Victor Serenus

“Art thou ill, Saulus? Behold, I heard thee speak loudly as if in anguish, and thou calledst my name.”

“O Cassia! I had fallen asleep, and dreamed of evil. Regard it not, I pray thee!”

“But, Saulus, thou art pale and trembling. I will bring wine to refresh thee.”

“Nay, I want for nothing but peace and rest, and they can come only of the Future.”

“I would give thee comfort, Saulus. Behold thou didst call my name! Wast thou dreaming of me?”

“Little Cassia! I had a vision that some fateful Power was bearing thee away, and as we were separated thou didst stretch out thy hands imploringly toward me. What meaneth the vision? Is it that we must part?”

“O Saulus! Knowest thou not that it was but an idle dream?”

“But thou only canst interpret it. Behold, O little Cassia, thy image abideth in my soul. I love thee! Wouldst thou be parted from me? Does another possess thy heart? Heaven grant that my fears have been idle concerning thee!”

Cassia, with her pale face full in the moonlight, and her large eyes bedewed like morning flowers, listened as he poured out his heart. At length her lips moved.

“O Saulus! I love no one else! Throughout all thy absence thou hast been dear to me! Thy image hath been enshrined in my soul! My dear Saulus”—but her emotion was too powerful for further words.

She bent her bright young face upon his shoulder, and the feeling that her love was now free to show itself was like the breaking of a great barrier. Her voice was choked, and her heart beat wildly.

Saulus put his arm gently around her light form, and looking up, said,—

“Heaven bless the day when first I saw thee!”

The orb of night hath looked down upon many such scenes among the children of men.

* * * * * * * * * *

There was a few moments of silence, for the overcharged souls were too full for utterance. Happiness, sweet and irresistible, unchangeable and forever, was assured. The shining firmament above their heads was now echoing a great benediction, and the dread vision of an hour before had dissolved and was forgotten. Nothing henceforth could rend such a cementing of affection. They were one in love, motive, and religion; and there was but a single dream of the future. At length the agitation with which their souls had been surcharged was calmed, and a mystical and indescribable repose was borne in upon them. Not merely their own hearts, but the silvery sheen of the moonlight upon them, the still night air around them, yea, the whole universe, spoke of love; and there was no other language.

* * * * * * * * * *

Not until they were about to part did their thoughts descend to things mundane, or even to the stirring religious events of the day, or those which the morrow might bring forth.

“I had delight in thy valiant defence of our holy religion in the synagogue,” said Cassia. “I watched thee through the lattice, and rejoiced in every word thou didst utter. I am exalted to possess the love of one who is so loyal to our people. Thou art strong to bring the false teachers and all our enemies to naught.”

“I am doubly rewarded by thy favor in my chosen work.”

Changed was the world, religion, life, and the future to both at the close of that evening upon the house-top.

CHAPTER XVII

A ROMAN PARADE

“Roomy EternityCasts her schemes rarely,And an æon allowsFor each quality and partOf the multitudinousAnd many-chambered heart.”

The spread of the New Faith, and the hold that it took upon increasing numbers of the common people of the Holy City, furnishes a wonderful illustration of the inner power of a simple, spiritual religion. Its purity and depth were outwardly manifested by the general subordination among its followers of the strongest of all human passions,—selfishness. They were so filled with the spirit of brotherhood that they counted it a privilege to put their possessions into the common stock, in order to give to each one as he had need. There was no forced or legal communism, but a voluntary local and temporary dominance of the great future human Ideal. The law of the inherent blessedness of giving out—whether of spiritual or material treasure—was practically realized, and the harmonizing and uplifting power of a true reciprocity proven. The exercise of a helpful ministry marked a real nobility and greatness, and its activities of relief and healing make up a unique epoch in human history.

Wherever religion has dropped from simplicity and spirituality, and become scholastic, dogmatic, ceremonial, or a matter of the State, it has lost its power to mould life, and heal the weaknesses and disorders of mind and body. With almost no organization, system, or theology, there was a dynamic quality among the primitive believers, the phenomena of which are worthy of the study of every one who would fathom the divine economy of man. A gospel, or “Godspel,” was manifested. The joy and gladness which came from a demonstration of the practical working of the divine spirit in humanity was the natural fruit of a release from the shackles of a dead ceremonialism. It was a spontaneous outburst of what before had been within, but latent.

