“I give judgment that thou hast learned all these things since thy departure from the Holy City?”
“Thou thinkest rightly! They came not from the traditions of men, nor the teaching of schools, but are revealed only from within!”
The next day Amoz made a visit to the halting-place of the caravans, and upon his return handed a sealed package to Saulus. It was a letter from Cassia, and ran as follows:—
“Jerusalem, Chisleu XVIth.
“O thou false-hearted Saulus!
“My hand well nigh refuseth to render me service!
“How hath the joy and desire of my heart turned to ashes!
“How proudly didst thou mount thy steed, and depart from the Holy City at the head of thy goodly company in the service of the Chosen People!
“How brave and valiant didst thou appear as thou turned thine eyes up to the casement of thy Cassia and waved a salutation, and then, in the lead of thy procession, wound thy way through the streets of the Holy City!
“And now thou dost send me a constrained epistle from a lonely cave in the wilderness, where with one base follower thou dost hide thy shamefacedness!
“Thou who didst chastise heretics and blasphemers, and pursue them from house to house, and take them to prison—fallen! so that they even put thee to disgrace!
“Thou! whose penetrating search after the followers of the Nazarene was like an eagle after his prey—THOU a Nazarene!
“I have mourned thee sore! Rumors came to me from Damascus, but I believed them not, and remained faithful to Saulus—the love of my heart!
“The night-watches have witnessed my weeping and desolation!
“I have clothed myself in sackcloth and mourned!
“My face is bowed in the dust, and my tongue cleaveth to the roof of my mouth!
“Behold the fountains of my tears have dried up!
“I have wandered in the streets of the Holy City, vainly hoping that I might see thy face!
“In my distress I have walked to and fro in my chamber, and anon gazed down through the casement—where thine eyes rested as thou departed—looking for thy return!
“Once I perceived something like a shadow of thy form, and felt thy breath upon my cheek, and a kiss out of the dim light seemed to rest upon me, but in all I was mocked!
“Was all thy former love and devotion but vain deceit, or hast thou gone mad? It hath been so reported, and I am constrained to believe it!
“Would that I had never seen thy face!
“I hold in contempt the love which thou dost now profess for me!
“Thou hast despised not me only, but my family and people and religion, and all which thou—when thou wert Saulus—rightly honored!
“My heart is bruised, my face blanched, and my form shrunken!
“I shall die! but many deaths would in no wise turn my heart in thy favor!
Cassia.”
The visage of Saulus as he read the missive to the end was pale but placid. Not a word escaped his lips, but with careful deliberation he slowly tore the delicate parchment into small pieces, and scattered them in one of the deep chasms of the cave.
* * * * * * * * * *
Often during a stormy evening, when the elements seem chaotic, and the gusty night wind sweeps the broken clouds or dark mist rapidly along, a brilliant star will burst into full view for a moment, and then disappear.
So down through the kaleidoscopic procession of the ages, at intervals some great soul shines out in full-orbed strength and beauty. The light of history reveals that these are they who have passed through tribulation.
The diamonds and other precious jewels owe their beauty to the intense fusing to which they have been subjected in the Plutonic blasts and glowing flames of Nature’s laboratory. The cruder natural settings in which they are clasped are baser, because they have never found their way into her crucible.
As the rough block of marble is chipped, broken, and seemingly almost destroyed before the imprisoned form of beauty can be set free, so the trip-hammers of Fate, whose terrible blows well nigh crush out the very life of their victim, by a strange paradox finally render him shapely beyond compare. The towering spirits that have worn material embodiment are those whose earthy cords, deemed so vital by the world, have, one by one, been snapped, until they found their life by losing it.
Saulus, the son of Benoni, was a casting from the furnace of such an order of development. Even the persecutions which had been waged by him doubtless had a place among the lurid flaming tongues which, in a white heat, contributed to the shaping of the new Saulus.
Cassia’s letter severed the last subtle cord which tethered him to the earthly. He was emancipated. Not, be it understood, that celibacy, asceticism, or other-worldliness are normal, or worthy to be sought, but that in the moral and spiritual economy of humanity, there are souls whose rounding and polishing come only through infinite travail.
