Victor Serenus. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ there stood before him a beautiful young woman. With a flash of recognition the heart of the Roman leaped to his throat.

      “Marcius!”

      “Alethea!”

      The light increased; and the form, in every detail, stood out with lifelike color and distinctness. She wore a long silvery white robe, the folds of which were lightly gathered by a girdle, and swept in easy lines to her feet. The bare neck, arms, and shoulders were of a pale rose-color or flesh-tint, and the bosom palpitated with emotion. The face was clear, calm, and natural, with an expression of sadness about the eyes; and the blond hair, thrown lightly behind the shoulders, reached below the waist. There was breath and life.

      “Alethea! Dost thou still live? Was thy death, then, an idle tale? Whence camest thou to this place?”

      “Marcius! I come from the world of spirits.”

      “Surely, thou art no ghost! Thy bosom heaves with life, and thine eyes glisten with warm emotion. Let me again fold thy beautiful form to my breast, and feel thy warm breath; for I love thee still.”

      “Marcius! thou wert false, heartless—cruel! I loved thee with a pure and single devotion. After deceiving me, thou didst cast me off.”

      “Oh, say not so! Try me once again and I will be”—

      “Nay, thy time has past. Thou art incapable of love, and it shall remain unknown to thee. Thy baseness hath blasted it forever! From henceforth the world shall be to thee a wilderness.”

      “Alethea! curse me not! Thou art living flesh and blood! Thou hast not died! Come to me once more!”

      “Marcius, I curse thee not! but mortals must reap as they have sown.”

      “Not so! I will persuade thee! Alethea, thou shalt again be mine!”

      He advanced, and clasped her in his embrace. But his arms encircled only the thin, cold air.

      It grew suddenly dark, and voices and groans and shrieks echoed from all directions. Thrusting his fingers in his ears, and with a chill which penetrated to his very bones, he turned and fled to the cella.

      CHAPTER IX

      SOLILOQUY OF GAMALIEL’S DAUGHTER

      “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.”

      The tumultuous concourse at Gamaliel’s Lyceum dispersed; and Saulus was conveyed, under guard, to the Tower of Antonia. Amabel, who had remained in her seat, catching every note of the disputation with intense interest until its end, stole quietly through the boisterous throng as it hurried into the street, and rapidly made her way toward home. The palace of her father, the Rabban, was situated on Mount Zion, a little to the northeast of the palace of Herod, and commanded a fine view of the Holy City and its environs. As she passed into the entrance-hall, she started directly to acquaint her father with the scene at the Lyceum, but found herself stirred by emotions so unusual that she was impelled to pass the portal of his library, and go quietly to her own apartment. She must have time to think. The air seemed oppressive; and she hurriedly made her way to the house-top, where there was a secluded nook to which she often resorted for study and meditation. Throwing herself into an easy seat, which was sheltered by a light canopy, she mechanically looked down upon the gilded towers, domes, and white roofs which were spread out below.

      The sun, which was just sinking, seemed to linger a little upon the summit of the western mountains, sportively shooting back his rays, and tinting through and through the fleecy cloud-forms which hung lightly over the city, burnishing its bastioned walls and battlements. Just across the valley of the Cheesemongers, and crowning the summit of Mount Moriah, was the great Temple, with its endless courts, each marked by long rows of white marble columns, and proudly lifting itself in the midst of all, the Holy of Holies, wearing a crown of beaten gold. Here was the head and heart of Judaism, including its religion, history, law, prophecy, and patriotism, now, alas! shackled by the heavy hand of Rome, so that even the simplest daily ritual was only possible by the gracious permission of the enemy. From the valley immediately to the north the Towers of Mariamne, Phasælus, and Hippicus lifted their proud heads; while to the east, beyond the Kedron, the bold steeps of the Mount of Olives, scantily clothed with fig-trees and wild olives, were softened and bathed in a purple haze, the parting gift of the orb of day. Jerusalem, and the mountains round about her, were suffused with an ambient air of peace and serenity.

      But the soul of Amabel did not reflect the calm of the world outside. She gave but a passing glance to the familiar surroundings which were wont to be so attractive, because a new world within, but just discovered, demanded attention.

      As the loving and dutiful daughter of the Rabban, she was loyal to her religion and people. She had been feared and educated in the light of its more liberal teachings, and was deeply interested in their promulgation and dominance. But the broader spiritual liberalism of Victor Serenus appealed deeply to her. She started to review his earnest arguments, but was surprised to find that her thoughts constantly glanced from the oration to the orator. After several attempts at calm reasoning, Amabel became impatient with herself. Intellectually gifted, she never before had failed in the efficient command of her faculties. Her interest in religion had been vital, and her devotion thorough; but all at once they seemed to have faded in the light of a new vision which proved rudely aggressive. Again she tried to gather up the eloquent line of reasoning; but anon a mental image, its noble bearing, graceful gestures, manly form, and most peculiarly “those eyes” seemed fastened upon her.

      “What have I to do with thee?”

      Her own question gave her a shock.

      “My logic never before hath denied me service. Thou mysterious, stately, haunting stranger! Why doth thine eyes shine upon me, and thy form possess my imagination? I bid thee adieu!”

      But beyond her control something had taken shape and life, and stood before her, at the sight of which she was thrilled and spellbound. It was an Ideal—her Ideal.

      “Away, airy phantom! I will be myself!”

      But an ideal that fits its place takes possession. It persistently makes itself at home, and receives, not only deserved recognition, but a conscious or unconscious welcome.

      She tried to step outside of herself and look in, in order to interpret, if possible, the vision from an impartial standpoint. Its charm was not lessened.

      A mind may be deeply intuitive, and even philosophical, and yet naïve and artless. With a delightful and childlike simplicity, Amabel was unconscious of her own loveliness.

      She threw aside the light scarf from her head; and her hair, somewhat disordered by the light breeze, played about the ivory neck which her light robe partially displayed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her large dark eyes unwontedly shining and liquid. Again she turned her gaze within. More truly, the new and mysterious Thing which had possessed her was there, rather than in the distance. Its correspondence or occasion might be without, but it was a subjective force which stirred the Hebrew maiden’s heart. There was a new, unfathomable, and heavenly quickening. Something had been awakened which no power on earth could turn back to its native slumbering latency.

      The evening drew on, but she was unconscious of the flight of time. A charming and divine unrest, which she could not dislodge if she would, filled her soul. O daughter of humanity! who shall interpret thee to thyself?

      She looked out upon the lamps that twinkled over the Holy City, but saw only the Ideal. The soft evening breeze that fanned her cheek СКАЧАТЬ