CHAPTER XIII
THE WALLS HAVE EARS
The world looks like a multiplication-table, or a mathematical equation, which, turn it how you will, balances itself. Take what figure you will, its exact value, not more, nor less, still returns to you. Every secret is told, every crime is punished, every virtue rewarded, every wrong redressed, in silence and certainty. What we call retribution is the universal necessity by which the whole appears wherever a part appears.—Emerson.
The sun was drinking up the morning dew which rested lightly upon the reeds, grasses, and climbing vines that thinly fringed the steeps and cliffs of the hill-country of Mount Ephraim, a little to the northwest of Jerusalem. Through this broken district, the road which led from the seaport of Cæsarea to the Holy City wound along near the bottom of a shallow wady, and ere long between scarred bluffs through a long, irregular valley, and then ascended, leading over a considerable elevation before passing through the Mount Ephraim gate into the city.
In these early morning hours, a small caravan might be seen, winding along the beaten track in slow, serpentine fashion. It was composed of a few well-laden camels and asses, accompanied by men, women, and children, who, having just struck their tents, were now nearing the end of their journey. An eager air of anticipation and unwonted interest was visible in the little company; and the brightness of the morning, and the near approach to the Capital, infused every one with new life, in view of what was soon to open to their vision.
What a tale this road might unfold of the various companies of pilgrims, princes, captains, and panoplied armies, which, before and since, have trod its tortuous windings! What victories and defeats, what surprises and disappointments, what inspiration and suffering! What vain hopes destroyed and heroism rewarded! What eruptions of invaders, who at intervals have despoiled the ancient city,—Chaldeans, Assyrians, Romans, and later the great armies of Rome under Titus; and long afterwards, Turks and crusaders, like great tidal waves, have surged through this and the other beaten highways that converge in the city of Mount Zion.
In the little procession were some who for the first time were to have a vision of the Temple, the city’s long, curving, battlemented walls, its proud palaces, its frowning towers, its graceful cenotaphs and pillared courts, and others to whose eyes all these were familiar. Within two or three furlongs of the city wall on the northwest, the road passes over a considerable elevation, from which Jerusalem lies spread out upon its native hills, with the bluish-purple slopes of the Mount of Olives in the background to the southeast. On this high ground the road skirted a large open garden, or park, that sloped toward the city, which contained seats, arbors, flowers, and shrubbery, the whole forming a place of public resort. Interspersed by small trees, and shaded by bushes and vines, were a series of graded terraces, each of which commanded a fine view of the city. It was a favorite resort in the milder seasons of the year.
The caravan passed on through the gateway into the city; but a young man, somewhat below medium size, with strongly marked Jewish features, left it, and turning to the right, entered the garden to enjoy the prospect, and call up a few reminiscences before the final completion of his journey.
It was no other than Saulus!
After an absence of a few years in his native city, he was again near the scene of his more youthful education and adventures. The sun was already warm; and, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he sat down in a small arbor, which was covered overhead, and partly sheltered before and behind by hedges and hanging vines. The fragrance of many blossoms loaded the morning air, and the cheery song of birds echoed from the trees far and near.
As Saulus looked out over the familiar landmarks of the city, his bosom heaved, his cheeks reddened, and his eyes dilated at the panorama that was again unrolled before him. His thoughts ran quickly back over the long history of the Chosen People, their many trials and conquests, their glory and their captivity. There was much to inspire, but more to sadden. What a history of numberless vicissitudes was written in stone, masonry, and marble! How many conflicts, successes, and disasters were wrapped up in the massive city wall built by good King Hezekiah! What a long line of events were cast into the haughty Towers of Hippicus, Phasælus, and Mariamne, whose proud heads lifted themselves high into the air directly to the southward! Still beyond, in the same direction, the royal hill of Mount Zion was crowned by the great Herodian palace. What a long line of fragrant memories of patriarchs and judges, of anointed kings, including David and Solomon, covering many bright days of Hebrew history, were there solidified into visible form! Upon the same historic site stood the house of Caiaphas, the Roman prætorium, and the great central synagogue.
Was the time coming when the proud Roman would be thrust out, and Jewish dominion again centre with undimmed lustre upon these consecrated heights? How long, oh, how long! before the God of Israel would rally and inspire the multitudes of his people, bring back his scattered captives, and lead them forth, a conquering host?
