  After further persecution accomplished by him in JudÆa, Saul, with spirits recovered, sets out for Damascus to carry thither the persecuting sword. Pausing on the brow of hill Scopus to survey Jerusalem just left, he soliloquizes. At the same moment, there rides up a troop of Roman horse escorting a man who turns out to be Sergius Paulus, an old-time acquaintance of Saul's, also bound to Damascus. The two pursue their journey together, highly enjoying their ride in that charming season of spring weather, and delightedly conversing on the way. They talk over Greek literature, and in particular by starlight at the close of the first day's journey, Sergius Paulus having by occasion recited an apposite passage of Homer, Saul matches and contrasts this first with a psalm of David, and then additionally with a strain from the prophet Isaiah. This gives rise to conversation on ensuing days, in which religious questions are discussed. Sergius declares himself an atheist of the Epicurean sort, and he plies Saul with incredulous inquiries about the religion of the Jews—Saul answering with Hebrew conviction and earnestness. The two part company at Neapolis (Shechem) because Sergius Paulus halts there, and Saul, in the spirit of true Jewish strictness, will for his part not rest till he has quite passed the bounds of Samaria. SAUL AND SERGIUS.Not yet his fill of slaughter supped, though forth Afar the timorous flock of Jesus now Were from before his restless, ravening, fierce, Rapacious sword out of JudÆa fled To alien lands remote, beyond the heights Of Hermon with their everlasting snows, And farther to the islands of the sea— Not yet, even so, his fill of slaughter supped, Saul had from the high-priest commission sought To search among the Hebrew synagogues Of Syrian Damascus, and thence bring Bound to Jerusalem whomever found, Woman or man, confessing Jesus Christ. The season was fresh flowering spring; the earth Was glad with universal green to greet The sun once more, returned in his blue heaven After his winter's sojourn in the south. Forth looking from his east across the Hills Of Moab on the just awakening world! Saul met it with a sense as if of spring And morning linking hand in hand for dance Together in the courses of his blood, As, mounted on a palfrey fresh and fleet, With servitors attendant following him, He issued jocund from Damascus gate. The animal spirits of youth and health in him, The joy of new adventure, the fine pulse Of life felt in the buoyant, bounding step With which his steed advanced him on the road, The secret pleasure of release at last, Release and long secure removal, won, Through growing leagues of distance interposed, From the abhorred access of Shimei— These, with the season and the hour so bright, Brightened the darkling heart of Saul to cheer. He was a radiant aspect, fair to see, Fronting his future with that sanguine smile! The acclivity surmounted of a hill, Whence downward dipped his road, declining north, Saul rein drew on his foamy-flankÉd steed, And, about winding him, paused, looking back. His retinue, far otherwise than he Mounted, part even on foot, with sumpter beasts Bearing camp equipage, behind were fallen. These, presently come up, he lets pass on Before him in the way, while still at gaze, There on the back of his indignant steed Resentful to be curbed in mid-career— Companion hoofs heard leaving him behind— Saul sits, perusing, with an inner eye, Yet more than with his outer, what he sees. Half-shadow and half-light, Jerusalem He sees, smitten athwart her level roofs With sunshine from the horizontal sun, The temple of Jehovah in the midst, As if itself a sun, so dazzling bright With its refulgence of reflected beams; While, round about, the warder mountains stand, Bathing their sacred brows in sacred light. Saul's heart distends immense with patriot's joy, Yet joy pierced through and through with patriot's pain. "Peace be within thy walls, prosperity Within thy palaces! Yea, yet again, Now for my brethren and companions' sakes, Say I, 'Within thee, peace!' Lo, my vow hear: For that the temple of the Lord my God Is in thee, I henceforth thy good will seek. And Thou, Jehovah in the heavens! behold, Saul for himself that ancient promise claims: 'Prosper shall he Jerusalem who loves.' For love not I Jerusalem, with love To anguish, for her anguish and her tears? Take pleasure in her stones, favor her dust, O God, my God! Is not the set time come? Do I not hear Thee say: 'Awake, awake, Put on thy strength, O Zion, long forlorn, And beautiful thy garments put thou on, Jerusalem! Henceforth no more shall come The uncircumcised into thee, nor the unclean!'" "Amen!" Saul