On the day before a whispered conspiracy was to have been consummated, Saulus retired to a quiet place for spiritual communion and guidance. He had trusted the inner Voice before, and been led aright, why not in the present strait? The intensity of his desire and emotion ended in a vision.13 He entered into a state where a broadened outlook of condition, duty, and privilege was opened before him. The dark curtain which made the future obscure and perplexing was parted, and a highway, leading forward, illumined and made plain.
The inner Voice said,—
“Depart, for I will send thee forth afar unto the Gentiles!”
History is ever repeating itself. Persecution of the Truth scatters its seed and multiplies its influence.
Saulus hastily escaped from Jerusalem, being conducted by his brethren as far as Cæsarea on his way to Tarsus.
CHAPTER XXXIII
A PRIESTESS OF THE TARSIAN TEMPLE
“How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!”
A day of extreme heat was closing in Tarsus. The heavens were like burnished brass, and the sultry air glowed as if newly discharged from the mouth of a furnace. The sun had dropped behind a heavy mass of leaden clouds, tinged with crimson, which hung ominously over the distant range of the western Taurus, though the horizon above the city was still clear. The torrid radiation from the dark paving-stones had arisen in quivering waves every hour of the long day, and penetrated alike palace and hut.
Marcius was seated in his private library in an absorbed though somewhat restless temper of mind. There are times when the soul is lifted out of the petty routine of every-day living, and thus loosened from present environment, it soars abroad among scenes and recognitions long past, or, anon, essays to penetrate the veil of the future. During such seasons the human spirit transcends its ordinary limitations, and is uplifted by aspirations and experiences which are beyond the realm of cold logic and materialistic science.
Of late one portentous augury of bygone days lingered in the mind of Marcius with untiring persistency. It was but a brief deliverance, yet it stood before him in letters of fire. He had often thought it trivial, and dismissed it from recollection, but as often it returned, refusing to be barred out. Was it a prophetic curse? or only a simple warning which already had been heeded and its occasion atoned for?
This evening the problem came upon him afresh, and the fateful words fairly rung in his ears,—
“Thou art incapable of love, and it shall remain unknown to thee!”
How vividly that strange scene of the past flashed before him! The mysterious adytum of the Temple; the clammy, crawling vapor; the uncanny Shapes; the ghostly but beautiful Alethea, and her divination of the future!
He thought lightly of its interpretation when uttered—now it weighed him down.
His love for Rebecca had become a consuming flame, but it was a white flame, unmingled with smoke. Day by day every passing breeze fanned it. In her the transparent beauty of the New Faith blossomed into visible illustration and embodiment.
Marcius had not yet made an avowal of his love, for he consciously shrank from breaking in upon the secrecy of the inner adoration of his own soul. If she felt no response, a declaration would only rudely disturb the symmetry of his beautiful dream, and if perchance there was a reciprocal glow, the delightful mystery, like a sealed fragrance, would keep. In social relation with him she was natural and friendly, but anything beyond was an enigma.
But again the direful words of Alethea, like the muttering of the now distant thunder, reverberated through his soul, and disturbed his dream of bliss. Was he forever doomed to be a stranger to a rounded and reciprocated love? Might not Alethea now relent, and dissolve her seeming curse, and grant a blessing instead? Can it be that human jealousy invades the realm of the Unseen?
Could he not, peradventure, again invoke the fair Alethea, and while beseeching her own forgiveness for the past, implore her blessing for the future?
The threatened storm gathered and burst with great force upon the city. Rain, and at intervals hail, beat upon the walls and roofs of houses, and cooled the hot flagstones in the streets. Forked lightning rent the clouds, and thunder caused the very foundations of the city to tremble.
Since Marcius espoused the New Faith he had discontinued visits to the Temple of Apollo. But now he strongly desired to meet Alethea. Would she again appear to him if he sought her in the same place? Her condemnation must be lifted, her forgiveness obtained, and her benediction implored!
The roar of the storm continued with little abatement. What a favorable time to go unattended and incognito! The desire strengthened into immediate purpose. Disregarding the tempest, he ordered a trusted servitor to bring his favorite horse, and hastily disguising himself, mounted, and rode rapidly toward the Temple.
