PART SECOND
THE LIGHT SPREADS TO THE WESTWARD
CHAPTER XXII
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
“As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.”
“What a vision of beauty!”
Such was the exclamation of Amabel, as for the first time she looked upon the deep blue Mediterranean.
The sun was just about to hide himself below the rim of the boundless mirror-like expanse of water, as the newly wedded pair seated themselves upon one of the house-tops of Cæsarea.
Their journey from Jerusalem had been taken by easy stages, and two hours before they had arrived at the new seaport which had been built by Herod the Great, and named for his imperial master at Rome.
Here, where threescore years before there had been but an insignificant fishing-town with no harbor, now stood the imposing capital of Judea, with a commerce of no mean proportions. Besides the spacious and pretentious Herodian palace, there was a temple dedicated to the “divine Cæsar,” a theatre, amphitheatre, and other public buildings, which gave it the aspect of a metropolis. The harbor had been artificially constructed at enormous expense by Roman skill and enterprise under Herod’s direction. He caused immense blocks of stone to be brought from a long distance, and sunk to the depth of twenty fathoms, forming a semi-circular mole, protected from the south and west, with a narrow entrance on the north, within which ships could find secure anchorage and refuge.
The strong hand of Rome reached out in every direction during the days of her imperial greatness, and her works, marvellous in their extent and solidity, reached almost to the “ends of the earth.” Far outlasting the conquests of her panoplied legions and the sweep of her civil authority, her massive bridges, roads, harbors, palaces, and towers formed enduring monuments of a material greatness, unique in human history. What might she not have accomplished had not corruption, sensuality, and cruelty, like gnawing worms, eaten out her very heart and life, leaving her a gilded sepulchre?
Absorbed by the picturesque charm and unwonted variety of the scenery about them, Serenus and Amabel sat for some time silent, while feasting their souls upon its richness. Behind them, to the north and east, were the green, wide-stretching slopes of Mount Carmel, with vineyards and olive-groves, softened by a purple haze which seemed like a mystical benediction—the parting gift of day.
The endless expanse of the great sea before them was so calm in its unruffled peacefulness that it seemed to be sleeping upon the bosom of the Infinite. The warm and dreamy atmosphere was laden with the perfume of gardens, which skirted the shore and climbed the hill-sides, while their dark green foliage, with blossoms of many hues, was reflected with a gentle quiver in the neighboring deeps. The inspiration of the scene justified the feeling that God dwells with and in men, and that his Spirit and Life shine through all material things, even though unrecognized, save by those whose eyes have been opened to the higher and deeper vision of the Real.
A few fishermen were lazily rowing their light craft homeward, while others, who had already landed, were hanging their nets upon the cliffs to dry. In the distance the shrill tones of the shepherd’s pipe calling his flock, the varying vibrations of bird-notes, and the hum of insects, rounded out the delicious harmony of sound and sight. At length the sun disappeared, and the radiant afterglow seemed to transform the sea into a great pearl, whose ever-changing opalescence gradually deepened as evening drew on.
“How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths;
Beneath her steady ray
The desert circle spreads
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!”
Serenus aroused himself from deep contemplation.
“Behold, O Amabel! what we see is but an unrolled parchment inscribed with living characters for our translation. The voice of God through his works is even more direct than that which cometh through the mouths of patriarchs and prophets. Saith the sweet singer of Israel,—
‘Day unto day uttereth speech,
And night unto night sheweth knowledge.’”
“But, O Serenus! who is wise enough to give it interpretation? What sayest thou of the Greeks, who worship Nature, and vainly imagine that they hear her many voices? Are they not corrupt and deluded?”
“The Grecian pantheism is not a communion with and aspiration after God, who is beneficent and universal, but rather an homage paid to blind, discordant, and warring forces, which are but the reflection of the lower and sensuous thoughts of the worshipper. The love of the beautiful in the Greek is a wholesome element in itself, but it is concerned mainly with appearances, rather than with the divine love which is articulated through them. Outward forms are but shadows, and he who doth not look through and beyond them is unable to translate their low, sweet language.”
“Canst thou teach thy willing disciple why the same Nature exalteth some, while others find no pleasure even in scenes like this?”
“Dear Amabel! it may be likened unto a great mirror, in which one seeth the qualities of his own thought and soul reflected. To the cruel, Nature is pitiless, and even malignant; to the sorrowing, she is sad; and to the joyful, a delight. Even though the base may see some comeliness in her graceful forms, yet in spirit and character she is to every one whatsoever he maketh her.”
