The Epic of Paul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

'Is Simon playing me false in a deep game
To serve lord Felix at his wife's expense?'
Drusilla wondered; 'would he dare so far?
Does he even seek to make a tool of me?
Of me, Drusilla, make a pliant tool—
I serve their turn forsooth against myself?
Be it so, and let them trow their plotting speeds!
I will try to be as simple as they could wish.'
In secret with herself she wondered thus;
But spoke aloud with cleared and brightened look:
"The storm, I see, which I had quite forgot,
Thanks to the charms of thy society,
Is much abated; let us break our fast,
And then go thou and bid her hither to me,
That pretty child. Tell her I need her much,
For I am deeply sorry for my sins,
And think that, with a little guide like her
To take me by the hand and lead me right,
I could forsake them all and follow with her
Henceforward, a true sister in the faith.
A little lure of harmless simple hope
To win a wicked woman from her ways,
I think thou wilt find useful with the maid,
If, as is likely, she be loth to come."

Felix, Drusilla, and the sorcerer
That morning at their simple meal reclined
Together in a show of amity;
But inwardly it was a state of feud
Or hollow truce of armed hypocrisy.
Eating in silence with small appetite,
Their breakfast soon they ended; Simon then
Withdrew and did his errand. He did more;
For having perforce to meet the mother too,
Whose daughter was seen ever at her side,
He feigned to be himself a penitent,
Protesting his belief that he was healed,
Unworthy to be healed, because Paul came
But near him where he lay sick in his bed;
And this although he had wickedly refused
To see Paul and to suffer Paul's hands on him.
He said his mistress was afraid, as he
Was too, of Felix; both of them must move
Warily, no suspicion to excite
In one so irritable and so violent.
They therefore could not ask for Paul to come,
Or indeed any man among Paul's friends.
But Ruth might safely come and bring the maid
Her daughter. Simon begged the matron would
Kindly indulge Drusilla's preference,
Caprice perhaps it was, for making her child
And not herself—senior, and so more wise
Doubtless—her chosen guide and confidant.
Eunicé's youth had won Drusilla's heart.

All Simon's plausible art could not prevail
To gain from Ruth the promise he desired;
She only told him she would ponder well
What he had said and do as wisest seemed.
But Simon, cheering himself that in the end
Ruth by the tempting bait held out to her,
The hope of doing good, would be enticed,
Went straight to Felix, and with many a wink
Of sly salacious import hinted to him
That he, his master, had quite unawares,
With just his manly martial front and port,
Taken captive a fair Hebrew damsel who,
If all sped as he hoped, would soon appear
There at the mansion, by her mother led,
To feed her fancy on his noble looks.
The simple mother, she knew nothing of it,
But came to visit Drusilla in the hope,
Which, naughty child! the daughter had inspired
Of gaining my lady over to the faith.
Should Felix condescend to speak to her
The maid would be all blushes, that of course,
She coyly would insist she only came
Bearing her mother company to wait
Upon the mistress of the house with her.
Felix would understand how much was meant,
Or rather how little, by the pretty airs
And arch pretexts of feminine coquetry.

It was as Simon hoped: Ruth, overcome
In prudence by her generous desire
To serve a soul in need; some natural zeal
Perhaps commingling to bring home such spoil
Of her Eunicé's winning, a surprise
And joy to Paul and all the rest—so led,
Ruth with Eunicé to Drusilla went.
But not alone; Stephen their counsel shared,
And he, deeply misdoubting of it all,
Went with them. In the inner court he stayed,
Awaiting watchful, eye and ear, while they,
Having with all obeisance been received
And ushered inward by the instructed slave,
Should do their errand with the mistress there.
He was disturbed, when Felix, with a scowl
Askance at him, crossing the court in haste
Followed the women through the selfsame door,
Scarce shut behind them ere he entered too.

It was of her astute design and art,
Drusilla's, that her husband should have scope
To show at full in act before her eyes
What ground of truth there was for Simon's hints
Against his faith to her. She had hid herself,
Not to be seen but see, while in the room
Whither the women were ushered Felix might,
Were such his mind, waylay the pretty maid,
Proving himself what Simon would have him be.

"Thou with thy daughter, madam, art well come;
These are dull days in Melita for us,"
So, with a gross familiar air ill masked
In mock of supercilious courtesy,
Felix to Ruth; who noticed with dismay
That servitor and servitress at once,
As if at silent signal unperceived,
Vanished from presence and left her alone,
Her and Eunicé, no Drusilla seen,
With Felix and his bristling insolence.
Her fears were not allayed when Felix said
Further: "My lady will be glad to see
Thee, madam, for she dies of weariness
In this insufferable place, with naught
Of new to while the endless hours away;
But as for this our pretty little maid,
She shall accept my awkward offices
To entertain her, while her mother waits
Apart on dame Drusilla and chats with her."
So saying, he stepped to the half-open door
And clapped his hands in summons for a slave.
One quickly answered, and the master said:
"Where is thy mistress? Take this madam to her,"
Pointing to Ruth.

Ruth in a whirl of thought
Wondered, 'Are these things all a wicked wile
Of Simon's to entrap us here? Does she,
Drusilla, too, collude? Or does she know
Nothing of all? Or, knowing, does she fear
Felix, and therefore leave us helpless thus?
How far may I abiding true to her
Involve Drusilla in a plea to him?'
She stood, not stirring at the servant's beck,
And spoke in tones held clear and firm with will:
"It is my daughter, sir, the errand has
With dame Drusilla. She shall go to her,
And as the custom is between us twain
We will together go, for twain with us
Is one. Dismiss us, then, I pray, to go."
"Thou art hard-hearted, madam," Felix said;
"One surely is enough to meet the dame
Drusilla, and the other might solace me.
I pay my lady's taste a compliment
In myself choosing for my company,
As seems she chose for hers, thy daughter fair
Rather than thee; for, without prejudice
To thine own comeliness, thy daughter is,
Thou wilt confess it, madam, nay, with pride,
A trifle fresher in her youthful bloom."

Eunicé standing by her mother glowed
With an indignant shame sublimely fair;
It kindled up her beauty into flame
Dreadful to see, had he who saw it been
But capable of awe from virtue shown
Lovelier with noble wrath; Felix admired
Only more fiercely and was not afraid.

A flash of movement instant changed the scene.
Stephen, who, through the door left open, caught
Felix's first ominous words of insolence,
Had, winging his feet with his suspicious fears,
Fled out into the open—whither, scarce thought—
Yet with instinctive wish that went to Paul.
He chanced on Aristarchus walking nigh,
In solitary muse, after his wont;
Him, with such instance as spared needless words,
He hurried forth to find and fetch back Paul.
Returning he dashed swiftly through the court,
Avoiding who perhaps with servile sloth
Reluctant might have moved to stay him there,
And through the door where his Eunicé was
Defenceless in that ruthless robber's den.

The youth's ear, quivering quick with jealous love,
Snatched Felix's last words, his ravening eye
Seized on the splendid vision of his bride
Betrothed, gleaming there in her loveliness
Illumined so with virtue and with shame
Beside her mother, facing such a foe!
His instinct was far swifter than his thought;
Counting not odds, not deeming there was odds,
He like an arrow from a bow that twanged
Shot into place between his bride and him,
That spoiler, and there stood. His face he turned
Defiantly on Felix, lightning of scorn
In sheafs of flashes shooting from his eyes,
Distended his fine nostrils with disdain,
His right arm raised in gesture to forefend,
And his light frame a-quiver with repose
Of purpose to dare all and to prevail.