Farther to the east, and directly above the great massive Tower of Antonia,—which Saulus recognized with a frown,—the sacred Temple-crowned summit of Moriah caused a throb of rejoicing and patriotic pride. His eye rested with satisfaction upon the great pile of snowy whiteness, founded by Solomon, and rebuilt by Herod, with its long lines of marble pillars, gates of Corinthian brass, and numerous towers and pinnacles overlaid with silver and gold. How many courts, each encircling others within, lifted themselves, tier above tier, to the Tabernacle and Holy of Holies, which formed the sacred centre from which Jehovah radiated his glory in a special and peculiar manner.
The sun ascended higher, and the whole scene melted into a dream of shimmering whiteness and beauty. What an attraction and inspiration to every Jew in all ages! Fitting type to him of all that is patriotic, glorious, and heavenly! The soft green western slopes of Olivet formed a peaceful and refreshing background to the busy haunts of men.
Such were some of the thoughts that passed in a trooping procession through the mind of Saulus; and now, what of the present and future? What of his own duties, hopes, dreams, and ambitions? What of the new heretical sect, whose overthrow was to be his especial business and gratification? What of the Rabban, his former companions, Serenus, the people at the inn? Last, but far, oh, far from least, what of Cassia?
“O Cassia! little one! Will thy heart beat quickly, thy cheeks flush, and thine eyes glisten at my coming? Hast thou dreams of my arrival, and hath absence endeared me to thee? Hast thou often thought of him to whom thou so faithfully and tenderly ministered? Thy messages seem not to have been so warm and frequent of late. Surely thou hast not lost the image of Saulus from thy heart?”
The young man was suddenly aroused from his prolonged revery by the approach of a party of men, women, and children from the city. Some were laden with small baskets and wallets containing wheaten wafers, and others carried fruits, and skins of wine. It was a pleasure excursion of Hebrew families for relaxation and enjoyment. They distributed themselves promiscuously in groups among the shady and secluded seats and arbors, dispersing in little parties, often of two or three, in the most informal manner.
Almost before Saulus was aware of it, a young man and woman had seated themselves immediately in front, their backs almost hidden by a light hedge which was covered by running vines. Their seats were very near. His first impulse was to retire, but that was impossible without observation; and during a moment’s hesitation he heard something of remarkable interest. A word distinctly uttered chained him to the spot. His position was such that he plainly saw the backs of the young pair, just in front and below him, through the interstices of the hedge, while he was entirely concealed. He was no eavesdropper, but fate transfixed him.
“O my little Cassia! What a delightful place! What sayest thou? Shall we not sit down and enjoy the prospect? Our friends seem to have scattered, and left us to care for ourselves.”
“Which we are very well able to do, Barnabas. One might sit here and dream over the Holy City.”
“Thou speakest truly, Cassia! Dreams and visions pertain not alone to sleep and night. Thinkest thou not that a large part of life is unfolded through them?”
“My wakeful visions are very real to me.”
“Yea, Cassia, thou judgest rightly! Day-dreams are often true prophecies of the future. The Greek philosophy, of which I learned something while at the feet of Gamaliel, teacheth that our dreams of the future are like patterns, and that as we hold them before our gaze, day by day, the things we shape in our own minds really come about, and more, that we unconsciously grow into their image. In other words, they take such hold that we are slowly transformed by them.”
“Is such a doctrine peculiar to the Greeks? Do we not all have visions by day as well as night? And do they not prophesy, and even promise much? Nothing would tempt me to part with the pictures of the future that I carry with me.”
“Ah, little Cassia! Are they, then, so precious to thee? Wilt thou give me some hint of what they promise? I pray thee, canst thou not lend me a share in them?”
“Peradventure they cannot be divided.”
“But at least they may be sketched in outline, if not shared. Wilt thou not interpret for me the brightest vision that comes to thee?”
“How can I?”
“Peradventure I can divine it.”
“Peradventure thou canst not.”
“Knowest thou not, Cassia, that there are some who say they can read the thoughts of their neighbor, much as they would an unrolled parchment?”
“Claimest thou such power for thyself?”