“How can that be?”
“Behold, every man giveth color to things without, by the manner of his thought concerning them. To the good, all things are good, and to the pure, all things are pure. We gradually transform them by a transformation in ourselves, and such an inward growth may be compassed in an orderly manner with assurance.”
“But worldly wisdom hath not discerned this hidden path.”
“Verily it hath not! But it will be our delight to help in spreading this truth, and to enlighten darkened minds, as effectual doors are opened unto us. As you have learned also, the bodily tabernacle may be lifted from vexatious conditions so that it may render reasonable and pleasing service through the renewing of the mind.”
“Light of my life! truly the understanding of these things is above the price of rubies!”
“Thou speakest wisely, dear Amabel! Its very nearness causeth it to be veiled from the logic and learning of the schools. They look only with the eyes of outward observation and are moved by ‘lo here,’ and ‘lo there,’ having no light within. The creative power of high thoughts and divine ideals hath not been discovered by them. God in Nature is the Universal Life, and in man, the Son and Brother,—the Christ!”
“How beautiful! Did the prophet of Nazareth teach these things?”
“Yea, verily; to him Nature was transparent. The lilies of the field and the fowls of the air furnished him with lessons to men, and the childlike spirit of little ones was interpreted and likened to the kingdom of heaven. His judgment had to do with the thoughts and intents of the heart rather than with outward appearances and observances. He saw God’s image in himself. Other men have it in the inmost, but ignorantly cover it with vain and delusive imaginings. They will continue to be self-deceived so long as they behold their bodies as themselves. They who dwell in appearances cannot discern the Spirit. Some of the ancient prophets and poets saw God everywhere; but of this generation, both Jew and Gentile only feel him in special temples and synagogues, and at set times and seasons.”
“But, O Serenus! if all forces and lives are a part of the one and universal life of God, whence cometh tempests and lightnings and floods?”
“The lack of a spiritual self-consciousness, and the mistaken feeling that our seen forms are our real selves, make such things seem evil. They are but the labor and travail of Nature, and with our spiritual growth their terrors will disappear. At length we shall learn their laws, and make them our willing servants. This would be so now, were we not, ignorantly, slaves of the seen!”
“Hast thou attained unto all that thou makest known unto me?”
“No one can fully separate himself from his day and generation, even though the spiritual pattern be truly discerned. We have not overcome, but are overcoming. The Ideal is the inmost Real, but no one save Jesus of Nazareth hath made it fully manifest. We press forward toward the Christly mind as shown through him, and can count as already ours that measure of spiritual stature which filleth our desire.”
“Whence hast thou this wisdom, which my father, the famous teacher and Rabban, never found?”
“It cometh not through scholastic excellence and the logic of the head, but by simple openness to the Spirit of Truth. The power of God-likeness groweth through the earnest desire of at-one-ment, rather than by a reasoning philosophy concerning it.”
“Behold, as thy disciple, I now perceive how one may be in the seen and yet of the unseen!”
“They are one; yet the outer is only an aspect of the living realities which repose behind it.”
“O my dear husband and teacher!” exclaimed Amabel with delight; “Nature will be more beautiful than ever before, because I feel its spirit, and behold it as a visible revelation.”
“Yea, bride of my heart! Love is everywhere written in living characters! Our deeper vision must be open to read them!”
The shadows of evening were thickening, and the happy pair reluctantly bade adieu to their delectable vision upon the house-top, and descended again to mingle with their kind, and minister to human necessity.
Serenus had expected to find some vessel at Cæsarea bound directly for Italy, which would land at Puteoli or Brundusium, from either of which ports the journey to Rome would be made by land. But upon ascertaining that there was no immediate prospect for such an opportunity, and that the Salapiæ, a merchantman of good repute, was already laden for Tarsus, and to sail on the following day, he decided to embark for the Cilician capital. They would remain there for a time, until they were minded to take the rest of the proposed journey.
Tarsus, being a great metropolis, the seat of important schools of learning, and the meeting-place of many peoples and races, might prove a fertile field for sowing the seed of the New Faith. Amabel entered heartily into the plan. Though the birthplace of Saulus, it was beyond the reach of the Judean persecutions.
The Salapiæ was a Phœnician vessel, commanded by a Roman named Vivian, of favorable reputation and experience. She was staunch and large, having a tonnage of about eight hundred tons, and rigged after the Phœnician pattern, with a ponderous mast carrying a very large mainsail upon a long yard. A much smaller triangular foresail was rigged upon a bowsprit, which projected over the stem of the vessel forward. She carried various carved images and symbols designed to insure the favor of the gods, including a finely wrought Grecian statue of a favorite goddess, which was placed upon the stem-post at the bow.
