SAUL AND RACHEL.

Saul thus forlorn, a voice smote on his ear,

Voice other than of Shimei, clear and sweet;

The very sound was balsam to his pain.

Rachel's the voice was, who, with deep distaste,

As jealous for her brother, had perceived

The entering in to Saul of his late guest

Ill-favored, and through all his stay had still,

Impatiently awaiting, wished him sped.

He now some moments gone, she issued forth

From out her curtained chamber glimpsing gay

Behind her, through the hangings, as she passed,

With color — stuff of scarlet, linen fine

Embroidered, weft of purple tapestry,

Her handiwork — and sending after her

Sweet scent of herb and flower, her husbandry —

Forth issued, and across the inner court

Open to heaven — small close of paradise,

A tall palm by a fountain, bloomy shrubs,

And vines that clad with green the enclosing walls —

Stepped lightly to Saul's side. Saul sat beneath

A tent-cloth canopy outspread, his own

Tent-making skill — the high noon of the sun

To fend, if place perchance one then might wish

In which free air to breathe safe from the heat —

There sat relapsed, deep brooding gloomy thoughts,

When now his sister pausing stood by him.

A lovely vision! Moving, or at rest,

Ever a rapture Rachel seemed of grace

Which but that moment that felicity

Of posture or of gesture had attained,

By accident, yet kept it, through all change,

Inalienably hers, by right divine

Of inward rhythm that swayed her heart in tune.

The sister had, with love's observance, watched

Some days the phases of her brother's mood,

Biding her time to speak; and now she spoke.

“Brother,” she murmured softly, “thou art sad.

Thy brow is written over like a scroll

With lines of trouble that I try to read.

Unbind thy heart, I pray, to me, who grieve

To see thee grieve, and fain at least would share

Such brother's sorrow as I may not soothe.”

This suave appeal of sister's sympathy

Won upon Saul to wean him from himself —

A moment, and that moment he partook

Comfort of love, nepenthe to his pain,

While thus he answered Rachel:

“Nay, but thou,

My sister, thou thyself art to me rest

And solace. Sit thee down, I pray, beside

Thy brother. But to have thee nigh as now

Refreshes like the dew. I bathe my heart

In thee as in a fountain. Ask me not

To ease its aching otherwise than so.

Pillow me on thy love and let me rest

In silence from the sound of my own voice.

I hate myself, Rachel.”

“But I love thee,

My own dear, noble brother,” Rachel said;

“I love thee, and I will not let thee hate

Thyself. Brother and sister should be one

In love and hate. Hate what I hate, and what

I love, love thou — that is true brotherhood.”

“Safe law of brotherhood indeed for me,

With thee for sister, Rachel,” Saul replied,

With fondness and self-pity, as he kissed

The pure young brow upturned toward him; “but me,

Thou dost not know me as I know myself.”

“O nay, but better, brother,” Rachel said;

“Right hate is good, as good as love. So, hate,

But not thyself, Saul. Shall I tell thee one

To hate? I hate him, and I counsel thee,

Hate, Saul, that evil man I saw but now

Steal from his too long privilege at thine ear.”

“Him, Rachel,” Saul replied, “I cannot hate;

Hatred is made impossible by scorn.”

“Thou scornest him,” she said, “but not too much

To have been disturbed by him. The cloudy brow,

So unlike my brother — I have brought it back,

I see, dear Saul, by only mentioning him.

Hate him well, Saul, and be at peace again.

To hate is safer, better, than to scorn.

We scorn with pride, we must with conscience hate,

Such hating as I mean. Thou art too proud, Saul.”

Saul answered, “For my pride I hate myself.”

But she: “Were it not wiselier done to hate

One's pride, than for one's pride to hate one's self?

Whoever hates himself for his own pride

Still keeps the pride for which he hates himself.

Hate and abjure thy pride, and love thyself.”

“Easy to say, O Rachel, hard to do,”

Sighed Saul,— “at least for such as I, who am

Too proud, too proud! Thou seest that after all

Thou and myself know Saul alike, too proud,

Albeit the too proud man we treat unlike,

Thou loving and I hating him.”

“O Saul,”

Thus spoke she, gazing steadfastly at him,

But sudden-starting tears swam in her eyes,

“O Saul, Saul, Saul, my brother, whence is this?

Thou wert not wont to talk thus. Changed art thou

Since when I heard thee speak in that dispute

With Stephen —”

“Thou heard'st me?” asked Saul.

“Yea, Saul,”

Rachel replied, “I heard both thee and him.”

( Saul proudly hid an answering hurt of pride. )

“I heard thee, brother, and was proud for thee;

I never knew more masterful high speech

Fall from thy lips. My heart leaped up for joy

To listen. When those men of Israel

Shouted, I shouted with them, silently,

Louder than all. God heard the secret noise,

Like thunder, of the beating of my heart

In sister's pride for brother's victory.

I crowned thee, I anointed thee my king,

So glorious wast thou in thy conquering might!

And that effulgent pride upon thy brow!”

