  Ruth and Mary MagdalenÉ waking very early talk with one another having not yet risen, and Mary discloses a placid premonition that she has of her own imminent death. They thus engaged, a signal sound from without is heard in notes from Stephen on his pipe. The summons is for the meeting proposed to hear Mary's story of the resurrection. The company repair to a hilltop of easy access and goodly prospect, where after a matin prayer from Paul Mary tells her story. She has scarcely ended, when she gently sinks in death. Paul on occasion of this speaks comfortingly, not without tears of personal sorrow for Mary's loss, of the resurrection awaiting the dead in Christ. Meantime Simon the sorcerer having observed from a distance the meeting of the Christians puts his own sinister interpretation on what occurred, which, so interpreted, he reports, to Paul's disadvantage, to Felix and Drusilla, with suggestion of use that may be made of it in evidence against the apostle at Rome. At sunset of the same day the Christians gather to the burial of Mary on the spot where she died, and Paul describes the promised return of Jesus to accomplish the triumphant rapture and resurrection of the saints. EUTHANASY. The stars that with the setting of the sun Rose in the east had climbed the highest heaven And from their top of culmination now With steadfast gaze were looking steeply down Through spaces pure, or lucid depths of sky Pure as pure spaces, blanched to perfect blue, When Mary, waking, softly spoke to Ruth. They in one chamber lodged, and were so nigh Each other in their couches side by side (With Rachel also in close neighborhood) That they could trust themselves to mutual speech If need were in the night or if the wish Prompted, nor hazard to disturb the rest Wherein EunicÉ, nigh them both bestowed, Lay locked securely in those faster bonds Which bind the young and innocent asleep. "Ruth," Mary said, so softly that the sound Was like a pulse of silence, "art asleep?" "Nay, all awake to hear what thou wouldst say," Ruth answered, in a murmur soft as hers. When Mary scarcely more than thought her name. This was the wont between them; for Ruth knew That her kinswoman Mary bore her life But as a dewdrop trembling on a leaf That any little waft of wind may scatter; And so she held herself even when she slept Still in a kind of vigil not to miss A breath from Mary that might call for her. "Thou wilt not sorrow should I leave thee soon," Said Mary, with the tone of one who soothed Far rather than of one who soothed would be. "I have a premonition that the end To me of things upon the earth is nigh. Thou knowest how frail the hold whereby I hold To life here and how ready I am to go Hence whensoever He shall call my name, As once He called it I remember well, So call it yet again, bidding me come. I have wavered between this and that in thought; Now thinking: 'He will surely hither soon Return, so as we saw Him forty days After His resurrection wrapt in cloud Return, and take us all unto Himself;' But then again I think: 'Perhaps for me He will anticipate that destined hour And call me on a sudden thither hence.' Let not mine ear be heavy if He call! "O Ruth, I think I have within my heart Foretokening sent that He will call to-day; A fluttering in my blood admonishes me. I should be thankful if I might once more Ere going bear some witness to His name! For Krishna's sake, too; ever a soul sincere He seemed to me, but he would listen now With other ear, eager to drink the truth." "Yea, and that may be," Ruth said, "not once more But often if the will of God be so. God grant it! For indeed I could but grieve To lose thee from my side; grieve, though I saw Heaven open to receive thee, as to Stephen, My Stephen, it opened—with the glory of God Full shown Him in the face of Christ the Lord! "Yet so the weather promises this night And mild, and haply thou indeed shalt greet Full soon thy wished-for chance of testimony. Thou wilt remember we were all to meet On such a morning as this sure will be And hear thee tell thy story of the Lord's Victorious resurrection from the dead Just then when day is glorying over night." Those women with each other communing so, The morning hastened, and—now nigh to break Full splendor but with brilliance soft and chaste Over the welcoming world both land and sea— Mary and Ruth, with Rachel at the sign Awakening and EunicÉ fresh as dawn, Heard from without a matin signal sound Blown with the breath of Stephen on his reed— Token of tryst by all well understood, While secretly entrusted with a thrill To one heart that the others knew not of. The Indian joyful to his