But if the white flower of truth and spiritual attainment seem to blossom most perfectly when its roots have struck deep in the slimiest moral soil, let it not be forgotten that the viscous mass is not the cause, but only the occasion, of its supernal beauty. The divine germ hath all potency within itself; but it becometh expedient that it be plunged into low conditions, until through the exercise of lifting itself therefrom, it not only nourishes its own strength, but finally transforms its base environment.
On the evening of the day upon which Cassia’s letter had been received, the two friends felt an unwonted nearness and soul-contact. Saulus had said nothing of the contents of the message, but Amoz divined the whole matter as fully as if he had read it word for word. Though not greatly skilled in the learning of the schools, there was in him a simple spiritual sensitiveness which made everything plain. His life with Saulus had brought them into close touch, and he measurably reflected his leader’s experiences, and there was oneness in heart and interest.
Saulus was not cast down by Cassia’s unequivocal decision, but instead there came a consciousness of freedom and spiritual growth. A soul-burden had been lifted. His great regard for Cassia would in no wise be lost, but the special love which had possessed him was transformed into simple compassion. Barred as he was from any possibility of leading her into the light himself, she must wait for the slower education of event and experience.
The evening being cool, the two mused before a small fire, for the service of which the spacious cave afforded ample opportunity. The hour grew late, and they long had been sitting side by side, no word being spoken. Perfect harmony prevailed with a stillness that seemed mystical.
At length Amoz opened his lips, but his voice had a strange sound. Saulus turned and looked into his face. His eyes were closed, but not with sleep. There was a calm, sweet expression upon his countenance, but it was unfamiliar—plainly not that of Amoz. A slight tremor shook his frame, but only for a moment.
But harken! what saith the voice?
“Saulus, behold thou art my beloved brother!”
Saulus drew nearer, and warmly grasped the open hand which was extended towards him. While filled with wonder, there was nothing to disquiet him. He saw at a glance that some other soul possessed the body of his companion.
“The words of thy greeting are warm, and touch my heart, but I would know thy name, and why thou hast come to me?”
“I am Stephanos! aforetime of the Holy City. I come to manifest my love, and give thee words of encouragement!”
There flashed before the mind of Saulus the Holy City! the mob in the synagogue! the throng, which with jeers and curses, surged up the hill to the Sanhedrin! the mockery of the trial in the Hall of the Squares! the heroic young victim! the boiling passion! the tragedy without the walls! the angelic face! and—his own leadership!
“O my God! I cannot bear it!”
He bowed his face to the ground.
“Be of good cheer, O Saulus! I greet thee only with love!”
“O Stephanos! thou here! and thou lovest me! Am I not dreaming? Canst thou forgive?”
“I am here, and it is no delusive dream! From the beginning thou hast been forgiven, and my love abideth with thee! Forget all that is behind, and press forward, for behold great things wait for thee!”
Continuing the warm clasp of hands, they sat down, face to face.
“And thou art Stephanos! what joyful tidings! For a season my guilty soul had rest neither day nor night. But now thou hast confirmed the peace which hath been growing in me since my sojourn in the wilderness.”
“I have knowledge of thy good estate. Behold thy soul will become mighty, and thou will open the eyes of much people! I am but one of an unseen cloud of witnesses who will give thee strength and inspiration!”
“I am but newly born of the Spirit, and have much to learn. I fain would know how thou art employed, and how thou dost come to me?”
“Behold they, who while in the fleshly body ministered to the needs of their brethren, continue their ministry unbroken by the change of condition. There are manifold ways in which we of the Unseen move upon the minds of men which language would fail to express, and which thou couldst not now fully understand. Love lendeth us wings, and so far as the souls of men are open to the entrance of the truth, we are able to reflect some light to them. But the multitude are ignorantly closed! They count themselves to be fleshly in being, therefore the things of the Spirit are hidden from their eyes. They believe not in ministering spirits, neither care they for any understanding of the things of the higher life.”
“Do all who have passed thither engage in the ministry of love and good-will?”
“Nay! There is a great throng whom no man can number who have laid off the flesh, but who are yet entangled in the meshes of the fleshly mind! They are spirits who are in prison, and the loving guidance of the free spirits have much exercise in their release.”