Upon entering he found the pronaos deserted, and but a few scattered devotees in the cella. Throwing off his outside garment, he seated himself for a little time to command his thoughts before penetrating into the adytum. The perpetual sacred fire on the great hearth sent its fitful gleams upon the symbols and hieroglyphs which thickly covered the walls and ceilings. As he sat and watched them they seemed to fade, dissolve, and reappear in capricious succession, inspiring a sense of the presence of invisible enchantments. The harps of Æolia, which hung in the openings of the outer walls, groaned and shrieked a chaotic Miserere, as if a great chorus of condemned spirits were disquieted by the force of the angry tempest without.
At length the signal was given, and Marcius passed through the valve, and following for some distance a dim, winding, and descending corridor, at length entered the adytum. As aforetime, the flaming symbol of the Mysteria Eleusinia flashed upon him, and then slowly faded into a ghastly vaporous obscurity. Farther on faint flashes of blue light shot up from deeps which seemed bottomless.
Marcius silently waited for a brief period, hoping that Alethea would again appear, but was disappointed. There was no sound save distant echoes of discordant voices, now seeming to be above, and anon issuing from the pit below.
Presently, wearied of waiting, he called aloud,—
“Alethea! I would see Alethea!”
Mocking sepulchral reverberations of his words were the only response.
Again pouring out his request with a like result, his wonted composure was considerably shaken.
With growing disappointment he was about to make one louder call before leaving, when at his right hand an unseen valve suddenly opened, revealing a narrow private stairway hitherto unknown to him, leading from some of the many apartments of the great Temple above. A moment more, and footsteps, light but very real, were heard coming down.
A female form of enchanting beauty gracefully entered, and stood before him. Her eyes of a deep liquid blue turned towards him, her silken, blond tresses fell artlessly backward, and her features were of such loveliness as rarely comes in human mould. A white, flowing robe of exquisite softness and gauzelike lightness enveloped her form, leaving her shapely neck and shoulders fully exposed. A delicate fragrance of wild rose was borne in upon the atmosphere with her. There she stood, slender, lithe, symmetrical, radiant.
Marcius was startled.
She was neither Alethea, nor any other spirit.
“Who art thou? and why didst thou appear when I called for another?”
“This is the night for mortals, and not for spirits!” she replied sweetly. “I am one of the priestesses of the Temple, and they call me the ‘Chosen One.’ ”
“What is thy mission here?”
“Behold thou didst vainly call for some one, and I have come to charm away thy disappointment, give thee solace, and keep thee company.”
She smiled.
Marcius retreated for a step, but his gaze was fastened upon her.
“Peradventure thou dost count me for a shade who hath momentarily put on the form!” she said archly. “But no! I am very real flesh and blood!”
Then she lightly touched her hand to one of his own convincingly.
“I am well persuaded that thou hast never crossed the Styx; but I came hither especially to see another, who dwelleth beyond.”
“The signs to-night forbid!” she replied with an intelligence that seemed to be official. “Four nights of each week the mystical curtain which veils the Unseen is parted, but this is not one of them.”
“I will come again,” Marcius replied in a low voice, beginning to turn away.
“Hasten not! Perchance thy discomfiture and loneliness may be soothed. Doth not the dominion of Eros cover the earth as well as the realm of spirit? Nay, doth not the universe bow to his mastery? Even the stars of heaven woo each other by their attractiveness, and flash forth their kisses in beams of light, and the cohesion of atoms is but the warm embrace of an universal enchantment!”
“I cannot listen to thee!”
“But thou art listening! Surely thou dost not despise the worship of the Temple and her gods, else thou art not a loyal Tarsian! None are dead to love, and both great and small do her honor!”
“I close my ears to thy beguilement!”
“I would not beguile thee, but thou art heartless, and withal cold in thy devotion to our sacred divinities!”
“Thy words are wasted, and touch me not!”
She came nearer, placing her hand upon her heart, and looking into his eyes, said,—
“Behold the roar of the storm without, while the blissful shrine in my sanctuary above, where I alone reign as priestess, invites a united homage!”
“I bid thee farewell, and will brave the storm!”