“I answer thee not as to my claim. But wilt thou that I try to be thy interpreter?”
Cassia cast a curious but shy glance at her companion, who seemed much absorbed in the distant mountain slopes.
“Yea; if thou wilt essay to play the part of a seer, and prophesy of my future, I will listen. I would try thy powers.”
“It is not so much thy future, as thy thought of thy future, that I would divine just now,” said Barnabas, with a half-hidden smile. “Wilt thou tell me if I interpret rightly?”
She again turned a searching glance toward his face, but his gaze was still fastened upon the mountain landscape.
“Peradventure yea, and peradventure nay,” she replied, with a light flush; “but please proceed.”
Barnabas bade adieu to the distant mountain, and with some vigor of manner turned his face toward the maiden as if to read her thoughts.
“Almon, thy father, hath told me that Saulus is soon to return for a season to the Holy City, and will sojourn at the inn of the Sheepmarket. Nay, more! that he may arrive at any hour. Behold thy bright vision!”
The figure just beyond the hedge gave such a start that only the vital interest of the twain in the topic of their conversation prevented a discovery.
Little Cassia, who was not greatly disconcerted, pouted her lips a bit, toyed with her fan, and took her turn in gazing at the mountain.
“O Barnabas! I would counsel thee, that thou set not up for an interpreter. Seership is not befitting to thee.”
“Thou dost say neither yea nor nay.”
“I say that thou hast altogether missed thy calling.”
“It seemeth strange; but verily, I find much contentment in my error, if my interpretation be not true.”
“It hath been told me by my father that Saulus is to return to Jerusalem, in order that he may vex the new pestilent sect of heretics, which is said to be gathering strength. I wot not more of his sojourn or plans.”
“I say unto thee again, that it rejoiceth me that my seership be at fault.”
“True prophets are not usually so fickle.”
There was a slight tinge of cheery, though defiant, sarcasm in her tone, and the flush on her cheek had heightened. Then a little period of silence followed, during which Barnabas again gave himself to the mountain. On the other side of the thin hedge a heart was beating so loudly that its throbs were almost audible.
At length Barnabas turned, and gently picked up the little hand which was temptingly near, and raising it, touched it to his lips, and as reverently lowered it, after which it was slowly withdrawn.
“O my little Cassia! I again take up my seership! I have a bright new dream of the future! our future—share and share. I am inspired by a love, sweet, irresistible, and endless. The vision shows me that thine is the soul that responds, and thy heart the one that beats in unison. I love thee with every drop of my blood, and every thought that stirs my being. We shall know happiness, peace, and devotion. Cassia, dear! I now proclaim seership for thee! Behold now this bright vision with me!”
Gently his arm found its way around her slender form, and there was no actual resistance. She was so near that her warm breath fell upon his cheek.
The pent-up forces in the soul that had been forced to listen burst forth in an involuntary groan; and this, with a sudden shaking of the hedge, startled the twain, when, at a glance, feeling the presence of a stranger near, they turned quickly down the nearest pathway, and rejoined their friends. The stranger, who was a stranger still to them, was left to his own devices.
CHAPTER XIV
LOVE VERSUS DUTY
O loving hearts with anguish rent;
No sacrifice was e’er too great;
Deny thyself till life is spent,
Be purified through kindly fate.
The shadows deepened, and were fast chasing away the brightness which had streamed down from above, in the luxurious court of the palace of Gamaliel. The interview between the Rabban and his disciple was at an end, and their long-standing relation fully and finally severed. Neither evinced any disposition to reconsider the decision, or question its wisdom.
“O most worthy Rabban! I have had much honor, and thank thee for thy manifold goodness in the days which are past. Though I go out from thy presence, my respect will abide. Peace be with thee and thine!”
Serenus had arisen from his seat to take leave of his esteemed teacher and master. The young man’s bearing, while calm and dignified, betokened a warmth of affection which was deep and sincere. Strong ties were being severed; but, in the nature of the case, there was no alternative. But the perfect serenity and uncomplaining spirit shown by the young man at their parting touched a tender chord in the heart of Gamaliel. His official sternness melted away; and the warm, native gentleness of his nature burst the barriers of his reserve.