“Hast thou a body and members when thou dost not possess the form of Amoz through which thou speakest to me?”
“Yea, verily! Our bodies, though lighter than air, as known to you, are vastly more substantial than the seen shadows which men count as themselves. It is only the invisible which has real being! The seen man is but an incidental manifestation of MAN!”
“I behold the beauty and truth of thy wisdom! Wilt thou not teach me further?”
“There are even more refined bodies than ours! When that which is perfect is come, behold we shall have laid off these for those that are still more internal and subtle! The path from glory to glory towards the perfect Love is ever away from the grosser in every degree. But that which is gross hath its place; for the seed of the divine life must needs have an early planting in coarse soil, that through the exercise of its growth back towards the Father’s House it may consciously recognize its quality, and interpret its real nature!”
“Is the other life very near to this?”
“There is but one life, but it hath many expressions. While in the flesh, the quality of thought and mind of each is closely veiled from others, but here the intent of the heart is openly manifest! The inner character standeth out, fully rounded, and none can mistake it! But in due time knowledge increaseth, and those who are lower are taught and inspired through the guidance of some who already have attained to greater power and glory.”
“It seemeth that all things work together for good.”
“Thou judgest rightly! We live in Spirit; for God is Spirit, and we have his image, whether in the flesh or out of it! But to live in the flesh is not to live of it!”
“I am much beholden to thee, for thou hast made many mysteries plain. And now hast thou any instructions which thou wouldst have me follow?”
“Nay. Take no man for authority, whether he be dwelling in the seen or the unseen! Men may aid and cheer and teach thee, but determination cometh from thy free will when illumined by the inner Word. Follow the divine leading within thee, and thou shalt have true freedom! Behold the Anointed Leader—the Christ—must be uncovered in every soul! My spoken words are at an end. Peace and joy abide with thee, and to Amoz blessing and good-will. Thanks be to him for the service which he hath rendered us.”
A mild sweet fragrance and light filled the cave, but soon all was as before.
CHAPTER XXVIII
LEANDER VISITS A MYSTIC SHRINE
Rebecca made her way homeward in a state of profound bewilderment. By nature placid, intuitive, and rarely disturbed, her sweet soul, as a rule, moved with serenity amid the turmoil of life’s experiences and adversities.
But could it be that the noble Serenus was the guest of that Roman of tarnished memory? Could light and darkness commingle? It seemed a strange paradox.
Having not long since returned from the Holy City, she was not aware of the great change which had taken place in the character back of that stern face, nor that it now belonged to the Vice Legate of Tarsus.
Since the rescue of Rebecca from the stampede at the great celebration of the Feast of Weeks in Jerusalem, and the conversation with her benefactor, Serenus, to her, had stood for everything that was worthy and of good report. She also remembered his lofty and quiet dignity as he headed the notable line of captives upon whom she looked down from the house-top when they were led to prison by Saulus. The devotion of Serenus to the New Faith, and the cheerfulness with which he endured persecution for its sake, had left a picture upon her mind that could never be effaced.
Her wonder increased when she thought not only of the apparent intimacy between the two, but also at the possible position of Marcius, as indicated by the imperial equipment. But her wonted serenity was soon regained. She instinctively felt the power of goodness, and that however it might be explained, Serenus, in the very nature of the case, must carry a powerful benediction wherever he went.
She also had noticed Amabel, and although not recognizing her as the daughter of Gamaliel, inferred that she was the wife of Serenus. As this conviction flashed upon her, there arose for a single moment a half unconscious shadow of disappointment, although not admitted even to herself.
It is not easy for the human mind to regard virtue and nobility abstractly, or as separate from the personality through which they are expressed. But the calm, warm sunlight which constantly filled the soul of Rebecca quickly dispelled any possible mist. While she felt that the few words Serenus once had spoken to her, and the inspiration of his presence and heroism, in some way had introduced her to something higher than she before had known, there was nothing which could be interpreted as of the nature of personal love. He only had been the instrument in stirring the strings of her higher nature, peradventure to some invisible vibrations of the New Faith.