“But when,” said Saul, forestalling ruefully

The expected and the dreaded change and fall

From such a chanted paean to his praise —

“But when” —

“But when, O Saul,” she said, “when he,

Stephen, stood forth to answer thee, there was —

Didst thou not feel it?—”

“Sister, yea, I felt,

More than my sister even could feel, that I

Was baffled, put to shame.”

“Nay, nay,” she said;

“Not that, O Saul, dear Saul, it was not that.”

“What, then? For I felt nothing else,” said Saul;

“That feeling filled me, as sometimes the sound

And stir of whirlwind fill the firmament.

My mind was one mad vortex swallowing up

All other thought than this,‘ Saul, thou art shamed!’”

“Why, Saul,” cried she, “what canst thou mean? Thou shamed?

How shamed?”

“Rachel, I lost, and Stephen won.”

“What didst thou lose?” said Rachel, wonderingly;

“And what did Stephen win, that also thou

Won'st not? I cannot understand thee, Saul.”

Such crystal clearness of simplicity

Became a mirror, wherein gazing, Saul

Beheld himself a double-minded man.

How should he deal with questioner like this?

“Why, Rachel, canst thou then not understand,”

He said, “how I should wish to conquer?”

“Yea,”

Said she, “for truth's sake, Saul. And still, if truth

Conquered, though not by thee, thou wouldst be glad,

Wouldst thou not, Saul? Here sad I see thee now,

As if truth's cause were fallen — which could not be,

Since truth is God's — and yet thou sayest not that,

But,‘ Saul is shamed!’ and,‘ Saul has lost!’ Not truth,

But Saul. I cannot understand. Thou hadst

Perhaps, unknown to me, some other end

Than only truth, which also thou wouldst gain?”

It was his sister's single-heartedness

That helped her see so true and aim so fair.

Saul was too noble not to meet her trust

In him with trust in her as absolute.

“Rachel,” he said, his reverence almost awe,

“Never did burnished metal give me back

Myself more truly, outer face and form,

Than the pure tranquil mirror of thy soul

Shows me the image of my inner self.

The truth I see by thee is justly thine,

And thou likewise shalt see it all in all.

“The law of God was ever my delight,

As thou knowest, sister, who hast seen me pore

Daily from boyhood on the sacred scroll

Of Scripture, eager to transfer it whole

Unto the living tablets of my heart.

And I have sought, how earnestly thou knowest

To make my life a copy of the law.

No jot or tittle of it was too small

For me to heed with scruple and obey.

With all my heart was I a Pharisee,

Born such, bred such, and such by deep belief.

“But more, my sister. Musing on the world,

I saw one nation among nations, one

Alone, no fellow, worshipper of God,

The True, the Only, and by Him elect

To be His people and receive His law;

That nation was my nation. My heart burned,

Beholding in the visions of my head,

The glory that should be, and was not, ours.

Think of it, sister, God Himself our King,

And bondmen we of the uncircumcised!

I brooded on the shame and mystery

With anguish in the silences of night.

I saw the image of a mighty state

Loom possible before me. Her august

And beautiful proportions, builded tall

And noble, rested on foundation-stones

Of sapphire, and in colors fair they rose;

Her pinnacles were rubies, and her gates

Carbuncles — I beheld Jerusalem,

The city of Isaiah's prophecy;

Her borders round about were pleasant stones.

She sat the queen and empress of the earth;

The tributary nations, of their store,

Poured wealth into her lap, and vassal kings

Hasted in long procession to her feet.

The throne and majesty of God in her

Held capital seat, or his vicegerent Christ

Reigned with reflected splendor scarce less bright.

Such, sister, was the dream in which I lived,

Dream call it, but it is the will of God,

More solid than the pillared firmament.

“Was it a fault of foolish pride in me,

Did I aspire audaciously, to hope

That I, by doing and by daring much,

Beyond my equals, might beyond them share

Fulfilments such as these? I heard a voice

Saying,‘ Prepare the Lord His way.’ I thought

The Lord was near, and what I could, I would

Do to make wide and smooth and straight His way

Before Him, ere He came. I trusted Him

That, when He came, He in His hands would bring

Large recompense for servants faithful found,

And not forget even Saul, should haply Saul

Not utterly in vain prove to have striven,

Removing from the path of His approach

The stone of stumbling.

“Sister, these are thoughts

Such as men have, but cherish secretly,

Even from themselves, and never speak aloud

To any; I have now not spoken these

To thee; thou hast but heard a few heart-beats

Rendered articulate breath by grace of right

Thine own to know the truth, who hast the truth

Revealed to me.

“O other conscience mine,

Wherein have I gone wrong? I felt the power,

Asleep within me, stirring half awake,

To take possession of the minds of men

And sway their wills; the world was not too wide

To be the empire I could rule aright,

As chiefest minister, were such His will,

Of God's Messiah. Some one needs must sit

At His right hand to hear and execute

His pleasure — why not Saul? Who worthier?

But now, alas! less worthy who, or who

Less likely? I am fallen, am shamed — past hope,

Past hope! I who aspired to greatest things

Am to least things by proof unequal found!

How shall I not hate Stephen, who has wrought

On me this great despite — besides what he

Wrought on the suffering cause of truth divine?”