host had said: "I shall forestall thee, O my Publius, I know it by my heart within me wise, And fittest, for our meeting on the shore To hear from Hebrew Mary what she yet Reserves to tell us of her rising Lord: So, if thou please, I will myself betimes Awake thee when the hour I wait for comes." Publius thus roused, he in his turn awaked Stephen, who rallied with his pipe the rest; But Paul, with Stephen in one chamber sleeping Woke, as his nephew woke, when Publius called. The new wine of the vernal weather filled The golden cup of morning to the brim, And those blithe wakers drank deep draughts of it; But other morning bathed their souls with light. They to a hill of gentle rise repaired That sloped its eastern side into the main Thence rippling up in spiral terraces By playful Nature round about it wound: Here goodly prospect over sea and shore, From a well-sheltered seat, invited them. Before they sat, Paul stretched his hands toward heaven Light dawn on chaos, and who day by day Dost kindle morning from the shades of night, Thanks to thy name for this fair spring of dawn! Dawn Thou into our hearts, and dayspring there Make with the shining of thy face on us Shown milder in the face of Christ thy Son!"— Then, to his fellows turning, added this: "We owe it to Krishna that we thus are here; His wishes waked him, and, as was agreed, He waked us that we might prevent the morn To celebrate the rising of the Lord. Krishna knew not, what yet by happy chance Has now befallen, if aught befall by chance, That we, upon the first day of the week Meeting, meet on the day when Christ arose, The Lord's day, day peculiarly His own. We listen, Mary, tell us of that morn." Then Mary, her fair face like morning, white With pureness not with pallor, spoke and said: "It was not hope, nor faith—both faith and hope Had died within us when our Master died— And sorrow, and desire to testify Our sense of everlasting debt to Him, That, early in the morning of the day Third following the day wherein He suffered, Brought me—with Mary, James's mother, joined— Likewise SalomÉ, to the garden where They had laid Him in a rock-hewn sepulcher. We took sweet spices to embalm the flesh Which late for robe the Lord of life had worn. We wondered as we went, 'But who will roll The great stone back for us that closes up The doorway to the tomb?' Yet went we on, To find the stone already rolled away; For there had been a mighty earthquake throe, And a descended angel of the Lord With easy strength in his celestial grace Had rolled away the stone, and on it sat. His aspect was like lightning, and snow-white His dazzling vesture shone. The keepers shook, The keepers that the Jewish rulers set To watch the grave—these for sheer terror shook And sank into a helpless swoon like death. But unto us that awful angel said: Jesus the crucified; He is not here, For He is risen according to His word. Come, see the empty place where the Lord lay." "I heard and saw with a bewildered wit; And though I afterward remembered all, I did not at the moment understand Well anything save that the sepulcher Was empty of the body of the Lord. This I told the disciples, sorrowing: I ran to tell them, and they, running, came To find it so as I had made report. Those went away, perplexed and sad at heart: But as for me, I lingered by the tomb And wept; I could have wept my heart away. I thought: 'And so I may not even anoint— There would be comfort, something like a sense Of healing to that holy wounded flesh, If I might salve those dead wounds with sweet spice— I may not even anoint His body dead! They have taken it away, I know not whither. Alas, alas, and woe is me!' My tears But I stooped weeping, and with veiled eyes looked Into the open sepulcher and saw Two angels sitting there, vested in white, One at the head, the other at the feet, Where late the body of the Lord had lain. "It was a heavenly spectacle to see, Those shining-vested angels sitting there With posture so composed and face serene! Yet would I rather then have seen the Lord, Or seen His body wounded from the cross; But if those angels knew that this was so, Their blame of me was very gently spoken: 'Woman, why weepest thou?' I sobbed reply: 'Because they have taken away my Lord, and where They have laid Him I know not.' "With that I turned Me back, I think I should have gone away, But I saw one I knew not, standing there, Who also spake, 'Woman, why weepest thou?' Distraught I took him for the gardener, And half I did not see him for my tears, And I made answer from my eager thought: Where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him thence Away.' Then