  Paul declines to undertake the healing of Simon at Felix's request. But Simon had first refused to suffer Paul's access to him, at the same time warning both Felix and Drusilla of the evil likely to result to their little son from a touch to him of Paul's hand which the sick sorcerer had just observed through the lattice. Felix and Drusilla, freshly angered at Paul, resolve together on his destruction. A second meeting assembles to hear Mary's story. This time there is an interruption occasioned by a disturbing written message from Felix, sent to Julius the centurion, one of the listeners. MARY MAGDALENÉ. When one set high, but hopeless gross in grain Of nature—and through habit of license long And self-indulging pride of place and power Grown grosser—by reverse of fortune falls, And can no longer wield his insolence So widely as his wish were and his wont Has been, then often he will salve himself That sore-felt loss of brutal privilege By being more insolent still where yet he may: So Felix now wreaked his revenge on Paul. Paul knew him powerless, but he would not turn Retort on the humiliated man, Or aught abate toward him the obeisance due The ruler that he lately was—a strict Respect enforced by his own self-respect. Felix had with fair princely promises— Commended to those simple islanders By large report of recent royal state His and of prospects brighter yet at Rome, To lodge himself commodiously with his train: Under his roof apart Simon lay sick. "Thou hast heard doubtless what I would from thee"— So without greeting Felix said to Paul— "Thy trick of healing for a gentleman I have the humor to regard with love. A fellow-countryman of thine he is, Something too of a fellow-conjurer"— And Felix grinned at his own pleasantry; "He has fallen sick in this accursÉd place. 'Physician, heal thyself,' thou wilt say to him, For, aye, he is helpless for his own relief. Heal him; thou shalt not unrewarded go. I think that I can serve thy cause at Rome, Where there is need greater than thou wouldst guess. For they love justice there so well they sell It high; great sums, money in hand, they want; Or preferably sometimes they will commute For other things than money still dearer to men. A mighty mart is Rome; they barter there Most of it such as thou couldst not provide— Unless indeed thy pretty countrywoman—" But a sharp spearthrust look, shot forth from Paul, Sudden as lightning and as branding bright, Broke that word off, and Felix faltered on With forced resumption of his insolence: "A good round price they ask, whatever the kind. Have me for friend at court and thou shalt thrive. Simple and easy; make this gentleman well, Nothing but that; just a few mumbled words, A magic touch of hand, presto, all's done. What thou art giving to these wretches here, These beggarly Melitans, with no reward Except the fun of seeing them jump for joy, Look, I am purchasing from thee at great price. But stay, thy patient has not yet been told What thus is planned for him. Let me prepare Thy way a little, ere thy task thou try." When Felix entered where the sorcerer lay The peevish sick man was the first to speak: "That Paul had little Felix by the hand; Just now I saw him through the lattice here. Its touch brings certain mischief where he will, And that toward thee and thine he will, be sure." Felix was startled, but he cheerily said: "Go to, I was just bargaining with Paul To have him use his laying on of hands For thee, good Simon. Cheer thee up, my man; We shall soon have thee out of this." But he: "Paul shall not touch me, shall not look at me. I fear him, and I hate him; out upon him!" "Listen to reason, Simon," Felix said; "Thou canst not doubt he really works strange cures; There was the father of Sir Publius, And scores of sick among this native rabble Have come out whole from under those same hands." "It served his turn," piped Simon. "It shall serve No less his turn to heal thee," Felix said; "I have made it his account to play us true." "Hark thee, my master, for this word stands fast," Said Simon, rousing halfway from his bed, "I will have none of Paul; I will get well From spite, rather than have those hands on me." And Simon moved in act as if to rise; Then, thwarted, he returned to Paul, and said: "He will not let thee lay thy hands on him, A fit of foolish stubbornness, he fears Thee, or pretends he fears; he certain hates Thee, no pretence. Well, he is right perhaps; You fellow-Jews ought to know one another. But I would trust thee, Roman as I am." (Vaunting his Roman franchise Felix thus His clinging freedman's quality betrayed); "That is, safe pledge in