Rebecca always had been an enigma to her people. Though scrupulously reared in the observance of every requirement of the most orthodox Judaism, from her very youth there had been within her an unfathomable reserve. While conforming in every outward requirement to that which was expected of her, there was a calm but strong undercurrent of freedom, and a thinly concealed indifference to formalism, which had been a disquietude to Benoni, and an offence to Saulus. Her sojourn in the Holy City had perceptibly developed the essence of a new principle in her inner nature, which before had been little more than latent. Though having but the slightest contact with the personal exponents of the New Faith and their outward teaching, she instinctively had felt something of its beauty and force. But the more it had been repressed by the influences about her, the more it gathered volume.
There is ever an unseen moral and spiritual atmosphere in which vibrations are constant. In it are currents and eddies, winds and calms, heat and cold, as truly as in the meteorological realm of nature. Sensitive souls, like invisible barometers, feel and register movements and tendencies which ordinarily are intangible. The spread of pure and spiritual Christianity during the time of the Primitive Church and immediately succeeding was an object lesson which all ages since might have studied with profit. It was perhaps due more to an unseen vital momentum—a spiritual tidal wave—than the outward teaching of disciples and missionaries. Unweighed by dogmatism, untrammelled by ecclesiasticism, and free from rigid formalism, it, as a vital force, went out conquering and to conquer. It was a new life—good news; but later to be shorn of its spontaneity, dispossessed of its witness of the Spirit, bereft of its healing potency for soul and body, and deprived of its innate joyousness through usurped authority and burdensome accretion. Its very name came to signify something external in the place of a living principle.
The state chariot which conveyed the little party from the Nereid circled through the spacious grounds which surrounded the palace of Marcius, and all alighted at one of the private portals. Serenus and Amabel were conducted into one of the open courts, where they remained until suitable apartments were made ready. A small fountain was playing in the centre, surrounded by flowering plants and beautiful statues.
“Behold we have been led in a path we knew not of!” said Serenus; “and I am persuaded that good will come of it.”
Upon their arrival, Leander retired to his own rooms in a very unenviable frame of mind. For some time he had consciously been losing his influence with Marcius, and their ways were rapidly drifting apart. The official duties of the Vice Legate were performed with fidelity, and his growing nobility of character and public commendation had given Leander an illy concealed, cynical jealousy. But so far the fire had only smouldered. Now he felt that in the interest and regard of Marcius he was thoroughly supplanted. Was he, who for so long had been the bosom friend and adviser, henceforth to be left out of the account? There is a jealousy not born of sex which may be fed until it grows in intensity almost without limit.
Leander finally resolved upon an interview with his old-time friend. He found him unoccupied, and proceeded to unfold his grievances.
“If I may presume somewhat upon thy former friendship, I would have private converse with thee!”
Marcius noted the thinly concealed suspicion and cynicism which were stirring the pulse of Leander, but passing them by, quietly replied,—
“Pray unburden thy mind!”
“By Pallas! I begin to distrust my power to solve a riddle! For some time past a mystical change seems to be coming upon thee which I am unable to fathom! Thou hast lost thy love of pleasure, and even thy devotion to the gods. In a word, thou art in danger of becoming a victim of baseless superstition.”
Marcius was astonished at the bitterness of his words, but retorted with quiet sarcasm,—
“Thy wonted poetic grace of expression seemeth to have deserted thee! Thy speech is ungarnished, if not ungracious! If a change hath come over me, it need be no riddle to thee! As one adds to his years, it is meet that he should add somewhat to his wisdom.”
“Shades of Pluto! Dost thou call the babbling of fools wisdom? Thou hast waded in the shallow sophistries of so-called philosophy until it well nigh hath made thee an anchorite! Thou hast deserted thine old associates and pleasures, and art becoming a dreamer. And now, to crown thy folly, thou hast brought contempt upon thy government and religion by making this pair of Hebrew fanatics thine honored guests.”
Marcius was unruffled by the sharp thrusts, and listened much as he would to the scolding of a petulant child.
“Thy chattering doth not in the least move me! I can well dispense with thy advice, for of late both thy friendliness and wisdom are becoming visibly tarnished! Would to the gods—or God—that I had more of what thou art pleased to regard as Hebrew fanaticism! But I would have thee know that my guests are in no wise like the Hebrews of Tarsus. Their philosophy is grand, wise, beautiful, and I honor their opinions, and will know more of their teaching. It will be but a waste of thy breath to try to dissuade me!”