The hour for setting sail arrived, and everything betokened a prosperous voyage. The decks were noisy with the final bustle of preparation, and with much effort the heavy anchors were weighed and secured in their places. A light favoring breeze was blowing from the south, and at length a lusty command rang out to “hoist all sail;” and soon the canvas began to fill, and the good ship drew steadily away upon her northward course.
Serenus and Amabel stood upon the upper deck, and with mingled emotions looked back upon the picturesque shore of Samaria which was slowly receding. Though exiles from the Holy City, the world was before them, and they were happy. Without the enjoyment of freedom of soul, even native land was but a prison.
The day wore away, the white towers and roofs of Cæsarea faded from sight, and the bold range of Mount Carmel, which formed the rim of the eastern horizon, grew dim and distant.
The voyage was pleasant and uneventful, and upon the fourth day they made the harbor of Salamis on the eastern end of the island of Cyprus, where vessels from the south usually touched on the way to Tarsus. This was a large commercial city, made especially conspicuous by its important temple of the Salaminian Jupiter. Beyond the temple and city was a rich plain, encircled by hills, and watered by the abundant streams of Pediæus. As in other cities where the Jews of the Dispersion had settled, there were several synagogues. During the day, over which the Salapiæ remained, Serenus visited two or three of them, making known the New Faith, and restoring some sick-folk through the orderly working of the divine power within him. He was cordially received by the more liberal of the Hellenistic Jews, and they were sorrowful at his departure.
Early the next morning the Salapiæ again set sail, and it was expected that, with favoring winds, Tarsus would be reached on the third day.
Everything went well until after they had rounded the point of the promontory of Dinaretum, at the northeastern extremity of the island, when with almost no warning, the vessel was suddenly struck by a tempest of great violence, throwing her nearly upon her beam-ends. It came with so little premonition that the sailors had barely begun to lower the great clumsy mainsail when it was rent in twain by the force of the wind. This eased the vessel except for a list to the leeward, caused by the shifting of the cargo. Shrieks, cries, imprecations, and prayers to the gods were mingled with the roar of the storm. So great was the panic that the master found it difficult to maintain any semblance of order among a crew which was made up of a mixture of different races and tongues.
The air was thick with blinding spray, and the stricken ship, like a wounded animal, staggered onward, laboring and straining in the boiling sea. Heavy waves washed the decks, and the soaking mass of shattered canvas swung to and fro, its tattered shreds no longer resisting the wind, which howled through them with a thunderous roar.
“By Hercules!” quoth master Vivian; “if it must come, the gods were merciful in rending the sail, else she would have foundered at the first stroke!”
The tempest was not an “Elisian,” as certain gales from the northwest were designated in the Levant, but blew from the southeast, from which quarter it finally settled into a steady gale.
The immediate danger seemed to be past.
The remnants of the mainsail were gradually cleared away, and the Salapiæ scudded before the wind, under bare poles, with the exception of the closely reefed foresail, which somewhat steadied her. After the decks were cleared of rubbish, all hands were put to work to right the cargo, which was done with great difficulty. The hoarse roar of the gale continued unbroken. It came from a little to the east of south, which was in a direction to drive them directly toward their destination, and there was plenty of sea room which was much in their favor. For their escape the gods were thanked in various tongues, libations poured, and the commotion, which had been so noisy, was quieted.
But anon a cry came up from the lower hold that the Salapiæ was leaking. The first terrible strain of the great mainmast had opened some of the seams, and they were taking water. Once more there was despair upon the faces of the bravest-hearted sailors. The gods of all grades were again invoked, and vows renewed. But the master believed in works as well as petitions.
“Bring out the cables!” he cried. “She must be undergirded!”
With great labor a cable was slipped down over the bow, being held from each side, and passed under and back until it encircled the hull amidships, and then another, and both were strained and fastened as snugly as possible over the deck. It was a vain effort. If it prevented a further opening, it did not stop the leak. The pumps were put in motion with frequent relays.
Soon the eventful day came to an end, and the darkness of night closed around them. The bellowing wind held from the same quarter with no diminution, and the speed, even with little canvas spread, was rapid. If the leak gained upon the pumps, the only safety lay in making Tarsus, and therefore the small amount of sail was then increased as much as it would bear, and the Salapiæ swept on before the wind.