The beautiful features of the priestess suddenly froze into an expression of scorn and contempt, as she swept quickly out of sight, and the valve slammed behind her.
Turning again to depart, Marcius had advanced but a step when strains of heavenly music floated in from the farther end of the cavern. He lingered entranced, while the harmony swelled and diminished with an unearthly sweetness which bound him to the spot.
Anon a great volume of dense vapor poured up from below, lifting itself by a graceful spiral motion, and gaining steadily in density!
Was Alethea yet to appear?
No!
Yes!
See!
It gathers itself into a defined form! It emerges from its soft background and comes forward!
“Alethea!”
Her bosom heaves with seeming life, and her eyes glisten with emotion.
“O Alethea! I have come this time to implore thy forgiveness and seek thy blessing!”
“Marcius! I have beheld thy new life from the free domain of the Unseen, and also stood by thy side this night! Here jealousy hath no place! Thy past is freely forgiven, and my blessing, and that of Heaven, will rest upon thee—and Rebecca. Until the earth-life is closed—farewell!”
The form slowly dissolved, and Marcius left the Temple, and passed out into the storm.
CHAPTER XXXIV
ONCE MORE UPON THE CYDNUS
“Rivers are highways that move on, and bear us whither we wish to go.”
A few days after the evening excursion of Marcius to the Temple, a little party emerged from the house of Benoni into the spacious grounds which overlooked the Cydnus. It was soon after mid-day. Though the sun shone brightly, a refreshing breeze down the valley from the Taurus mountains made the afternoon balmy and delightful. The cool waters of the river hurried quietly past, while the sunshine caused the ripple which danced upon its surface to gleam like molten gold.
The river barge of Marcius, called the Felicia, well manned by stalwart oarsmen, waiting at Benoni’s landing by the foot of the terraces, presaged an excursion. The group lingered a little, and loitered through the grounds to enjoy the clusters of spice-trees, roses, oleanders, and jasmine which bordered the winding paths that sloped to the water’s edge.
Looking up the river, the thick fringes of shrubs and trees which lined its banks could be followed by the eye, capriciously zigzag in their course, narrowing in the dim distance almost to a thread when traced toward the mountain wall of the northern horizon. The distant lofty range stood out in calm, serene beauty, its summits softened by light scattered foliage, and kissed by the rays of the afternoon sun.
The band of the New Faith in Tarsus had added many to its numbers through the labors of Serenus. Seconded by Amabel, and aided by Benoni, Rebecca, and Marcius, he was untiring in his work to kindle the higher life in the souls who were willing to listen, and the synagogue soon became divided between those who were bound by dead forms, and the converts to a living spirituality. Works of mercy, ministry, and healing abounded, and faith, love, and service were multiplied. Such a joy lighted up the faces of the disciples that they became familiarly known among the Tarsians as the “happy brotherhood.” Although the Pharisaic members of the synagogue were censorious toward them, they suffered no persecution.
An excursion up the river had been planned by Marcius, both for the enjoyment of the charming scenery, and the opportunity for delightful communion and intercourse which come from the society of kindred souls possessing a common interest and aim.
Besides the family of Benoni, and Serenus and Amabel, Marcius had invited several other friends to join the company, and they gathered at Benoni’s house at the appointed hour in readiness for the start. After a ramble in the garden, they passed down to the landing to embark. Some were already on the barge, when suddenly the sound of rapid footsteps was heard, and a young man appeared, hastening to reach them before their departure.
It was Saulus!
His father, mother, and Rebecca were the last of the party, and not yet on board.
Each was successively wrapped in his loving embrace, and tears of joy witnessed the warmth of their reunion.
“O Saulus, thou must go with us on the excursion!” said Rebecca, as soon as the first greetings were over. “Serenus and Amabel, also Marcius, of whom I have written thee, are already on the barge!”
“Serenus on board! I will go! I long to greet him!”
Soon all were upon the deck of the Felicia, and at a given signal the twenty oars on each side took the water as if by one impulse, and the graceful barge glided out upon the bosom of the Cydnus.
Rebecca presented Saulus to Marcius, who received him warmly, and then they sought Serenus and Amabel.