The divine, unchangeable Perfection had not changed or improved in the “pouring out” of the Spirit, but human receptivity was newly and voluntarily opened. Religion, as a spiritual life, introduces a practical oneness with, and re-enforcement of, divinity in man, which fruits in “wonderful works” as a natural and orderly articulation. The bestowment of spiritual favor on the Godward side can never be less than full and perfect, else would there be variableness and uncertainty. Law, which is divine method, is as reliable in the spiritual as the material realm; and the same compliance with its orderly activity and employment will forever bring like results. The “signs that follow them who believe” will never fail, but belief in this sense signifies a spiritual understanding deeper than mere intellectual assent. A renewal of the marvellous “works” of the Primitive Church will come whenever a like spiritual dominance over external conditions is gained. Chronology changes no law of Being. The divine economy, being eternally perfect, is not subject to the wavering moods of human vacillation. They must conform to it, and not it to them. Then, as man comes into at-one-ment with divine laws and forces, he is backed by their energy, and commands their accomplishments. The New Dispensation was new only to the awareness of man. The variation of personal standpoint makes a seeming movement of the whole divine Order.

Serenus had been long ripening for the conditions which came into outward exercise so spontaneously among the primitive believers. In the earlier part of his life, while among the Essenes and Therapeutæ, he had witnessed much of the power which is linked to spiritual devotion, and participated measurably in it. His transparent character and inner development, with the active exercise of a healing ministry, had marked him as rare in attainment while young in years. But during his connection with the school of Gamaliel, these qualities were somewhat quiescent, while a more distinctive intellectual development was taking place. But under the influence of the new movement his spiritual forces came to the front in full measure. He was everywhere active in healing the sick, strengthening the weak, instructing the ignorant, and sowing the seed for a spiritual harvest. His miracles of healing came from an intelligent wielding of the divine potencies, which, unrecognized and latent, dwell in the inmost of every human “image of God.”

In the early morning of the day after the meeting in the Cyrenian synagogue, there was a street parade of Roman legionaries, as was usual at short intervals, that the people of Jerusalem might have constantly before their eyes the tokens of imperial dominion. The imposing military column started from the Tower of Antonia, and after marching around a long circuit, passed through the Square of the Sheepmarket on its return. Most of the Jews, especially the better classes, resolutely kept out of sight, with every portal and window closed, as the hated Romans passed by. But to the rabble, music and pageantry were attractive. The blare of trumpets signalled their approach. In advance was a vanguard of spearmen, with gilded helmets, mailed breastplates, and shields upon the left arm, marching with a rhythm so perfect that they seemed like a huge machine, working with automatic regularity and perfection. The bronzed faces, brown, muscular limbs, and mailed armor, with their exact mechanical swing, made them seem more like men of iron than of flesh. Then came the ensigns, with banners and pennants floating in air, and in their midst, upon a tall rod, an emblematic gilded eagle with outstretched wings. Next were bowmen and slingers in close column of ranks and files, stretching out far in the distance. Then a group of mounted officers, commanders of cohorts, and centurions with a guard, and long array of cavalry, all speaking eloquently of the heavy mailed hand of Cæsar. The huzzas of the soldiers were often answered by the hisses and sneers of the onlookers, but outbreaks were not frequent. But as they passed the inn of the Sheepmarket, Rabbi Abdiel looked down upon them from the roof, and with a sudden impulse raised his arms toward heaven, and in a loud voice called down upon the moving mass the curses of Jehovah. At first the soldiers gave no attention to his maledictions except to send up a few jeers and shouts of derision; but as he continued, a centurion below gave an order to a rank of soldiers,—

“Enter and seize the Jewish dog! To the Tower with him!”

This was done, and the location of the offending inn noted. But there was no halt of the long, glittering column, which continued its winding march until it passed over the great drawbridge, and was lost to sight as it entered the broad frowning portal of Antonia.

Upon his return, the Commandant of the Tower found a little deputation awaiting him with a petition. They were members of the congregation of the New Faith, who having heard that a tumult was probable at the Cyrenian synagogue, and that the young deacon Stephanos was in danger, asked for the protection of the Roman authorities. The request was heard, but refused, and they were flippantly dismissed.