“And suppose it become known that the Vice Legate of Tarsus hath forsworn the gods of the city, and set at naught the Roman Pantheon for the worship of fugitive and unknown gods—or a lone god, as I heard thy paragon, Serenus, set forth in his teaching! One would think that to a sane Roman patrician such vulgar drivel and low-bred association would be disgusting!”
“Were I not amused at thine audacity, and compassionate of thy shallow assumption, I should make comment upon thy growls as they deserve. Thy unwonted denunciation hath even dried the springs of poesy which aforetime hath flown in a deluge from thy lips.”
“Henceforth I abide no longer under thy roof, which is now devoted to the shelter of vulgar pretenders who claim all wisdom. By the right arm of Hercules! thou wilt yet rue the day when thou hast preferred the friendship of an ass in a lion’s skin to the polish, art, and poetry of thy Greek companion of many years!
“I spread my sail, and float away
From a shore grown now sterile and hateful;
I end this play, and start to-day
For freedom, I care not how fateful!”
“Broken loose again! There is nothing here to compel the presence of thy muse or thyself! I give thee farewell!”
Marcius offered a dignified parting salutation, which Leander turned his back upon, and hastily left the room.
A few days afterwards there occurred one of those religious upheavals which at intervals find vent in popular tumult. The number of Jews in Tarsus had steadily increased, and their intolerant and exclusive spirit, and the contempt which some of their number poured upon the Tarsian temple service, had aroused a bitter prejudice and growing hostility. This feeling, like a hidden fire, for some time had smouldered, only waiting for some unusual opportunity to burst into open flame. While the Roman authority and law, at that period, provided for religious toleration in Tarsus, it could take no cognizance of the intense bitterness, as no overt act had occurred to warrant interference.
It was a Tarsian holiday, and the occasion of an important festival to Apollo. For three days two children of the family of one of the priests of the Temple had been missing, and a rumor obtained circulation among the lower orders of the people that the Hebrews had stolen them, and sacrificed their bodies upon an altar for a burnt-offering. There was no foundation for the report, but notwithstanding its absurdity, it was widely accepted.
Tarsus was astir. The streets were picturesque with decoration, and lively with moving crowds and processions, and all through the day the Temple and its great garden were thronged with worshippers and pleasure-seekers. Every one was in festal costume, and innumerable small companies were waving banners, garlands, and palm-branches, and marching to and fro with shouts and laughter. At the Temple there were various ceremonies, oracular messages, predictions, and idolatries in progress, all forming a combination such as only a great Oriental metropolis of the period could offer.
The brazen gates which led through marble arches into the Temple grounds were flung wide open, and a continuous human current, seemingly from all the nations of the earth, poured in. Parallel roads, some for those on foot and others for horsemen or chariots, led inward toward the intricate maze of summer-houses, bowers, ponds, lotos-groves, and rose-trees, which occupied the heart of the great paradisiacal resort. The number and variety of fountains at play were amazing, and the long rows of statues, arches, and booths stretched away in the distance in bewildering profusion. Processions of horsemen in rich costume and brilliant caparisonment, each carrying offerings for the various altars, swept in to join the great concourse. All ages, sexes, and conditions lent their contributions to the great changing panorama of color and beauty. There were uniformed companies, in white or variegated colors, carrying flags, garlands, or censers, keeping step to the music of hymns or the rhythm of flutes and taborets, the combination of intoxicating strains forming a vast confused symphony.
Upon a broad marble pavement of white and black design near the centre of the widespread grounds there were groups of gay dancers, the stroke of whose light sandalled feet kept time to the touch of small drums and tambourines. With hair floating free, bare shoulders and necks, and robes of diaphanous texture, the voluptuousness of their movements can scarcely be told. They were charmers,—priestesses belonging to the Temple, each having some part in its multiform mystical service. They were chanting a hymn of Eros.
“Love, sons of earth! I am the Power of Love!
Eldest of all the gods, with Chaos born;
My smile sheds light along the courts above,
My kisses wake the eyelids of the Morn.”