“Stay for a little time, Serenus, I pray thee! I cannot let thee depart without some farther assurance of my good-will. Forgive me for the stern decision which pertaineth to my office, for it grieveth me to make an end to the acceptable service which thou hast rendered. My duty is heavy upon my heart, for I have much affection for thee. I will not farther persuade thee to forego thine earnest convictions, for I can but honor thy consistency and unselfishness. To thee, duty demands sacrifice, and thou dost cheerfully render it. Behold, thy friendship hath suffered no loss.”
“Thou dost honor me too much, O venerable Rabban! but I thank thee that, even though I lay down my service in the Assembly of the Wise, I have thy warm favor and esteem.”
Serenus again moved to take his departure, but the Rabban seemed unwilling to let him go.
“Behold the hour is at hand for the evening repast! Stay thou and break bread with us.”
Gamaliel led the way to the apartment where the simple evening meal was served; and Serenus was greeted by Amabel and her mother, with whom he was on friendly and familiar terms. Mutual esteem and previous visits had inspired such confidence as might have been bestowed upon one of the family. Serenus and Amabel were warm friends, but up to the present time no word beyond the boundary of simple friendship had ever passed between them.
After the meal was ended, Gamaliel withdrew briefly, being called to the library by a scribe. As the evening was sultry, the others repaired to the house-top, where the Rabban would erelong rejoin them. But soon the mother was also summoned away; and kind, or unkind, fate, through fortuitous combination, left Serenus and Amabel by themselves. An easy seat, sheltered by a light canopy, which was close by the parapet on the side overlooking the city, invited their occupancy.
The sun long before had hid himself behind the Mount Ephraim Range in the west; and darkness crept up from the valleys, and was fast blotting out the tinting and burnishing that had softly rested upon battlements and towers, and the neighboring slopes of Olivet. One by one the city lamps, like fire-flies, twinkled in the growing gloom, and the starry heaven above solemnly marshalled its host, while the cheeks of the young pair were fanned by the balmy evening breeze.
Amabel had great respect for the courage and sincerity of Serenus; but far more than that, his image was deeply engraven upon her heart. But still, after this long time, she felt unready to make the confession, even to herself. As for Serenus, he long had lived among visions, and alternated between hopes and fears. There had steadily gleamed in his soul love for Amabel, and at times ecstasy beyond limit. Of her warm friendship he had no doubt, but of more he was not sure. Who shall interpret human hearts to each other?
But Serenus had long indulged the delightful dream which was constantly before him. The beauty and purity of Amabel made her seem almost like a divinity, worthy of any sacrifice and devotion, if not actual homage. But now, knowing her devoted loyalty to her church and race, what hope could remain for him? Deprived of his position by his own irrevocable choice, and soon to be misunderstood and counted as disloyal to the interests of the Chosen People, he had virtually dashed the cup of bliss from his own lips. Was he not mad in his devotion to a principle, which would not only cost place and reputation, but also wreck his long-nourished hopes regarding Amabel? Such were a few of the thoughts that rushed in a quick procession through his mind, as he was thrown for a brief period into the charmed presence. On her part there was an unwonted reserve. She seemed to feel the approach of a crisis in her life. The deepening shadows veiled her beautiful features, but the large lustrous eyes almost shone through the blackness in soulful radiation.
“The darkness which from without falls upon us is a fitting symbol of that which steals about my heart,” said Serenus.
“Why art thou so cast down, O Serenus?”
“I would fain answer thy question and open my soul to thee, fair one; but a great trial is laid upon me.”
“Peradventure I might help thee to bear it.”
The gloom hid the expression of intense interest which played upon her face as she had spoken. Serenus was also like a bow bent to the breaking-point.
“Sweet Amabel! long have I loved thee! From the time when at the Lyceum thy speaking eyes thrilled me, thy charming soul hath been most dear. Thou art the purest and fairest blossom of Israel in all the Holy City!”