“By Bacchus!” said the Commandant. “We are not here to take account of all your hair-splitting religious quarrels and tumults. We understand them not, and have no care for them so long as Cæsar’s prerogatives are unquestioned. Fight out your own differences! Your petition doth not concern us!”

At a later hour the meeting at the synagogue was to take place. Long before the time, the room was crowded to the utmost, and a dense throng gathered in the streets outside. There was an air of unwonted excitement and expectation. Wild rumors had flown thick and fast, that Stephanos would boldly attack the whole ceremonial system, and that there was a strong faction organized for resistance. It was said that if he offended they might forcibly bring him before the Sanhedrin, which would be in special session.

The meeting opened. Stephanos arose calmly, and, after reading a few passages from the prophets, began his address,—

“Brethren and friends! Again with joy I proclaim unto you the first fruits of the New Dispensation of the Spirit of Truth. The Word of the Lord is increased; and mighty works, signs, and ministries are being wrought in our midst. From out of the dead works of your ordinances and traditions there has sprung a New Faith, even that proclaimed by the Nazarene, who rebuked your hypocrisy, and laid the foundation of an unseen and universal spiritual kingdom. Lo! as he hath prophesied, the Spirit is ‘poured out,’ and many not of the Levitical order are inspired to teach and preach.”

As Stephanos continued, he waxed eloquent, and spake with great vigor. It seemed not to be the young man himself who was speaking, but some mighty power which was manifested through him. A Spirit was within which was so intense that it shone through his face, and his words were so powerful that his hearers were spellbound.

But the spell was broken by a signal which was at once followed by a fierce rush upon the platform. The bustling form of Saulus, with fiery face, flashing eyes, and clinched fists, was in the midst; and above the noise of the uproar his loud voice echoed through the synagogue,—

“Seize the traitor! Down with the blasphemer! Drag him out! To the Sanhedrin! To the Sanhedrin!”

The members of the Society of the Urim were in the forefront; and besides, there had gathered a rabble from the streets who were eager to join the mob. A little band of the disciples of the New Faith clustered about Stephanos with devoted and loving faithfulness, but acted only as a defensive shield, and were soon borne down by the force and ferocity of greatly superior numbers. Amid wild shouts and confusion the little band was scattered, and Stephanos seized and taken out of the synagogue.

“Ha! Where is the great kingdom? Hath it been set up? Where is its throne?” said Saulus. “We shall make short work of thee and all thy kind! Come on, witnesses! To the Sanhedrin! To the Sanhedrin!”

Stephanos was dragged up the steep road to the “Hall of Squares,” where the august court was in session. On the way he made no resistance, and amid jeers, savage yells, and curses, was led along. With loud commands, Saulus headed the throng.

The seventy-one members of the Sanhedrin were seated at the farther end of the spacious hall, in tiers of seats rising from the centre, and sweeping around in an imposing semicircle. Annas was High Priest and presiding officer on this occasion. They had been apprised of the fact that Stephanos would be brought before them, and were ready to receive him. He was led in by Saulus and the witnesses; as many of the throng following as could find room in the public part of the hall. Everything was ready, and pointed to a foregone conclusion. The charges were made; and the witnesses stood up, one by one, to confront and make testimony against their victim.

“I heard him speak against the Holy Place, and blaspheme the Law.”

“I heard him declare that the doctrine of the Nazarene would destroy the Temple service, and do away with the Law of Moses.”

“I heard him say that he despised our sacred traditions and ordinances.”

“I heard him call our chief priests and Rabbis hypocrites, and speak of a new kingdom not of the Chosen People.”

“I heard him proclaim the Messiahship of the Galilean pretender, and blaspheme Jehovah.”

“I heard him speak against the Circumcision, and call the Nazarene the Son of God.”

Then the High Priest, clothed in the imposing robes of his office, arose, and waving his hand, asked Stephanos to plead by answering the formal and customary question, “Are these things so?”