Amidst all the confusion of tongues and conflict of elements, Serenus remained calm and unmoved. Amabel was at first disturbed, but after some reassuring words from her husband, she remained quietly in the cabin, performing such little services for the overworked and panic-stricken sailors as were possible for the delicate hands of a woman. A part of the time Serenus was at her side, and at intervals he went out upon deck to speak words of encouragement to officers and men.
The master sent the second officer below to make reports concerning the progress of the leak. There was intense anxiety to learn whether the Salapiæ were settling, or if the pumps were equal to the inflow.
“Two cubita,” came up in hollow but distinct tones from below.
An hour then wearily passed, with the relay at the pumps doing their utmost.
“Two cubita and one-eighth!”
As the report came to his ear through a small aperture from below, the face of Vivian lost color; but despite the news he went over to the pumps and gave words of encouragement to the workers.
“By the Salaminian Jupiter, we shall win!” said he; and then passing along, he ordered a part of the crew to begin at once to throw the cargo overboard. He said nothing of the report from below, but the significance of the last order was understood by all. Over the slippery, reeling decks they began with a will to unload the Salapiæ.
They were still swept along with unabated speed. The few dim, moving lanterns, like fireflies in the blackness, seemed to make the night thicker. The shrill creaking of the pumps sounded like ominous groans of prophetic woe as it rose above the steady, deep bellowing of the gale.
Another hour dragged itself slowly by.
“Two cubita and a quarter!”
The night had hardly begun.
Their former enemy, the wind, now gave them the most hope. But if it held, they could not hope to reach Tarsus before the morning of the third day from Salamis.
It was a race!
Which would win? the leak or the pumps?
The cool self-possession of Serenus greatly impressed Vivian, and the master, recognizing him as a man of uncommon character, confided to him the true state of affairs.
Serenus was silent for a moment, and then replied,—
“With your leave, I would speak briefly with you again in two hours.”
“As you will,” he replied, hardly knowing what he said, and thinking the request of little importance.
Serenus returned to the cabin, and seated himself by Amabel’s side, taking her hand in his own.
“Bride of my heart! the Salapiæ is in some peril! Art thou repentant that thou left thy father’s house?”
“Nay, my husband! Whatever may betide, I am joyfully with thee! But for thee my life would have gone out before. Thou hast taught me that all things work together for the best for such as have faith. I believe it! Even if our bodies sink in the tumultuous sea, we will go on hand in hand, on missions of love and mercy!”
“God bless thee, dear Amabel! The growth in thy spiritual consciousness hath been marvellously quick and steadfast!”
A gentle smile and a warm pressure of his hand were her answer.
“And now, dear Amabel! I would spend a little season alone. Peradventure some light may come to me concerning this present trial, its meaning and conclusion.”
“Light of my life! may thou be truly exalted in the silence.”
Amabel remained in the cabin, while Serenus retired to their little room and closed the door.
The gift to lift the curtain which veils the future, in varying degree, has come to a rare soul, here and there, in all ages. But more properly it is not a favor, specially bestowed from without, but a supernal attainment within,—an unwonted spiritual altitude. The prophetic instinct lies deeply embedded in the soul of man, but few there be who can strip away the thick coverings of sense, so as to read the direction of the delicate needle of the spiritual compass. Such a power is no miracle in the sense of a change or improved action on the part of the Unchangeable Perfection, but an orderly lifting of the soul into a close communion with It,—the Divine Mind. Through spiritual law, steadfast in its regularity,—of which the world at large has yet had but fitful glimpses,—events not only distant, but of the future, are clearly laid open to highly attuned souls. History, both ancient and modern, is marked with such demonstrations of the potency of a higher law. They are crowning-points of light, like the few widely separated stars of great magnitude in the black firmament of night.
There is a psychical unfoldment without its proportionate spiritual counterpart, and there is a possible reverse order; but it is the supreme and rounded combination of both which makes the true prophet.
Such was Victor Serenus.
He was in the little room alone—no, not alone. It was his to climb the Mount of Transfiguration, and gain a view from its summit.
* * * * * * * * * *
The great turbulent waves broke upon the Salapiæ, making her quiver in every timber—but he felt it not! The howling of the wind, groaning of the hard-pressed pumps, and a Babel of voices rent the air—but he heard them not. The peril which threatened every soul on board steadily increased—but he knew it not. His animate form reclined in the little room, but he was not there.
The embrace of the Infinite was about him!
* * * * * * * * * *
As man reckons the time of the eternal now, nearly two hours passed, when the door opened, and Serenus made his appearance.