added, with a gush of tears, The light mercurial feeling in his heart Less to sad sinking, weighted down, than all, Into that strain, so ardent and so true, Of patriot prayer, deeply had braided been, Half to himself unknown, a silent strand Of subtle self-regard, vague personal hope That would have spurned to be imprisoned in words: 'The new Jerusalem that was to be, Should she not Saul her chief deliverer hail!' Musing, and praying, and beholding, so, Saul suddenly a sound of clanging hoofs Heard, and, his eyes quick thither turning, saw, Between hill Scopus, on whose top he stood, And the Damascus gate through which he came, Advancing toward him on the Roman road— Cemented solid with its rutted stones, Like an original stratum of the sphere— A turm of horse, large not, but formidable, Caparison and armor gleaming bright, And with a nameless air forerunning them Of wide-renownÉd might invincible Expressed in that momentous rhythmic tread Four-footed, underneath which from afar With pulse on pulse now rock to iron rang. Moved up the acclivity till, reached the brow, Sank to a walk their pace, when Saul perceived An armÉd escort was convoying one Thereby betokened an ambassador, Somewhither posting on affair of state, Or haply citizen of high degree Honored with ceremonious retinue. This man regarded Saul with curious look Respectful, which almost admiring grew; And gravely, as their mutual glances met, The youthful Roman to the youthful Jew Inclined in distant salutation meant For natural courtesy due from peer to peer. Saul, in like wise, his greeting gave him back; Whereon the Roman, reining to one side His horse, and halting, said: "Peace, but methinks I saw thee late, months since it may have been, Where that fanatic Stephen suffered death With stoning at your angry elders' hands." "I, in that act of punishment," said Saul, "As loyal Jew befitted, took my part." "Nay, but as now I read thy features nigh," "Labors my brain with yet a different thought. Somewhere we twain must earlier still have met. In Tarsus I some boyish seasons spent; I there, by chance full well-remembered, knew A Hebrew-Roman boy whose name was Saul." "Then Sergius Paulus is thy name," said Saul, "And Saul am I—and Saul to Sergius, peace!" Who but as man and man just now had met Greeted again in sense of comradeship. "Thy face is toward Jerusalem," to Saul Said Sergius; "but thy look is less of one Arriving, journey finished, than of one Forth setting on adventure planned abroad." "I journey to Damascus," Saul replied: "And thither also I," said Sergius. Damascus-ward turned Saul his horse's head, And slowly, with the Roman, now resumed His onward way, while further Sergius said: "Having a brief apprenticeship at arms Accomplished, to Jerusalem I came, Centurion still, urged by desire to see Thy capital city, famed throughout the world. My military duty to be there— Since witnessing that spectacle so strange Of Stephen's stoning—strange to Roman eyes, Yet to eyes Jewish doubtless quite as strange Our Roman fashion, hanging on the cross— All various ways of various tribes of men From clime to clime, delights me to observe— What comedy to the gods must we present!— Since I saw Stephen slain with stones, I say, Good fortune, and some interest made for me At Rome, have given me this my welcome chance To travel and more widely see the world. Now to Damascus I as legate go." "And of our Sanhedrim as legate, I," Said Saul, "if so without offence I may From Jewish mode to Gentile dare my speech Conform—legate, or hand executive, Say rather, in some certain offices Deemed needful, to consult my nation's weal." With mutual question asked and answered, vein Of old-time boyish reminiscence shared Between them as together on they rode— The two soon overtook their retinues, Who, seeing their chiefs adjoined in comradeship, Themselves in comradeship dissolved their sense Of race and race to mix as men and men. So all day long together, side by side, Riding, or resting in the noontide shade, Sergius and Saul, a frank companionship, Immixed their minds in speech of many things. Young life, young health, glad sense of fair emprise, High-hearted hope of boundless futures theirs, Delicious weather and blithe season bland, Blue cloudless heaven forever overhead— By the sole sun usurped his tabernacle Whence sovran virtue beaming into all— Sweet voice of singing-bird, sweet smile of flower, Sweet breath exhaled from tender-fruited vine, Joy, a full feast, through every flooded sense— And, heightening all, that billowy onward sway Of motion without effort on their steeds, Made, to those lord possessors of the world, Their talking like the coursing of their