Stephanos arose to make answer. Young, handsome, and tall, with dignified manner, he wore an unwonted grandeur in looks, words, and action. He began an eloquent oration. As he proceeded, he seemed transfigured by an inner consciousness which fairly illumined his countenance. He looked his accusers in the face, and they quailed before him. Even the fevered and fierce glance of Saulus was cast down when the penetrating look of the saint was turned upon him. A marvellous inner light shone out through his face, which entirely transformed its expression. It was heavenly, rather than defiant, but to the onlookers it was awful. While it radiated love and spiritual exaltation, to them it was threatening and terrible. Overshadowed by the Shekinah, there was an intangible halo about him, in which they saw mirrored their own guilt and condemnation. As he continued, a raging passion boiled in their hearts, even though for a time they were spellbound. His amazing courage and stinging truthfulness were paralyzing, and they could no longer look upon that terrible face.

At length Stephanos stopped short in his unanswerable argument, and there was a moment of silence. Then he gathered up the full measure of his righteous wrath, and hurled it in their indignant but shrinking faces. He denounced them as betrayers and murderers, and lashed them with invective, terrible but true. Then the awful spell was broken, and their pent-up hatred burst all bonds. The wonted sedate and dignified Sanhedrin exploded with anger. Unable longer to maintain any semblance of judicial procedure, they waxed hot, gnashed their teeth, clinched their fists, and hissed and howled like wild beasts.

Traitor! Blasphemer! Slanderer! Reprobate! Heretic! were some of the names that were hurled at Stephanos from all directions. He was not abashed, but the burst of holy indignation which had gone forth from him was ended. It was aimed at their actions and customs rather than themselves. Though severe, it was not vindictive or intended for insult, but awakening. But reason was unavailing. Righteousness is a standing menace and rebuke to guilt. Nothing can be more hateful.

Stephanos lifted his eyes from the malignant faces, rendered demoniacal by surging passion, and looked up as if in a trance. The Sanhedrin, with all its bitterness, faded from his sight, and became to him as though it were not. An ecstasy was upon him, and he saw a beatific vision. While the human wild beasts around him growled and thirsted for his blood, his eyes were fastened upon a realm of eternal peace, harmony, and glory. His sublime and all-powerful faith ushered him into the kingdom of the Real, while the temporary and incidental shrank to their relative nothingness.

The Sanhedrin regarded itself as eminent, respectable, and humane, but its members were utterly unable to cognize the truth that was clear and open to Stephanos. To them their anger was a righteous anger, which exercised itself in the service of Jehovah. The psychological wave of rage swept every member of the Jewish High Court off his feet, and bore him on. But were they sinners above other men? History before and since teems with like transactions, among all nations, and in the name of all religions.

Stephanos had spoken against things which were sacred and infallible. It was not alone his burning eloquence, but its terrible truth, that cut them to the heart and made their blood boil. But now his animate body was yet in their midst, but he was no longer there. He was listening to a heavenly harmony, and not to a deafening clamor. Expecting him to continue, they had stopped their ears to shut out his polluting blasphemy. Then, with one impulse, they arose in a mass, and rushed upon him. Their decision was spontaneous, and without any legal formality or deliberation. They dragged him away to be stoned outside the city gate. The spirit of persecution transformed the dignified Sanhedrin into a revengeful mob.

Saulus prompted the witnesses when they gave testimony, and when the explosion occurred was among the foremost. In the rush that was made from the hall to the street his diminutive form was at the front, and with glowing face and violent gestures he urged on their impetuous movement. As they passed along the streets toward the Damascus Gate, they were joined by great masses of excited men, women, and children. Stephanos made no resistance. Shouts and imprecations filled the air. The members of the New Faith, being few in number and non-resistant in their philosophy of living, made no opposition. No herald preceded him to proclaim his name and crime as was usual in regular cases of legal condemnation. No bitter draft containing frankincense to stupefy the senses, and take away the edge of pain and terror, was administered, and none was needed. Stephanos could not suffer; for he was already in the midst of spiritual liberty, joy, and peace. The seething mob hurried his animate form along, and passed out to the north of the city to a piece of open ground on the border of the valley of Jehoshaphat.