hand, thou understandest, Such as I hold, thou knowing well thy life Hangs on my word for thee at Rome; would trust Thee, nay, I trust thee, Paul, and thou shalt yet Despite this worthy's Jewish contumacy, Heal him, ha! ha! without his knowing it. Put him to sleep, thou canst; thou hast the drugs Doubtless will soundly do it; compound them thou, And I will undertake he swallows them. Then thou canst fetch thy passes with the hand At leisure over all his ailing frame, And heal him—joke as it were at his expense!" Paul had stood listless with his eyes downcast And with his heart withdrawn from what he heard, And Felix had felt effect that penetrated Yea even his triple mail of insolence And dashed him sore; he had rallied all his force Against it to maintain his tone assumed Of falsely-festive brutal cynicism. Helplessly dumb he hearkened, while Paul replied: "Lord Felix cannot know the grace of God, Whereof mine is but trust and stewardship. My power of healing is not mine, but God's; I have it, not to use it as I will, But as God wills, who shows His will to me. I dare not, would not, use it otherwise, I could not, He would take it away from me; Would not continue it rather, for it is Dependent momently on His immanent will. I had no hint from Him as of behest That I accomplish thine announced desire. I might have promptly sent thee back such word By thine own messenger; but I had seemed So to be wanting somewhat in the heed Due to thy station; I therefore came myself To tell thee, O lord Felix, to thy face, Subject as such to no man's bidding, thine Or other's, and not free to mine own choice. Yet so I half misrepresent myself, For to mine own choice I feel wholly free, My choice being His who works in me to choose. Toward Simon, although he love me not, I bear, God is my witness, no ill will; instead, Would I could serve him! and perhaps I might, I know not, were his heart but right with God. Let him renounce his ways of wickedness; God to all men is good who will repent. But His face is as fire not to be quenched, Wrathful, devouring to the uttermost, Against all, no respect of person, who Strengthen themselves in their iniquity. None shall escape at last, although, because God's judgment is a while delayed, they may Dream that it never will descend on them. Delay is but forbearance, not neglect; God's goodness leadeth to repentance; woe, Woe, yea, and sevenfold woe, alight on those, All, who despise that grace of God in Christ!" No shudder of terror swept over Felix now, As when that wave of trembling shook him so At CÆsarea in the judgment hall. He recognized an echo in Paul's words Of what he heard that day from those same lips And then thought dreadful. 'Strange,' he dully mused, 'How moments of weakness sometimes find out men! Why should I then have feared, and naught to fear, Save words, mere words? Solemnly spoken, aye, And I could not but hearken to the man, Majestic in his gesture and austere. Even now I sit and listen to the voice, But I am fenced and mailed that it hurts not. Would that I felt but half as safe from Rome!' So Felix in a half unconscious sort Heard Paul's words then hollow and meaningless; Only rebounded from them to the doubt, The hateful haunting doubt, of what lay hid Within the horizon of this present world For him; deaf, since that day of final doom, To Sinai thundering from the world to come! Two witnesses had witnessed that which passed Thus between Paul and Felix: secret one, Eavesdropper from behind a hanging nigh, Felix's jealous and suspicious spouse Drusilla; one in open view, and frank, Observant while obtrusive not, well-poised In sense of self-effacing loyalty, Young Stephen, shadow of his uncle Paul. He, as of course, fulfilling duty, went Wherever his illustrious kinsman went, If aught of peril to him, or need, could there By watchful love be guessed. Paul now by Stephen Attended from that alien presence forth, Drusilla from her hiding burst, and cried: "A Jewish mother's curse fast cling to Paul, False, renegade Jew, who has his cursing hand Folded on little Felix's this day! Heed Simon, and beware of Paul. O, why, Why didst thou, couldst thou, think of summoning him, Hated of all his nation so, to blight The hope and fortune of our shaken house With creeping leper's plague upon our boy; O, Felix! Felix! O, my lord, my lord!" Such woman's wailing and upbraiding broke All the man's force in Felix to withstand. He joined his imprecations upon Paul And swore her ready oaths to work him woe. Then as the pair conspired in vengeful vows Against him, mutually to each other pledged, "With that young cub of his too," Felix