Jesus, for it Jesus was, Uttered one word, no more; 'Mary!' He said. I turned toward Him, but all I said was this: 'Rabboni!' For it was a Hebrew word Sprang quickest to my lips; 'Master' it means—" This with a glance toward Krishna Mary said. The Indian dropped his eyes as with a kind Of sudden conscious shame confusing him To feel her eyes that instant meet his own And know his own were charged with other look Than ever woman drew from him before. In her unconscious pure serenity, Mary—her momentary glance toward one, In equal gaze on all together sheathed— Went on, no pause, yet with some air of muse Tingeing her reminiscence as she said: "Perhaps I had an impulse which the Lord Saw, to assure myself with touch of hand Or even to cling to Him, I hardly know; 'Nay,' He said tenderly, 'I am not yet,' Go to my brethren and tell them that I Ascend unto my Father and your Father And my God and your God.' And this I did. "O, the deep joy, the deep and solemn joy, Of knowing that the Lord was risen indeed! And the solemnity was almost more Than even the joy; we trembled and rejoiced. He was so awful in His majesty After His rising from the dead! Yea, sweet Was He, beyond all language to express; But sweetness was with awfulness in Him So qualified, the sweetness could not be Enough to overcome the awfulness; Gazing on Him we trembled and rejoiced. "He forty days appeared and disappeared By turns before us, passing through shut doors Unhindered, yet sometimes partaking food— A paradox of spirit or of flesh, The resurrection body of the Lord! Ensample of our bodies that shall be, And witness of the wondrous wisdom God's, And power to work the counsels of His will Who spirit of matter could capacious make, As matter make to spirit permeable! "Those forty days in which He showed Himself After such fashion to His chosen few Nigh ended, we withdrew to Galilee Where He appointed He would meet His own— More than five hundred we were mustered there Upon a mountain top that well we knew. Here He was glorious in majesty, The Son of God become from Son of Man; Hushed to obedient awe, we heard Him speak. He said: 'Lo, all authority is given To Me, whether in heaven or on the earth. Forth, therefore, ye, among all nations go, Making disciples and baptizing them Into the name, the one name, of the Father, And of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; Teaching them to observe all things that I Commanded you, neglecting naught of all: Behold, I am with you ever to the end.' "Thence to Jerusalem and Bethany. Here from a chosen spot on Olivet Rose heavenward, but He blessed us still in rising, Until a cloud enwrapt Him from our sight." The upward look of Mary saying this, Her fixÉd, eager, upward-yearning look, Failed, and her face grew white as if the blood Were shamed to stain that heavenly purity. All saw the change she suffered, and were awed. Mary's voice faltered, but she brokenly Went on in utterance such as if she spoke Out of another world just reached from this: "That cloud—I seem to see it now again— Or something swims between to dim my sight. Those angels said that He would yet return So as we saw Him then ascend to heaven— Is He now come? I hear as if a voice, His, His, the same that in the garden spake To me calling my name, 'Mary!' It says Now, 'Hither, Mary!' Yea, Lord Jesus, I Know Thee, and come. At last! At last! Farewell!" Mary such words uttered with failing breath, Her eyes withdrawn from vision of things here. On her kinswoman Ruth supporting her When her strength failed—she left, winging her way Hence, as the lark soars from his groundling nest Into the morning sky to meet the sun. With a communicated quietude Of spirit—which into their gesture passed Making it seem habitual, no surprise, Scarce sorrow, hinted, perturbation none, But reverence and love ineffable— Not speaking, Ruth and Rachel decently Composed the body to a look of rest In sleep on the sweet earth, the stainless sky Bending in benediction over her And the bright sun just risen touching the face To an auroral beauty with his beams. "She has gone hence," Paul said, "to be with Christ, Which is far better. See the peace expressed In the unmoving hands on the stilled heart, The form relapsed oblivious on the ground, And the face fixed in transport of repose! Surpassing beauty! But corruptible; When this seed planted springs in heavenly bloom And mortal takes on immortality! Think when we sow this beauty in the dust, That which we sow is earthly though so fair; But that will be celestial which shall hence In the bright resurrection season spring. "Ye know that when the husbandman entrusts His