Rachel's heart heaved, but in what words to speak

She did not find. Saul into his dark mood

Retired, and sat in silence for a while.

Returning, then, for torture of himself,

To that which Rachel brokenly began

To say, and left unsaid, Saul asked of her:

“What was it, sister, thou beganst to tell,

When, not thy brother, but thy brother's spleen,

Broke thy words off with interruption rude?

Something it seemed of how, at Stephen's words,

A change fell on thee, from thy first applause

Of me —”

“O Saul! A chasm of difference,”

So to her brother, Rachel sad burst forth,

“Yawns betwixt thee and me this day, how wide,

How wide! I feel the bond of sisterhood,

Stretching across, not strained to break — for that

Shall never, never be, in any world,

O brother, truest, noblest, best beloved!—

But strained to draw thee to me where I am

From where thou art, far off, albeit so near!”

“A tragic riddle which I fail to read,

Rachel,” said Saul, perplexed; “solve thou it me.”

“Brother, I fear I cannot,” Rachel said;

“But loyally I will try. When Stephen stood

To answer thee that day, a power not he

Oppressed my spirit with a sense of weight,

Gentle but insupportable, which grew

Instantly greater and greater, until it seemed

Ready to crush, unless I yielded; Saul,

I yielded, and that weight became as might

Which passed to underneath me and upbore.”

“Rachel, be simpler,” Saul severely said;

“My soul refuses to be teased with words.

Meanest thou this, that Stephen mastered thee?”

“Nay, Saul, my brother,” meekly Rachel said,

Meekly and firmly; “Stephen not, but God.

No man could master me away from Saul.

Proudly I was thy vassal sister, Saul,

Until God summoned me with voice that I

Might not resist; God's vassal am I now,

But sister still to thee, and loyal, Saul,

Beyond all measure of that loyalty

I held before, which made me proud of thee,

And glad of thee, and spurred me on to praise

My brother as the paragon of men.

O Saul —”

“Nay, Rachel,” Saul said, with a tone

Repressive more than the repressive words,

“I will not hear thee further in this vein.

Thou art a woman, and I must not blame

Thy weakness; sister too to me thou art,

And I will not misdoubt thy love; but thou

Hast added the last drop of bitterness

To the crowned cup of grief and shame poured out

For me to drink. Go, Rachel, muse on this:

A brother leaned an aching, aching heart

Upon a sister's bosom to be eased,

And that one pillow out of all the world

To me, that trusted downy softness, hid

The cruelest subtle unsuspected thorn.

Saul's sister a disciple and a dupe

Of those that preach the son of Joseph, Christ!

And this, forsooth, the fruit that was to be

Of Saul's aspiring trust to strike the stroke

That in one day should crush the wretched creed!

Rachel, methinks thou mightst have spared me this!

But nay, my sister, better is it so.

Haply no barb less keen had stung me back

To my old self and made me Saul again —

The weakling that I was, to pule and weep,

As if the cause were lost and all were lost!

I thank thee, sister, thou hast done me good,

Like medicine — like bitter medicine!

Tell me true, Rachel, thou didst feign me this,

To rouse me from my late unmanly swoon.

That is past now; I rise refreshed and strong,

I see my path before me, stretching straight,

I enter it to tread it to the end.

Doubt not but I shall feel the wholesome hurt

Of the shrewd spur my sister, with wise heart

Of hardness, plunged full deep into my side

Betimes, when I was drooping nigh to sink.

Peace to thee, sister, cheer thee with this thought,

‘ I saved my brother from the last disgrace

By a disgrace next to the last — it was

A hard way, but the only, and it sped!’”

Such cruel irony from her brother cut

The tender heart of Rachel like a knife.

But more for Saul she grieved than for herself;

She knew that naught but anguish of chagrin

The sharpest could have tortured out from him,

So noble and so gentle, any taunt.

From sheer compassion of his misery,

She wept, and said:

“O Saul, Saul, Saul —”

But he:

“Rachel, no more; already deep enough,

I judge, for present use, the iron has gone;

I shall not falter; thou mayst safely spare

To drive it deeper now — it rankles home.

And surely, if hereafter I should feel,

At some weak woman's moment, any touch

Of foolish tenderness to make me pause

Relaxing and relenting from my course —

A sad course, Rachel, traced in blood and tears!—

Should ever such a softness steal on me,

Surely I should but need remember thee,

Thou younger playmate of my boyhood! thee,

Mirror, that was, of saintly sisterhood!

Loveliest among the daughters of thy race

Once, to thy brother! fountain flowing free

Of gladness, never sadness, unto him!—

Never of sadness until now, but now —

O Rachel, Rachel, sister, changed this day

From all thou wert to what I will not name —

Surely I shall but need bring back this hour,

And let the image of my sister pass —

O broken image of all loveliness,

Distained and broken!— pass before my eyes,

As here I see her, separate from me

Forever, and outcast from God — that thought,

That image, shall make brass the heart of Saul,

And his nerve iron, to smite and smite again,

Until no wily Stephen shall remain

For any silly Rachel to obey!”

Fierce so outbreathing threat and slaughter, Saul

In bitterness of spirit broke away.