Common natures can only be lightly touched by the immeasurable depth of
anguish that is experienced by a soul that despairs of itself; but the
more heavily the blow of such suffering falls, the more surely does it
work with purifying power on him who has to taste of that cup.
Paulus thought no more of the fair, sleeping woman; tortured by acute
remorse he lay on the hard stones, feeling that he had striven in vain.
When he had taken Hermas’ sin and punishment and disgrace upon himself,
it had seemed to him that he was treading in the very footsteps of the
Saviour. And now?--He felt like one who, while running for a prize,
stumbles over a stone and grovels in the sand when he is already close
to the goal.
“God sees the will and not the deed,” he muttered to himself. “What I
did wrong with regard to Sirona--or what I did not do--that matters not.
When I leaned over her, I had fallen utterly and entirely into the power
of the evil one, and was an ally of the deadliest enemy of Him to whom
I had dedicated my life and soul. Of what avail was my flight from the
world, and my useless sojourn in the desert? He who always keeps out
of the way of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered to the
end-but is he therefore a hero? The palm belongs to him who in the midst
of the struggles and affairs of the world clings to the heavenward road,
and never lets himself be diverted from it; but as for me who walk here
alone, a woman and a boy cross my path, and one threatens and the other
beckons to me, and I forget my aim and stumble into the bog of iniquity.
And so I cannot find--no, here I cannot find what I strive after. But
how then--how? Enlighten me, O Lord, and reveal to me what I must do.”
Thus thinking he rose, knelt down, and prayed fervently; when at last he
came to the ‘Amen,’ his head was burning, and his tongue parched.
The clouds had parted, though they still hung in black masses in the
west; from time to time gleams of lightning shone luridly on the horizon
and lighted up the jagged peak of mountain with a flare; the moon had
risen, but its waning disk was frequently obscured by dark driving
masses of cloud; blinding flashes, tender light, and utter darkness were
alternating with bewildering rapidity, when Paulus at last collected
himself, and went down to the spring to drink, and to cool his brow in
the fresh water. Striding from stone to stone he told himself, that ere
he could begin a new life, he must do penance--some heavy penance; but
what was it to be? He was standing at the very margin of the brook,
hemmed in by cliffs, and was bending down to it, but before he had
moistened his lips he drew back: just because he was so thirsty he
resolved to deny himself drink. Hastily, almost vehemently, he turned
his back on the spring, and after this little victory over himself, his
storm-tossed heart seemed a little calmer. Far, far from hence and from
the wilderness and from the Sacred Mountain he felt impelled to fly, and
he would gladly have fled then and there to a distance. Whither should
he flee? It was all the same, for he was in search of suffering, and
suffering, like weeds, grows on every road. And from whom? This question
repeated itself again and again as if he had shouted it in the very home
of echo, and the answer was not hard to find: “It is from yourself that
you would flee. It is your own inmost self that is your enemy; bury
yourself in what desert you will, it will pursue you, and it would be
easier for you to cut off your shadow than to leave that behind?”
His whole consciousness was absorbed by this sense of impotency, and
now, after the stormy excitement of the last few hours, the deepest
depression took possession of his mind. Exhausted, unstrung, full of
loathing of himself and life, he sank down on a stone, and thought over
the occurrences of the last few days with perfect impartiality.
“Of all the fools that ever I met,” thought he, “I have gone farthest
in folly, and have thereby led things into a state of confusion which
I myself could not make straight again, even if I were a sage--which I
certainly never shall be any more than a tortoise or a phoenix. I once
heard tell of a hermit who, because it is written that we ought to bury
the dead, and because he had no corpse, slew a traveller that he might
fulfil the commandment: I have acted in exactly the same way, for, in
order to spare another man suffering and to bear the sins of another,
I have plunged an innocent woman into misery, and made myself indeed a
sinner. As soon as it is light I will go down to the oasis and confess
to Petrus and Dorothea what I have done. They will punish me, and I will
honestly help them, so that nothing of the penance that they may lay
upon me may be remitted. The less mercy I show to myself, the more will
the Eternal judge show to me.”
He rose, considered the position of the stars, and when he perceived
that morning was not far off, he prepared to return to Sirona, who
was no longer any more to him than an unhappy woman to whom he owed
reparation for much evil, when a loud cry of distress in the immediate
vicinity fell on his ear.
He mechanically stooped to pick up a stone for a weapon, and listened.