blood, Self-moved, or like the running of a brook As ceasing never from its hope to drain The fountain, brimming ever, whence it flows. Of arms, of art, and of philosophy, They spoke, and letters; spoke, too, of the fame Of ancient Grecian masters of the mind, Who ruled, and rule, by charm of prose or verse. First, Homer, hoar with immemorial eld, Pouring his epics in that profluent stream Which, like his ocean, wandered round the world; Bold Pindar, with his lyric ecstasies, On throbbing wings of exultation borne Into the empyrean, whence his song Broken descends in showers of melody; Father of history, Herodotus, "Half poet, epic, or idyllic, he"— So, Saul thereto assenting, Sergius said— "With his Ionic strain mellifluous Of wonder-loving artless narrative"; Thucydides, the soul of energy; Æschylus, Titan; happy Sophocles; With soft Euripides unfortunate; Then Socrates, "Who wrote no books," said Saul, Plato, the chiefest book of Socrates, Yet mind so large and so original That, in him reading what his teacher taught, One knows not whether Socrates it be, Or Socrates's pupil, that one reads"— "Knows not, and, for delight, cares not to know, Full-sated with the feast of such discourse, So wealthy, wise, urbane, harmonious!"— Stung to enthusiasm, thus Sergius, Continuing what from Saul ceased incomplete. "Our Tully," added he, "from Plato's well Deepest his draughts drank of philosophy, And, thence inspired, wrote such sweet dialogue, Latin half seemed delectable as Greek." "Yea, and a man of fine civility In manners as in mind, your Tully was," Said Saul; "Cilicia keeps his memory green For virtues long in Roman rulers rare. His too a sounding, stately eloquence, And copious; but Greek Demosthenes Pleases me better, with that stormy stress Of passion in him, reason on fire with love Or hatred, that indignant vehemence Or, like a torrent flood, upon its breast Lifts us, and tosses us, and bears us on! He is more like our Hebrew prophets rapt Above themselves in sympathy with God." In talk like this the livelong day was spent; Hardly the talkers heeding when they passed Meadows of flowers pied rich in colors gay, Poppy, anemone, convolvulus, Bright marigold wide yellowing belts of green Into a vivid gold that dazed the eye; And heeding hardly if upsprang the lark From almost underneath their horses' hoofs, Startled to leave her humble hiding nest, And, soaring, better hide her otherwise Amid the blinding lightnings of the sun; Such sights and sounds and glancing motions swift Scarce heeded—yet, as subtle influence, Admitted, each, to infuse insensibly Into their mood an added joyousness— The afternoon declined into the eve. Passed now a fountain on the wayside cliff, Coyly, through ferny leafage, shedding down Up a long glen they mounted to a crest Of hill where opened a soft grassy plain— Inviting, should one wish his tent to spread— And here they twain their double camp bid pitch. Supper soon ended, Saul and Sergius, Ere sleep they seek, a hill, not far, ascend, The highest neighboring seen, less thence to view The landscape round them in the deepening dark Glooming, or even the heavens above their heads Brightening each moment in the deepening dark, Than youth's unused excess of strength to ease With exercise, and to achieve the highest. But there the splendors of the firmament, Enlarged so lustrous through that Syrian sky, Hailed such a storm of vertical starlight Downward upon their sense as through their sense Inward into their soul beat, and a while Mute held them, hushed with wonder and with awe, Awe to the Hebrew, to the Roman, joy. Then said the Roman: "This is like that place Of glorious Homer where he hangs the sky Over the Trojan host and their camp-fires: 'Holding high thoughts, they on the bridge of war 'Sat all night long, and many blazed their fires. 'As when in heaven stars round the glittering moon 'Shine forth exceeding beautiful, and when 'Breathlessly tranquil is the upper air, 'And in their places all the stars are seen, 'And glad at heart the watching shepherd is; 'So many, 'twixt the ships and Xanthus' streams, 'Shone fires by Trojans kindled fronting Troy.'" "The spirit of Greece, with Greek simplicity, A nobleness all of Homer, there I feel," Concession checking with reserve, said Saul; "Our Hebrew, to us Hebrews, rises higher. Homer, unconscious of sublimity, Down all its dreadful height above our sphere Brings the august encampment of the skies— To count the number of the Trojan fires! Our poet David otherwise beholds The brilliance of the nightly firmament, Seeing it mirror of the majesty Of Him who spread it arching over earth, Kindly of us as Father to our race, Nay, kingdom gives us, glory, honor, power, And all things subjugates beneath our feet. Let me some echoes from that harp awake To which, with solemn touches, this his theme Our psalmist David chanted long ago: 'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name 'Is excellent in glory through the earth! 