Stephanos calmly kneeled down without being bound or fastened, still looking up and beholding a vision of glory. His upper garments were stripped off; and then, for the first time, a regular proceeding was observed, in that the witnesses were to cast the first stones. At length all was ready, and for a moment there was a silence which was oppressive. Stretching out his hands toward his murderers, he besought from above their forgiveness, and gave them his benediction. The stillness continued, the witnesses were spellbound, and the throng awed and immovable. The supreme grandeur and spiritual beauty that shone through his face dazzled and benumbed them, and almost deterred them from their purpose. There was a visible shrinking, and each waited for the other to make the first move. But Saulus sprang forth and broke the spell. With frantic manner and loud voice, he cried,—

“To your work, O witnesses! Finish the Blasphemer! Heresy must be crushed! Hand me your garments that nothing may encumber, and cursed be he who holds back.”

The tragedy was soon ended.

The body sank to earth, its resting-place;Not so the man. He lives to truth and right.He flung behind all strife, and in the raceMounts on and up, though lost to mortal sight.

The crowd soon melted away; and many seemed fearful, oppressed, and ashamed of their part in the transaction. Even those members of the Sanhedrin who had accompanied the throng were troubled in spirit, and made haste to get away. But Saulus was undaunted, and returned exultant and proud. He made his way back to the Sheepmarket; but the news had preceded him, and as he entered the inn he received the congratulations of all except Rebecca.

In the evening of the same day the little group met in the court as was wont. Rabbi Abdiel was of the number, having been released from the Tower.

“Thy day’s work hath been well done,” said the venerable Jew. “We would that such things need not be, but heresy must be destroyed. Mercy to our people and their precious traditions demands that false doctrine be uprooted, and that without remedy. Such is the will of the Lord.”

“I am persuaded that this pestilent delusion must be put down at once,” replied Saulus, “or peradventure it will spread beyond all bounds. I shall take up the work with power, and the High Priest and the whole Sanhedrin will give me all authority. I glory in the effectual door that is open unto me whereby I may do such service.”

“These are tumultuous days,” said Benoni. “I had not believed that my eyes would behold such things in the Holy City, but anon they wax worse and worse. But it is expedient that thou continue as thou hast begun.”

“Behold, O son of Benoni! thou art chosen from among our people to lead in this great service,” said Almon.

“It behooveth me to bring this conspiracy to naught, and I shall lose no time in its discomfiture.”

Rebecca drew her brother aside, and putting her arm about him, softly said,—

“O my Saulus! I am persuaded that the young son of Israel who saved me from the throng on the day of Pentecost would condemn this day’s proceeding! Remember he called himself ‘the friend of Saulus.’ ”

“Did he belong to the sect of the Nazarene, or speak well of it?”

“Behold I wot not how that may be, but he was so kind and noble that I feel he would have none of persecution! O Saulus! must you continue this business?”

“Thou deceivest thyself,” said Saulus, with an impatient gesture. “The man is no friend of mine, and if he be a follower of the Nazarene he will suffer with the rest.”

“O Saulus! I pray that he may be spared. Behold the favor which he showed me!”

“I say unto thee I know him not; and if he be a heretic, woe be to him!”

“I shall try to find him out and warn him!”

“It would be well for thee, Rebecca, to leave the Holy City, and seek thy home in Tarsus!”

Saulus petulantly turned away, and passed out of the court-yard.

Cassia was waiting in the passage, and sped to give him congratulation.

“O Saulus! thou art noble and brave!” she exclaimed, embracing him. “I glory in thy courage and service. Behold I love thee even more than I was wont!”

Saulus returned the warm greeting.

“Cassia, love, I have great joy in thy favor. I live for thee!” Then grasping her small hand he gave it a warm kiss, and hastened to his chamber.

In the solitude of his room and stillness of the night, he sat down to review the events of the day. His exhilaration, and even the indorsement and congratulation of his friends, gradually seemed to vanish, and he was almost forced to look within and become more familiar with himself. He was surprised at the clearness and depth of the picture of the scene of the day which seemed to be burnt into his very soul. The tragedy beyond the city wall stood out before him in every detail. The throng, the shouts, his own share, the murderous act of the witnesses, the kneeling victim, his entreaty of pardon for his slayers, all riveted his attention as keenly as when they were taking place. It was as though his mind had been a tablet of stone, with the whole scene deeply chiselled in characters which could never be erased or hidden.