He knew every rock in the neighborhood of the spring, and when the
strange groan again made itself heard, he knew that it came from a spot
which he knew well and where he had often rested, because a large flat
stone supported by a stout pillar of granite, stood up far above
the surrounding rocks, and afforded protection from the sun, even at
noonday, when not a hand’s breath of shade was to be found elsewhere.
Perhaps some wounded beast had crept under the rock for shelter from the
rain. Paulus went cautiously forward. The groaning sounded louder and
more distinct than before, and beyond a doubt it was the voice of a
human being.
The anchorite hastily threw away the stone, fell upon his knees,
and soon found on the dry spot of ground under the stone, and in the
farthermost nook of the retreat, a motionless human form.
“It is most likely a herdsman that has been struck by lightning,”
thought he, as he felt with his hands the curly head of the sufferer,
and the strong arms that now bung down powerless. As he raised the
injured man, who still uttered low moans, and supported his head on his
broad breast, the sweet perfume of fine ointment was wafted to him from
his hair, and a fearful suspicion dawned upon his mind.
“Polykarp!” he cried, while he clasped his hands more tightly round the
body of the sufferer who, thus called upon, moved and muttered a few
unintelligible words; in a low tone, but still much too clearly for
Paulus, for he now knew for certain that he had guessed rightly. With a
loud cry of horror he grasped the youth’s powerless form, raised him in
his arms, and carried him like a child to the margin of the spring where
he laid his noble burden down in the moist grass; Polykarp started and
opened his eyes.
Morning was already dawning, the light clouds on the eastern horizon
were already edged with rosy fringes, and the coming day began to lift
the dark veil from the forms and hues of creation.
The young man recognized the anchorite, who with trembling hands was
washing the wound at the back of his head, and his eye assumed an
angry glare as he called up all his remaining strength and pushed his
attendant from him. Paulus did not withdraw, he accepted the blow from
his victim as a gift or a greeting, thinking, “Aye, and I only wish you
had a dagger in your hand; I would not resist you.”
The artist’s wound was frightfully wide and deep, but the blood had
flowed among his thick curls, and had clotted over the lacerated veins
like a thick dressing. The water with which Paulus now washed his head
reopened them, and renewed the bleeding, and after the one powerful
effort with which Polykarp pushed away his enemy, he fell back senseless
in his arms The wan morning-light added to the pallor of the bloodless
countenance that lay with glazed eyes in the anchorite’s lap.
“He is dying!” murmured Paulus in deadly anguish and with choking
breath, while he looked across the valley and up to the heights, seeking
help. The mountain rose in front of him, its majestic mass glowing in
the rosy dawn, while light translucent vapor floated round the peak
where the Lord had written His laws for His chosen people, and for all
peoples, on tables of stone; it seemed to Paulus that he saw the giant
form of Moses far, far up on its sublimest height and that from his lips
in brazen tones the strictest of all the commandments was thundered down
upon him with awful wrath, “Thou shalt not kill!”
Paulus clasped his hands before his face in silent despair, while his
victim still lay in his lap. He had closed his eyes, for he dared not
look on the youth’s pale countenance, and still less dared he look up
at the mountain; but the brazen voice from the height did not cease, and
sounded louder and louder; half beside himself with excitement, in his
inward ear he heard it still, “Thou shalt not kill!” and then again,
“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife!” a third time, “Thou shalt
not commit adultery!” and at last a fourth, “Thou shalt have none other
gods but me!”
He that sins against one of those laws is damned; and he--he had broken
them all, broken them while striving to tread the thorny path to a life
of blessedness.
Suddenly and wildly he threw his arms up to heaven, and sighing deeply,
gazed up at the sacred hill.
What was that? On the topmost peak of Sinai whence the Pharanite
sentinels were accustomed to watch the distance, a handkerchief was
waving as a signal that the enemy were approaching.
He could not be mistaken, and as in the face of approaching danger he
collected himself and recovered his powers of thought and deliberation,
his ear distinctly caught the mighty floods of stirring sound that came
over the mountain, from the brazen cymbals struck by the watchmen to
warn the inhabitants of the oasis, and the anchorites.
Was Hermas returned? Had the Blemmyes outstripped him? From what quarter
were the marauding hosts coming on? Could he venture to remain here near
his victim, or was it his duty to use his powerful arms in defence of
his helpless companions? In agonized doubt he looked down at the youth’s
pallid features, and deep, sorrowful compassion filled his mind.