seed-grain to the soil he does not sow That body which shall be, but kernels bare To which God gives a body as He will; From the wheat sown there springs a blade of green Unlike the wheat and far more beautiful. So is the resurrection that awaits Mary, our sister; this corruptible Will put on incorruption in that day, And Christ will fashion it anew more fair, After the body of His glory changed! "Ye do not ask, but some have doubting asked, 'How are the dead raised up, and in what form Of body do they come?' Not surely such As they within the tomb were laid away. There sleeps a natural body in the dust; From every imperfection of the flesh. Whatever glorious beauty here was worn Is worn a changed more glorious beauty there. "His proper glory to the sun belongs, And the moon has her glory, and the stars Each in his own peculiar glory shines: The body of the resurrection so Has its enduements proper to itself, Capacities, adjustments, attributes, Other than we know here—though shadowed forth Obscurely in the body that the Lord After His resurrection wore—such high Transfigurations of the faculties Belonging to the body of this flesh As man's imagination cannot dream! "O clay, that late seemed Mary!"—and therewith The tears that would not longer be stayed back Burst from Paul's eyes and fell a sunlit shower, While all the rest beholding wept with Paul— "Form, for her sake, our well-belovÉd, dear, Must we then leave thee in the dust of earth? But not as thus we leave thee wilt thou rise! But thou shalt rise, to incorruption changed; Thou wilt sleep darkling underneath the clod, But thence in glory shalt thou waking burst; In weakness buried, thou shalt rise in power. Mary the image of the earthy bore, She shall the image of the heavenly bear: Comfort yourselves, belovÉd, with such hope." Paul these triumphal words of prophecy Uttered with streaming tears that testified The sorrow in him at the heart of joy; And they all wept with Paul, in fellowship Of pathos at sweet strife with glorying hope. A little leave for silent tears, and Paul Said: "Bide ye here until the evenfall, Or some of you by turns as need of rest, Of food, of change, allows the privilege Of watching by this sacred dust asleep. I will meantime desire from Publius Permission to prepare her resting-place For Mary here upon the selfsame spot That she has hallowed for us by dying here; And we at set of sun will bury her." Now Publius had, with Sergius Paulus too, And Krishna—those, and the centurion— Silently, in that silent time of tears, Retired; they with one instinct felt that here Were love and grief that needed privacy From witness even of moistened eyes like theirs. But Krishna went apart from all, and bowed Himself together motionless and wept. While those sat weeping, and these last withdrew Refraining not the sympathetic tear, A different scene passed elsewhere in the isle. Simon, the sorcerer, sought and found access To Felix and Drusilla and said to them: "I roused this night an hour before the dawn, My sleep disturbed with signs in dreams of you. Some secret prescience urged me out of doors, And I went wandering forth with no clear thought Whither, but felt my footsteps onward drawn, Until I gained an overlooking height Of hill, whence, ranging round me with mine eyes, I saw a dozen people more or less, Women as seemed with men, a motley train, Walking thus early, why I could not guess; I, heeding to be hid from them the while, Crept up as near them as I safely could. Paul was among them, chief, though not the guide As guide our worthy friend Sir Publius served. That Sergius Paulus, with his Indian friend, Krishna they call him, the centurion too, Were of the company; as for the rest, Count up the tale of Paul's companionship, They were all there. "After these reached the point Where they made pause, the first thing that befell Was Paul in menace lifting up those hands Of his and therewith muttering magic words. I could not hear them, but the tone I knew, As too I knew that gesture of the hands. I thought of how he conjured with his spell Of uncouth baleful words at CÆsarea! Paul got all seated; but one sat apart, The destined victim of his wicked wiles, A woman she, that Mary MagdalenÉ, Like an accused impaled to make defence. Paul seemed to say to her, 'Speak, if thou wilt,' But hopeless, breaking into moan at last, Made her apology—of course in vain. The spell that Paul had cast upon her wrought, And she sank lifeless at his feet. So once A spell from Peter at Jerusalem With Ananias and Sapphira wrought Killing them out of hand." "But wherefore this?" Drusilla doubted. "Also wherefore that?" "Real