Again the friendly shades of evening veiled the rich flush which mantled the cheeks of the Jewish maiden. She was stirred to the depths of her being, but waited to hear more. Serenus continued,—
“Thou wouldst inquire concerning the trial? Can anything pertaining to love be a trial? I silence my beating heart to tell thee! Dear Amabel, do not think me mad! I accept as true the message of the prophet of Nazareth, whom our own Chosen People counted as a blasphemer, and have crucified! He was innocent, just, and holy! His life was pure, and his love went out to all—even his persecutors. He lived the full divine pattern for both Jew and Gentile. His kingdom is an unseen kingdom, and cometh not with observation. He came not as an earthly conqueror, to throw off the Roman yoke by force, but to show men how to unloose the heavier yoke of spiritual bondage, carnality, and dead works. There is a light which is in every man, but only the Man Jesus hath perfected it in seen demonstration and expression. Through the power of the Father, to which he opened himself, he healed the sick, cleansed the leper, raised the fallen, and saved the sinful, and proclaimed that all these works are possible to all who are filled with the same spirit. He hath departed bodily; but the fulness of life which he showed forth is ever in the world, waiting for manifestation. The outer tumult of our lives may be so hushed that we can hear the voice of Truth in the stillness within. True religion is comprehended in oneness with the Father, and not in ceremonies and ordinances.”
Serenus poured out these thoughts as though they had been burning within him for utterance. After a moment’s pause he continued,—
“This is a new faith, howbeit it hath long had some growth within me. Yea, before the advent of the Nazarene I felt somewhat of its spirit moving in my heart. I have made all these things known to thy worthy father. My reputation and honor among our people is gone, and my work in the Assembly of the Wise ended! When these things that I have spoken unto thee reach the ears of the scribes and elders, I shall be a reproach; yea, persecution may be meted out to me.”
The soul of Amabel was wrung with agony as he continued,—
“Behold my trial! O fair daughter of Gamaliel, I am persuaded of thy loving and pure loyalty to thy father, thy religion, and thy people! I know my burden, and must bear it, even though it crush me! I go out from thy father’s house, and will see thee no more.”
“O Serenus, I know well thy noble spirit! Must these things be?”
Serenus sat with bowed head, and made no answer.
Amabel was a loving and dutiful daughter of a tender father. But with all his kindness, she well knew his firmness, and had no thought of putting it to the test, or raising any question. Her whole training and life had been devoted and consecrated to the religion of her people. While not bigoted or exclusive, she was thoroughly sincere in every service. She also fully divined both the firmness and sincerity of Serenus. She knew that his impassioned utterances about the new religion welled up from the depths of his soul, and saw how dearly they cost him. A great rock had suddenly been rolled across her pathway, and there was no way around it. Silently holding herself, and shrouded by the prevailing obscurity, the great hot tears fell thick and fast.
Fate’s shuttle weaves the web of life with pain;
But in the struggle, see that thou art brave:
When finished, loss may e’en be turned to gain,
And love, perchance, enriched with all it gave.
The moments flew swiftly by. Amabel must be loyal, and she would be brave. She must hide her love, even because of it. If Serenus knew of it, would it not double the bitterness of his own cup? Can love suppress itself in behalf of its own object? Yea, it will suffer all things.
“O Serenus! think no more of me! Thou art a noble spirit, but pray let thy dreams of our future come to an end. There is a great gulf between us, which love, even if it possessed me, could not span. It will be for thy peace if our paths come no more together.”
There was another silence of several moments, during which the heart-throbs of each were almost audible, but no other word could be added. The very palace beneath them was no more immovable than the fate which destiny decreed, both by and for them.
Serenus found the great question echoing through the recesses of his heart, as to the real feeling of Amabel toward him; but there was no solution, and he even recognized that it were better so. What mattered it, so long as the gulf that yawned between them was impassable!
The silence was soon broken by the return of the Rabban, who resumed the conversation that had been interrupted. But he little dreamed what a tension was upon the two young souls.