said, "Fair-favored as he is, a meddlesome lad, Following his greybeard uncle round about With spaniel looks and watch-dog carefulness; And our friend Sergius Paulus, understood!" Simon made good his threat of getting well, And fostered and fomented all he could The viperous hatch of hatred against Paul. Stephen reported to his company The incident and the spirit of the scene Beheld by him enacted between Paul And Felix; and all knew full well the dark Presage of consequence for Paul it bore. A little more deeply shadowed in their mind, They met next day again, as had been planned, In the same spot with the same weather still Prolonging that winter interlude of spring, When Mary thus her broken-off tale resumed: "The wonder of the works that Jesus did, Wonderful as they were for grace and power, Was less than of the words that Jesus spake. 'Spirit and life' these were, as Himself said. Once I remember, near Gennesaret, On a green grassy mound which swelled so high That mountain even it meetly might be called, Sitting Him down as on a natural throne Of kinglike gentle state, there, with the waves Of that bright water kneeling at His feet And the blue cope of sky canopying His head, He His disciples round about Him drew And taught us of the coming kingdom of heaven. 'BlessÉd the poor in spirit,' He began, 'For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven; BlessÉd the souls that mourn, for in God's time They shall be comforted; blessÉd the meek, For theirs the heritage of the earth shall be; BlessÉd the souls ahungered and athirst BlessÉd the merciful, for mercy they In turn shall find; blessÉd the pure in heart, For they God's face shall see; blessÉd, who make Peace among men, for they shall thence be called Children of God; blessÉd, who for the sake Of righteousness shall persecuted be, For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven.'" "I cannot," interrupting so herself, Said Mary, "cannot ever make you know How like a heavenly-chanted music flowed The stream of these beatitudes from Him. The lovely paradox of blessedness Pronounced upon the persecuted, seemed So like the purest, simplest reasonableness, When those unfaltering lips declared it true! All things seemed easy and certain that He said; Certain, yet some things awful and austere; As when in that same speech with altered strain He sternly spake of judgment and hell-fire; It was as if the mount whereon He sat, Verdurous and soft, were into Sinai turned, And muttered thunder. But when with a change 'Love ye your enemies, and them that curse You, bless, do good to them that hate you, pray For them that use you only with despite And persecute you still, that ye may be The children of your Father in the heavens, For He His sun maketh to rise alike Upon the evil and upon the good, And without difference sendeth rain upon The just with the unjust. For if ye love Them that love you, what have ye for reward? Do not the oppressive publicans the same? And if your brethren only ye salute, What more than others do ye do? Do not The oppressive publicans likewise? But ye, Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is:' And then when, closing, with authority He said: 'Whoever heareth these sayings of Mine And doeth them, I will liken him to one Who wisely built his house upon a rock; The rain descended then and the floods came And the winds blew and beat upon that house, And it fell not, being founded on a rock: And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine Who foolishly his house built on the sand; The rain descended then and the floods came And the winds blew and beat upon that house— It fell, and mighty was the fall thereof;' When thus, I say, He tempered His discourse, Sweetness and awfulness were blended so In His majestic and benignant mien As never yet I knew them—never until They met and kissed each other at Calvary. That," Mary with a look toward Krishna said, After a pause of reminiscence mute, "That was when Jesus died upon the cross." "Tell me of that," said Krishna answering her, Forgetful for an instant of reserve; Then added with self-recollection swift: "But all in order due, or as thou wilt, For I am debtor to thy courtesy, And I shall listen fain to what thou sayest, All, and however thou shalt order it. I find thy Master's doctrine sweet to hear, And partly not unlike our Buddha's strain." "Perhaps our guest, if I may name him such," Downcast toward Krishna turning, Mary said— To this our simple hospitality Of converse or of audience, wherein I Seem to be bearing here a part too large— Perhaps," repeated Mary, "now our guest Will tell us something