reason, or pretended, wilt thou have?" Said Simon with his air of oracle. "Both," said Drusilla shortly, answering him. "Well, the pretended reason," Simon said, "To Peter, was hot zeal for righteousness. Seems Ananias and Sapphira lied; A venial lie, they set a little short The price they had received for certain lands Or other property sold by them late In the behoof of Peter and his crew. Peter would none of that; the revenues To be extorted from his dupes would shrink There hast thou the real reason for his crime. "As for this last case, Paul's, I can but guess What his pretended reason was. Indeed Perhaps pretended reason there was none. It may be he preferred to have it seem, To all except his special followers, A case of sudden death from natural cause. Or again, likelier, he alleged some crime Against her, sacrilege or blasphemy, Secret, thence lacking proof but capable Of being proved upon her by his art. He would pronounce a spell of magic power, Then let her talk and try to clear herself: Meanwhile, if she were guilty as he thought, The spell would work and punish her with death, But remain harmless were she innocent. Guesses, but plausible; still it would be Sufficiently like Paul if he devised A blank mere demonstration for the sake Of those outside spectators of the scene, Simply in order to impress on them His power in magic, and win their applause. Those dupes of his, and faster bind their bonds. Yet a particular reason intermixed Doubtless with general motives for his crime; Some insubordination, it may be, On Mary MagdalenÉ's part toward him, Had stung him to inflict this punishment." "What of it all?" Drusilla coldly said. "Nothing," said Simon; "just a pretty tale! Only I thought it might perhaps subserve Lady Drusilla's purpose yonder at Rome, To have a crime convenient to her hand, A fresh crime, and a flagrant, she could charge To Paul's account to make more sure his doom." 'Why, aye,' Drusilla thought, 'one that involves Sergius Paulus, renegade, and that Too complaisant centurion, the whole crew Indeed present to be spectators there And not protesting, hence accomplices All of a crime they might have stayed in act. As to the matter of a sudden death With circumstance attending such and such, Surplus of testimony was to hand Employed, magic—Simon magician was, And he, as expert witness, should suffice. If any question as to him arose, Drusilla should be equal to the need; I would vouch for him to the emperor. Nothing would please me better than to try On him the virtue of my sponsorship!' So the proud woman swiftly in mute muse Slid to the goal she wished. Nay, scarce a pause Seeming to have occurred before she spoke, Already had her formless thought forecast The triumphs over Nero she would win With her voluptuous beauty wielded so As she could wield it through her equal wit, When she to Simon answered absently: "True, worthy Simon; something such might chance; Be ready to make good at need thy part." This as dismissal; and the sorcerer went. Felix had moody sat with never a word. And now the cloudless splendor of the day Was softly toward a cloudless sunset waned, Were gathered those who mourned for Mary dead; Publius was there, and Julius, with the rest. They with all reverence lifted the fair form, Wrapped round about with linen clean and white, And laid it like a seed within the ground; They spread it with a coverlet of soil Which falling through the farewell sunset beams Seemed leavened to lie more lightly on the dead: The earth with such a treasure in her breast Was sweeter, and they almost yearned toward it. Yet upward rather soon they turn their eyes As once those upward gazed in Galilee Seeing their Lord ascend in cloud to heaven— While thus Paul, he too thither looking, said: "Concerning her who sleeps here, think aright; For we must sorrow not as others do Who have no hope. We have a hope. Our hope Is, that if Jesus died and rose again, Even so them likewise who in Jesus sleep Will God bring with Him. Yea, I say to you By the command and promise of the Lord If we survive to see the Lord return We shall not so forestall our sleeping friend For with a shout the Lord Himself from heaven Will hither come descending with the voice Of the archangel and the trump of God. First shall those dead in Christ arise, and then We, if we linger living till He come, (Transfigured in the twinkling of an eye When the trump sounded to our heavenly guise) Will be with them together in the clouds Caught up in instant rapture from the earth To meet the Lord descended in the air: So shall we be forever with t |
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