Saulus and Serenus were soon clasped in each other’s arms.
“O Serenus! my friend, brother, and saviour! Words fail me! To thee, whom I once counted as my enemy, I owe my life and my salvation. Blessed be these eyes that behold thee, and these ears that hear thy voice!”
“And thou, Amabel! who by my command wast taken to the cruel prison! Sister of the New Faith! I need not even ask thy forgiveness, for I am persuaded that thou hast bestowed it long ago. What a joy to forgive and be forgiven! Rebecca hath written the good tidings to me.”
The Felicia was headed up stream, but despite the strong current she shot rapidly along. The roofs and towers of the city gradually receded, and pastoral voices and charms grew more distinct and prevailing. Delicious exhalations were wafted out from the leaves and blossoms of spicy shrubs on either hand, and their graceful forms were duplicated in trembling shadows in the clear water beneath. Nature furnished a perfect environment of peace and beauty, inspiring in the souls of all a revery of silent homage to the Word which she articulated and out-pictured.
Serenus and Saulus sat down side by side, and all visions of the troubled past melted away in their present friendliness and rejoicing. Saulus rehearsed to the group which gathered about him a full narrative of his thrilling experiences in Damascus, his life and retirement in the Desert, and his trials in Jerusalem.
Though an intensity of brotherly love, like that of “David and Jonathan,” immediately sprung up between Serenus and Saulus, it must not be supposed that they were alike, or thought alike. It is often assumed that those who differ in natural endowment and personal opinion must in some measure be separated in sympathy and interest. Not so. The zealous impetuosity of Saulus was in strong contrast with the serenity and evenness of his friend. They were utterly dissimilar in looks, temperament, and manner of thinking. One might be compared to a dashing, foaming cataract, the other to a still, deep river. But their very unlikeness stimulated their affection.
Every unit is composed of unlike elements, and every truth has its widely varying aspects. It might therefore be expected that in their efforts to spread the New Faith, the methods of these two leaders would be unlike. Still more, the emphasis which each would place upon all but the most vital and central principles would be greatly variant.
“Hath any persecution been meted out to the disciples of the New Faith in Tarsus?” inquired Saulus.
“Nay; we have not been molested. The Tarsians have little concern either for or against our religion, and our brethren of the synagogue, while counting us as heretics and manifesting some bitterness of spirit, have done us no harm.”
“How unlike Damascus and Jerusalem! Behold in those cities all our exhortations in the name of Jesus of Nazareth filled the multitudes with jealousy, which brought forth persecution and even scourging.”
“The minds and hearts of men are not speedily changed,” replied Serenus. “Dost thou think it strange, O my brother! that those men are moved by the same reasoning that, in time gone by, moved thee to persecute, thinking that thereby thou wert doing God service? It is no easy thing to give righteous judgment concerning the actions of men, unless peradventure we have regard unto their ignorance, and all their past manner of thinking.”
“Thou sayest truly that I ought not to think it strange that others of the Circumcision persecute, even as I did, being of like mind; but I pray thee, how is the gospel of the New Faith to be established unless it be boldly proclaimed, whether men hear or forbear?”
“I am minded with thee, O Saulus! that the proclamation of Truth be fearlessly put forth, but it must be with forbearance and in love. Behold the still, small voice of the Spirit of Truth findeth a hearing in the affections of men whose ears are closed to argument and controversy. If the seed be cast gently into ground that is well prepared by the mellowing of love, and watered by the ministry of reconciliation, it will spring up, and in due season the blade will appear, and finally the full corn in the ear.”
“Thou speakest wisely, O Serenus! for only thy winning and unresistant spirit awakened a response in my own heart, that in due time overcame me, and turned my feet from the path of error and destruction. I am also minded that thy works in Tarsus are far more abundant than my vehement logic could have established had I been in thy place. Lo, from thy youth up thou hadst a gentleness of spirit, which I, even since my change of heart, greatly lack.”
Serenus turned lovingly toward Saulus, and taking him by the hand, replied,—
“I beseech thee, my brother, have in mind the abundant power which thou hast, and not the thing which perchance thou lackest. It is well that we have differing talents and gifts. Thou canst not perform my work, nor I thine, but there is a harvest ripening for each of us. In the earthly vineyard of God the shoulders of every laborer are justly fitted to the burden which is appointed for him to bear. But of a verity there are no burdens, for they are changed to privileges.”