Some of the trees of the groves were large,—tall branching cedars, and evergreen oaks with glossy luxurious foliage, casting a cool seductive shade upon the fresh clean grass. There were sycamores, laurels, mulberries, citron-trees, and terebinths, whose blossoms loaded the air with a spicy intoxication. The thickets were full of birds, so tame as to be fearless. The cooing of turtle-doves, the song of nightingale, and the whistle of quail, added to the unending composite of sweet sounds, shapes, and colors. The exuberance of nature, the gracefulness of art, and all that the genius of man could invent, combined as if to surfeit the human senses.
Subtly intermingled with the degeneracy of such an age there was a blind but ever-living impulse toward some kind of worship. Man’s religious proclivities are so strong that their exercise will find a place, even if it be no higher than his own animal instincts.
From the standpoints of other periods, it is far from easy to unravel the fundamental strands of life in any given time, and justly interpret its underlying spirit. The autocratic rule of the sensuous consciousness is yet everywhere supreme, but its outward manifestations constantly take new shape. By the unreliable measurements of men, the ethics of one age is made the standard of judgment for those of others. The radical defect—all-prevailing materialism—everywhere remains, but each age shifts its moral emphasis so that its own methods for the adoration of the lower selfhood seem good in its own eyes. Though the period in review was eminent for its moral corruption, the worship of the bodily creature, in some form, after nineteen hundred years of added experience and supposed wisdom still remains dominant. Veils of outward legality are everywhere drawn, and external conformity to undoubted standards more general—but what of the great underlying sea of human consciousness? The true barometric test of the moral and spiritual essence of any and all ages is the quality of thought-occupation, whether the same be boldly expressed or subtly hidden. The world is full of veneers, and each eye complacently looks upon those of its own time, while it ruthlessly strips off all others. The twenty-first century will doubtless be as much shocked by the selfishness, pride, greed, and mad rush for place and power, which pertain to the nineteenth, as is the latter at the more open corruption of the age under review.
Leander’s break with Marcius thoroughly embittered his morbid jealousy, and snapped the only cord of outward restraint which in any degree had held him. As a friend and guest of the Vice Legate, possessed of a dashing and poetic spirit, he was well known in the gay society of the Cilician metropolis. Vain of person, and proud of his dramatic accomplishments, he brought them into exercise on every possible occasion. His delicate complexion, wavy brown hair, and dark blue eyes, with an easy gracefulness which characterized every movement, gave him a pleasing personality which was his special capital. He spent much time at the baths, and commanded their perfect service. Their oils, polishing, and perfume in some measure concealed the flight of years under a youthful veneer of pearly whiteness. But the natural sparkle of his eyes was growing dull, and the open, warm, and artless temper of earlier life had become clouded with cynicism and acerbity.
His richly decorated chariot, which was drawn by three snowy white horses abreast, always drew a gaping crowd as it dashed through the Tarsian thoroughfares. His especial pride was to be regarded as the arbiter elegantiarum of the city. His more immediate circle of friends was often invited to his entertainments, which consisted chiefly of his own recitations of Greek poetry and tragedy. They frequently became tiresome, but as his fondness for applause was notorious, it was sarcastically bestowed ad nauseam. He entered with the utmost abandon into every spectacular display or ceremony, his fondness for dramatic art thereby receiving exercise and stimulation. Before ordering his chariot for his visit to the festival he sat down to warm himself with a deep draft of spiced Falernian. It came strongly to mind that on many similar occasions he had started with Marcius at his side. Now he was to go alone.
During every hour since their last interview his anger had increased. He, the life-long friend, cast off for an obscure Hebrew! Impatience waxed hot, until his feeling rapidly became absolute hatred. In some way he would have revenge—bitter revenge. Was there not some possible means by which he could despoil Marcius of his official position, and rob him of his reputation? But his popularity and power made it utterly inexpedient to declare open enmity. Leander would bide his time, and find a plan to secretly revenge himself, and never rest easy until the downfall of the Vice Legate was compassed. As for Serenus and Amabel, they were beneath contempt.
Wrath or jealousy that is nursed grows apace, and the enmity of Leander would have sanctioned the murder of Marcius, if it could be brought about without any finger of suspicion being pointed toward him.