of his master Buddha"— She therewith resting, as to yield him room. "Another day, if I may choose, for that," Said Krishna; "pardon me my hasty word, And pray thee let thine own tale choose its way." Then Mary: "It were sad to tell the end, How Jesus died, save that He afterward Rose gloriously, and that before He died, In prospect near of dying, He spake words So gracious and so full of victory! How well we know it now; but, alas, then Our hearts were holden and we did not know! Strange that we did not know, for oft he said, Oft, and in many ways, remembered since, That He would die and after rise again. Yet, at the last, when He of dying spake, Our hearts were charged with sorrow, and when He died "O, it was beautiful, most beautiful— It seems so to the backward-looking eye, Which sees it now, when all is over and done, The shame and sharpness of the cross gone by, And He safe sitting in the glory of God— Beautiful and pathetic beyond words (Pathetic still, though all be over and done, Secure the issue and blessÉd), the way in which Our Savior faced His future welcoming it, That future with its unescapable cross, Its mystery of His Father's smile withdrawn! For truly, though our Lord by faith foreknew The end beyond the seeming end, the dawn To be after the shadow of the night— The dawn, the day, the everlasting day!— Yet horror possessed His almost-drowning soul Of that which He must suffer ere the end. Peter and James and John told us of how, Alone of all companionship, retired From them even whom He had chosen to be with Him, At midnight of the night before the cross, Prayed, and in agony great drops of blood Shed as in sweat, desiring with desire To have the cup removed that He must drink. It could not be, it was not, dread of death, Though painful and though shameful, shook Him so—" So Mary, swerved to sudden wonder, said, And question in her look as if for Paul. Paul answered: "Nay, oh, nay, not dread of death; That cup how many, finite like ourselves, Have taken and quaffed with overcoming joy In martyrdom for truth! Some mixture worse, O, unimaginably worse! to Him Embittered His inevitable cup, That He, beyond His human brethren brave, So shrank from drinking it. His was to bear As Lamb of God in sacrifice, the weight Of the world's sin. This crushed Him sinless down Immeasurable abysses into woe, The woe of feeling forsaken by His God. Supported by believing in the joy Despising the shame, and is in sequel now, We know, and love to know, at the right hand Of God His Father throned forevermore, There waiting—He, inheritor of the name Exalted high above whatever name, The name of King of kings and Lord of lords— Until His footstool all His foes be made." "Amen!" in fervent chorus, Krishna heard Break, soft and solemn, from the lips of all, With Mary, who then thus her tale renewed: "Before His passion in Gethsemane And on the cross loomed nigh enough to Him To cast its solemn shadow deep and dark Over His prophet mind and over us, We had been walking joyous through the land, Green flowery land it was of hill and dale, With flocks and herds, and villages of men, The land of Galilee, gushing with springs, And spreading fair her lake Gennesaret, Now placid a pure mirror to the sky, Anon tumultuous, if rash wing of wind Swooped down upon it from the mountain shore— With Jesus, He, like sower gone forth to sow, Scattering His gifts of healing everywhere Broadcast about Him as He passed along; Or sometimes feeding the great multitudes That, like to sheep having no shepherd, thronged His way, feeding them freely from a hand That multiplied the bounty it bestowed;— It was like journeying sphered with journeying spring Created for us where we set our feet; Our hearts were garlanded as for festival, So gladsome was it to behold our King Advancing in such progress through the land And lavishing such largess on His poor. But largess of beneficence from His hand Was nothing to the largess from His lips Of wisdom and of grace and of good news— To the obedient; the rebellious He Judgments and terrors dire announced against That fastened and kindled like Gehenna fire. I was baptized with shuddering but to hear The woes leap living from those holy lips— Which then nigh seemed to smoke like Sinai top With indignation—on the Pharisees, Unworthy found and judged for hypocrites. Most fearful as most fair theophany, He! One looked to see th em flame, as lightning-struck, Those cities of people that rejected Him, Bethsaida, Chorazin, and that proud Capernaum, when on them His woes He launched, Hurtling them from His mouth like thunderbolts. "To ears fresh wounded