“Thy words reconcile me to my chosen work, and even to my inner hindrances. I perceive that through spiritual exercise even our shortcomings minister to advancement in the higher life.”
Tarsus had faded from view, and save the rhythmic plash of the oars no sound was audible but the hum of quiet converse among the scattered groups upon the deck of the Felicia.
After listening with interest to the conversation between Serenus and Saulus, Marcius invited Rebecca’s attention to the grandeur of the mountains now nearing as they ascended the river, and soon the twain leisurely seated themselves in a retired nook near the bow of the boat.
The charm of the crystal Cydnus burnished by the rays of the sun, its fringed and swiftly passing banks, and the reposefulness of the broad, outlying landscape, combined to make the whole scene masterful.
“How beautiful the world is!” said Rebecca.
“Yea,” said Marcius. “Under the inspiration of the New Faith the mountains are temples, and the rocks and trees sacred altars which enshrine the divine beauty and radiance.”
“A beautiful metaphor! I feel that Nature is soulful and companionable. The cold, mechanical forms of institutions, and the hollow ceremonies in temples made with hands, harden the mind and fetter its freedom. As our souls are illumined, Nature becomes a Revelation—a spoken Word—transparent to the Divine Spirit which shines through it.”
Marcius was charmed by Rebecca’s poetic consecration, and added,—
“Yea; Serenus teacheth even a threefold Revelation: that which shineth through the veil of the outer world; that manifested through men—sons of God—of whom Jesus was the perfected measure; and that by the ever-present Spirit, which is the Companion and Teacher.”
“How clearly the eyes of Serenus are open to the light and truth of the world!”
“It is a marvel!” said Marcius with earnestness. “Blessed be the hour when first I beheld him! Behold how great good cometh out of evil! The sinking of the Salapiæ hath yielded a great blessing to Tarsus.”
“My life in the Holy City and since hath persuaded me that infinite forces work with us when we work through them,” said Rebecca with enthusiasm. “Nothing is trifling, and nothing unimportant.”
Marcius felt that the moment had arrived toward which he had so long looked forward as the most eventful of his life.
“O Rebecca!” said he in a low, tender tone, as his eyes glanced upon her fair face, “I am minded of another great blessing to me which hath grown out of evil!”
The living emphasis of the soft, earnest words seemed peculiar, and Rebecca looked up inquiringly, as if to divine their interpretation.
“Behold the day of the tumult, when thou wert hard pressed by the rabble! What a wicked offence, and yet from it hath come to me a revelation of thy beautiful soul.”
Rebecca was startled, for there was an intensity behind the words which swept her spirit into unwonted vibration.
“O Rebecca! I would more fully unveil my heart to thee! Blessed be the day when for the first time I beheld thy sweet face, and thrice blessed the time in which I have felt thy goodness and purity! I love thee! Thy father hath graciously yielded me permission to make my love known to thee. Oh, wilt thou not be the soul of my soul? The New Faith will consecrate our love, and make us one in the bonds of a union that shall be unending. Should there be no certain response in thy heart at this hour, I will not press thee for an answer now. But thou art the pure shrine at which my devotion will glow with an unending ardor!”
While the calm dignity of Rebecca did not forsake her the beautiful cheeks took on a ruddier shade, and her large, radiant eyes were downcast and bedewed.
Then, looking steadily into his manly face, she replied softly,—
“Hast thou thought carefully of this? Thou art the Roman Vice Legate of Tarsus, and I but an humble maid of the Hebrews!”
“Rebecca, I have pondered it day and night! Never in my earlier days did I know there could be such love! But I feel myself to be another man—a new man—or I would be unspeakably unworthy of thee. I am yet unworthy, but I offer thee the homage of a heart, purified I trust, by the higher life, and softened by the effulgence of thine own goodness.”
There was a long silence, made more intense by the rapid beating of two hearts.
A smile upon her lips, and the dropping of a tear which would not stay back, gave him hope.
Unspeakable repose filled their souls.