'Upon the heavens Thy glory hast Thou set; 'The heart of babe and suckling reads it there, 'And, raised to rapture, utters forth Thy praise, 'That mute may be the adversary mouth 'Which would the ever-living God gainsay. 'When I survey Thy heavens, Thy handiwork, 'The moon, the stars, Thou didst of old ordain, 'Man, what is he? that Thou for him shouldst care, 'The son of man, that Thou shouldst visit him. 'For Thou hast made him hardly lower than God, 'And dost with glory him and honor crown. 'Dominion over all Thy works to wield 'Thou madest him, and underneath his feet 'Put'st all things, sheep and oxen, roaming beast, 'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name 'Is excellent in glory through the earth!'" Recited in slow solemn monotone, As with an inward voice muffled by awe, Those new and strange barbaric-sounding notes Of Hebrew music shut in measured words Smote on some deeper chord in Sergius' ear That, trembling, tranced him silent for a while. Then he said, rousing: "What a sombre strain! From the light-hearted Greek how different!" "Sombre thou callest it, and solemn I, Who find in such solemnity a joy; But different, yea, from the light-thoughted Greek." Less as in converse than soliloquy Deep-musing so to Sergius Saul replied. "Our bard Isaiah modulates the strain Into another mood less pastoral. He pours divine contempt on idol gods, On idol gods and on their worshippers; And then majestically hymns His praise Who made yon host of heaven and leads them out. 'Or what similitude to Him compare? 'The skilled artificer an image forms, 'And this the goldsmith overlays with gold, 'And tricks it smartly out with silver chains: 'Or haply one too poor for cost like this 'Chooseth him out a tree judged sound and good, 'And seeks a cunning workman who shall thence 'Grave him an image that may shift to stand! 'But nay, ye foolish, have ye then not known? 'Not heard have ye? You hath it not been told 'From the remote beginning of the world? 'From the foundations of the ancient earth 'Have ye indeed so missed to understand? 'He sits upon the circle of the earth 'And they that dwell therein are grasshoppers; 'He as a curtain doth the heavens outspread, 'And makes a blue pavilion of the sky. 'To whom then will ye liken Me? saith God; 'Whom shall I equal? saith the Holy One. 'Lift up your eyes on high, the heavens behold— 'Who hath these things created? who their host 'By number bringeth out, and all by names 'So strong in power is He, not one star fails.'" The deep tones ceased, and once more silence fell Between those two amid the silent night. But Sergius, lightly rallying soon to speech, Said, with a ready, easy sympathy: "There seems indeed to breathe in such a strain Some solemn joy, but the solemnity Is greater, and my spirit is oppressed. Not less your poets differ from the Greek In matter than in manner, when they sing. How high you make your deity to be, Beyond the stature of the gods of Greece! Homer has Zeus compel the clouds, forth flash The lightnings, and the thunderbolts down hurl; The mightiest meddler with the world, his Zeus, Yet of the world the mighty maker not. But your Jehovah reaches even to that, As with his fingers fashioning yonder heaven, And fixing in their station moon and stars. And he in human things concerns himself! The Epicurean gods are cold and calm; On high Olympus far withdrawn they sit, Our case, or, if so be regarding, smile Still, unconcerned, our case however hard. Your Hebrew God is much more amiable, But much more probable that Olympian crew; Nay, probable not at all is either; dream, Fond dream, the fable of divinities Who either care, or care not, for our case. We are the creatures and the sport of chance, Puppets tossed hither and thither in idle play, A while, a little while, fooled to suppose We do the dancing we are jerked to do— And then, resolved from our compacture brief Into the atoms which once on a time Together chanced and so were we, we drop Plumb down again into the great inane Abyss, and recommence the eternal whirl! There is that Epicurean cosmogony, An endless cycle of evolution turned Upon itself, in worlds forevermore Becoming, out of worlds forevermore Merging in their original elements: No god, or gods, to tangle worse the skein Inextricably tangled by blind chance!" At length, with intense calm, he spoke and said: "The Hebrew spirit is |
|