from such frightful woes, How balmy and how healing were these words Cadenced ineffably from those same lips: 'Come unto Me, all ye that labor, ye That heavy laden are, come ye, and I Will give you rest. My yoke upon you take And learn of Me, for meek and lowly in heart Am I, and ye rest to your souls shall find.' "With invitation or with warning He Or with most sweet instruction heavenly wise, Our soul, our senses, feasting thus, the while He wrought too with that easy omnipotence His manifold mighty miracles of grace, We walked long time with Jesus; how long time I know not, for the days and weeks they came But at last He, how shall I say it? became Almost a different being from Himself. He spake of a mysterious hour, 'Mine hour,' He called it with some solemn meaning, what, We could not or we did not then divine, Couched in the word; that hour was now drawn near. It seemed to frown upon Him imminent And cast a somber shadow on His face. He dreaded it, and yet He welcomed it, Hasting the more to meet it as it neared. "We were afraid of Him, with a new fear, He looked so awful in His loneliness. For He no longer with us walked; He walked Before us, hasting to Jerusalem. How steadfastly His face was thither set! He as if saw the features of His hour Coming out clearer and clearer, and always there! He now would oftentimes His chosen twelve Take from the rest apart to tell them how The Son of Man, oft so He named Himself, Should be delivered up to the chief priests To death; and how the Gentiles in their turn Should mock Him and should scourge Him and should spit Upon Him and should kill Him; then how He Should from the dead the third day rise again. But they those sayings understood not then, So simple and easy afterward, though strange. Like a refrain recurring in a song, Some sad refrain that lingers in the ear Persistent through whatever else is sung, So did these doubtful boding prophecies Again and yet again, not understood, At intervals return amid the strain Of other teaching opulent and sweet That flowed and flowed in changes without end, Unending, from His lips. And all the while Were miracles and signs, as by the way And little reckoned, dropping from His hands Like full-ripe fruit from an unconscious tree! "And so it came to pass that we at length Were nigh to BethphagÉ and Bethany. Here resting, to a village opposite Appointed for His use, one virgin yet Of touch from human rider to his back; Thereon the lowly King sat Him to ride. How little did what we saw follow look Like the fulfilment of ill-boding words! For now the people flung their garments down Before Him in the way, they branches strewed From trees on either side to keep the feet Of even that ass's colt which He bestrode From touching the base ground, the while a shout Went up, one voice, from the great multitude Before Him and behind Him where He rode, 'Hosanna to the Son of David! Lo, BlessÉd is He that cometh in the name Of the Lord God! Hosanna in the highest!' How little then to us, blind eyes, it looked As if this march triumphal of our King Was to a death of shame upon the cross!" With wondering interruption Julius asked: "But how, but wherefore, was it thus? No crime Had Jesus done; and what suspicion even Of crime intended by him could there lie So wise so pure and so beneficent As he was in the obvious view of all?" He added: "I could understand how some, Offended at his stern rebuke of them Before the people, might in secret wish His death, might plot it, and might compass it, By private means of murder; but how one Like Jesus should fall under law, be tried In open forum as criminal, be found Guilty, be sentenced, and be put to death, All as in process due of justice, that I cannot understand, that baffles me. And under Roman rule and government! For crucifixion seems to mean so much. Perhaps some reason of state demanded it: Justice must often yield to reasons of state." "A reason of state," said Paul, "was the pretext, And but pretext it was, the real ground not. With deep hypocrisy my nation came And pleaded to thy nation against Him Pretension on His part to be a king, Saying, 'We have no king but CÆsar;' so And therewith falsely too attainting Him Of treason in purpose to dispute with CÆsar His claim of worldly lordship over them. Thy nation, Julius, with full equal deep Hypocrisy, believing the charge no more Than they believed who brought it, washed its hands Vainly of guilt, condemning innocent blood. Jew joined with Gentile, Gentile joined with Jew, In one conclusive act of wickedness, That the whole world at o |
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