Serenus soon took his leave, passed out of the palace, and started down the northerly descent of Mount Zion in the direction of his quiet home, which was some distance to the north-west, beyond Hezekiah’s Pool. But before he had come to the end of the sloping palace gardens, he saw some deserted seats among the scattered shrubbery upon one of the terraces, and attracted by the balminess of the evening, sat down. The opportunity for silent meditation and composure after the trying ordeal through which he had passed was very welcome. He would take his bearings anew, and sound the subtle recesses of his sorrows and experiences, and confirm and re-interpret his hopes and aspirations. At length he looked up into the starry canopy above, and entered into communion with the Universal, and his fevered pulse grew calm. He relaxed the soul-tension which had been upon him, and consciously opened his being to the eternal and all-prevailing Love and Goodness, and peace, like a river, flowed in. He was conscious of an universal reconciliation with all things, past, present, and future. The unbounded benediction which overwhelmed him submerged all that had been local, temporary, and disquieting. His soul expanded, and he was conscious of an at-one-ment with the whole order of Nature. It was all in, of, and for him. What, after all, was the sweetness of the purest and most beautiful personal affection but a rudimentary lesson, a detached gleam, from the wide radiance of the unbounded sunlight! His love for Amabel was like a little purling rill, finding its way to the ocean, not to be destroyed, but enfolded in an infinitely Greater. It must become multiplied, until Amabel is in all people, Jew and Gentile, Greek and barbarian. If her form be no more beheld, she shall be an universal interpreter. She is everywhere, even though unseen. Pierce through the rough outer coverings of all souls, and the divine germ of Love is there, only waiting for the light and moisture of consciousness so that it may swell and spring forth. Amabel is in the whispering of the breeze, the glow of the sunlight, the shimmer of the wave, the sighing of the forest, and the patter of the rain-drop. Divine Love at first can be interpreted only through its personified sample, which kindles the beginning of a flame in the human soul.
Serenus lingered long enough to make the world over for himself through the choice of an ideal standpoint. He had learned the secret of spiritual alchemy, so that the Universal was mirrored within him. His spirit enlarged to make room for a mighty influx of love, peace, and power which were borne in upon him. With soul calmed and filled with spiritual might he arose, and with light heart and elastic step started toward his destination. Passing through a long, narrow street just to the north of the tall cenotaph of Mariamne, and leaving the square of the Sheepmarket a little to the east, he continued towards home. It was midnight, and the streets and lanes were lonely and nearly deserted. But as he came near a small secluded open court by the side of a wine-shop, he heard a confusion of voices. He hurried his pace, and coming nearer discerned a prostrate form surrounded by four or five turbulent fellows, who were searching the garments of their victim for valuables. He sprang into their midst; and the onslaught was so sudden that the men, thinking that one of the Roman guard was at hand, scattered and ran in different directions. They already had secured all the booty they could find, and had no disposition to return.
Serenus gently moved the body to a more secure spot not far away, and removing his own tunic, folded it, and placed it under the head of the wounded man. Espying a legionary guard in the distance, who carried a torch, he called to him, and reported the robbery. They carefully examined the man, but found no wound. He was a Jew of small stature, delicate and deathly pale, and, except a hurried gasping for breath, entirely motionless. Everything indicated that he had fainted in the street, and that the young barbarians, finding him in that helpless condition, had taken occasion to rob him. His eyes were closed, but soon there was a little more evidence of animation. At length he began to mutter incoherently, as if dreaming. Serenus loosened his neck-cloth, chafed his limbs, and stroked back his dishevelled locks, and behold, the face had a familiar look. The muttering continued, and became more audible.
“O Cassia! Cassia! O Cassia! Oh! Oh!”
Serenus knew nothing of “Cassia;” but a quick vision of the past flashed before him, and he beheld a face to which the colorless features bore a striking resemblance.
“Saulus! Yea, it is Saulus! My old comrade of the Assembly and the Lyceum!”
It was known to Serenus that Saulus had lodged aforetime at the inn of the Sheepmarket; and as it was not far away, he and the legionary tenderly bore him thither. They knocked at the outer portal; but as it was far into the night, all were sleeping. But continuing, Almon at length made his appearance, and after explanation admitted them. Saulus had become more quiet, but was still unconscious. When he had been carefully placed upon a soft couch, the Roman departed.
“O my dear friend Saulus!” said Almon sorrowfully; “thou hast nearly perished! O Saulus! Saulus!”
He started to arouse his wife and Cassia; but Serenus advised that they be not disturbed, but that he himself be permitted to minister to the unconscious Saulus for a little time before taking his departure.
There was something so reassuring and commanding in the mien of Serenus that the innkeeper consented without a question.
“With the rising of the sun, behold thou shalt see him entirely whole!” exclaimed Serenus.