How promising was this young tree of humanity that his rough fist had
broken off! and these brown curls had only yesterday been stroked by a
mother’s hand. His eyes filled with tears, and he bent as tenderly as
a father might over the pale face, and pressed a gentle kiss on the
bloodless lips of the senseless youth. A thrill of joy shot through
him, for Polykarp’s lips were indeed not cold, he moved his hand, and
now--the Lord be praised! he actually opened his eyes.
“And I am not a murderer!” A thousand voices seem to sing with joy in
his heart, and then he thought to himself, “First I will carry him down
to his parents in the oasis, and then go up to the brethren.”
But the brazen signals rang out with renewed power, and the stillness
of the holy wilderness was broken here by the clatter of men’s voices,
there by a blast of trumpets, and there again by stifled cries. It was
as if a charm had given life to the rocks and lent their voices; as if
noise and clamor were rushing like wild torrents down every gorge and
cleft of the mountainside.
“It is too late,” sighed the anchorite. “If I only could--if I only
knew--”
“Hallo! hallo! holy Paulus!” a shrill woman’s voice which seemed to come
from high up in the air rang out joyful and triumphant, interrupting the
irresolute man’s meditations, “Hermas is alive! Hermas is here again!
Only look up at the heights. There flies the standard, for he has warned
the sentinels. The Blemmyes are coming on, and he sent me to seek you.
You must come to the strong tower on the western side of the ravine.
Make haste! come at once! Do you hear? He told me to tell you. But the
man in your lap--it is--yes, it is--”
“It is your master’s son Polykarp,” Paulus called back to her. “He is
hurt unto death; hurry down to the oasis, and tell the senator, tell
Dame Dorothea--”
“I have something else to do now,” interrupted the shepherdess. “Hermas
has sent me to warn Gelasius, Psoes, and Dulas, and if I went down into
the oasis they would lock me up, and not let me come up the mountain
again. What has happened to the poor fellow? But it is all the same:
there is something else for you to do besides grieving over a hole in
Polykarp’s head. Go up to the tower, I tell you, and let him lie--or
carry him up with you into your new den, and hand him over to your
sweetheart to nurse.”
“Demon!” exclaimed Paulus, taking up a stone.
“Let him he!” repeated Miriam. “I will betray her hiding-place to
Phoebicius, if you do not do as Dermas orders you. Now I am off to call
the others, and we shall meet again at the tower. And you had better not
linger too long with your fair companion--pious Paulus--saintly Paulus!”
And laughing loudly, she sprang away from rock to rock as if borne up by
the air.
The Alexandrian looked wrathfully after her; but her advice did not
seem to be bad, he lifted the wounded man on his shoulders, and hastily
carried him up towards his cave; but before he could reach it he heard
steps, and a loud agonized scream, and in a few seconds Sirona was by
his side, crying in passionate grief, “It is he, it is he-and oh, to see
him thus!--But he must live, for if he were dead your God of Love would
be inexorable, pitiless, hard, cruel--it would be--”
She could say no more, for tears choked her voice, and Paulus, without
listening to her lamentation, passed quickly on in front of her, entered
the cave and laid the unconscious man down on the couch, saying gravely
but kindly, as Sirona threw herself on her knees and pressed the young
man’s powerless hand to her lips, “If indeed you truly love him, cease
crying and lamenting. He yesterday got a severe wound on his head; I
have washed it, now do you bind it up with care, and keep it constantly
cool with fresh water. You know your way to the spring; when he recovers
his senses rub his feet, and give him some bread and a few drops of the
wine which you will find in the little cellar hard by; there is some oil
there too, which you will need for a light.
“I must go up to the brethren, and if I do not return to-morrow, give
the poor lad over to his mother to nurse. Only tell her this, that I,
Paulus, gave him this wound in a moment of rage, and to forgive me if
she can, she and Petrus. And you too forgive me that in which I have
sinned against you, and if I should fall in the battle which awaits us,
pray that the Lord may not be too hard upon me in the day of judgment,
for my sins are great and many.”
At this moment the sound of the trumpets sounded even into the deepest
recess of the cave. Sirona started. “That is the Roman tuba,” she
exclaimed. “I know the sound--Phoebicius is coming this way.”
“He is doing his duty,” replied Paulus. “And still, one thing more. I
saw last night a ring on your hand--an onyx.”
“There it lies,” said Sirona; and she pointed to the farthest corner of
the cave, where it lay on the dusty soil.
“Let it remain there,” Paulus begged of her; he bent over the senseless
man once more to kiss his forehead, raised his hand towards Sirona in
sign of blessing, and rushed out into the open air.