlingsFed from the fountain of his patrimony.
Saul, ill-content with his own prosperity in persecution, retires gloomily, late at night, to his desolated home. He vainly tries to sleep, and, rising very early, goes to consult Gamaliel. Returning, he encounters Shimei, who, with gibes, instigates a further act of persecution on Saul's part, cunningly contriving it to make refusal impossible. Saul attempting the arrest proposed by Shimei meets with opposition, which the latter has secretly inspired. The persecutor in consequence narrowly escapes violent death, being rescued at the critical moment by Shimei; who himself, with a band of servitors, makes the arrest unsuccessfully attempted by Saul alone. The man arrested confesses Jesus before the Sanhedrim, constant against every inducement to deny his Lord. He is scourged, at the instance of Shimei, and finally, at the instance of Mattathias, stoned; Saul in both cases giving his vote against the man.