The company still together though the hour is late, Krishna, at the request of Publius, after a breathing-spell enjoyed by all under the open sky, tells the story of the death of Buddha. A warning recited by him as having proceeded from the dying Buddha's lips against all speech on the part of his disciples with womankind, prompts Krishna to turn, with apology in his manner, in a kind of appeal to Paul, who, answering, gives the contrasted teaching of Christianity on this topic. At the conclusion of Krishna's recital, Publius makes a few characteristic observations suggested by it, and the company, having first agreed to assemble on some favorable day at dawn to hear from Mary the story of the resurrection of Jesus, disperse.
KRISHNA.
Slowly the solemn of late afternoon
Settled into the somber of twilight:
It was a pensive company that there
Sat nursing each his thought as if alone.
Then Julius, out of muse and memory,
Spoke, without harming the suspense of awe
That held all as pavilioned round with God:
"Yea, I remember to have heard it said,
In fact it was a story of the camp
Among us soldiers in Jerusalem,
That the centurion who stood by and watched
The doings of that day and Jesus' death,
Said, when he saw that having so cried out
He yielded up the ghost, 'Surely he was
The Son of God!'"
"The death was wonderful,"
Said Publius, "not like that of any man."
He spoke with reverence far from insincere,
And yet a note of shallow in his tone
Was dissonant to the feeling of the hour.
This, Krishna with a fine discernment felt
When Publius turned to him, and made demand:
"And now, O Krishna, tell us thou of him,
Thy master Buddha, how he met his death.
But first, O friends my guests," he added then,
With volatile quick turn, "let us all forth
Into the open underneath the sky
And shake the languor of our sitting off.
The night is fine, no wind, and weather mild;
A half hour's freedom out of doors to breathe
The fresh air, and with motion loose our limbs
And make our blood brisk, will be nigh as good
As a night's sleep for health to body and mind."
Host and symposiarch, Publius clapped his hands,
And to the servants promptly answering said:
"Lamps, and more braziers brim with glowing coals;
Also refection, cakes and wine, good store."
Therewith the company dispersed at will,
Wandering in groups or singly as each chose.
When, after a brief interval, they all
Were under roof once more, refreshed with change,
Publius said: "The evening yet is long,
And all the night thereafter is ours for sleep,
With an untouched to-morrow if need be
To borrow from and piece the measure out.
Eat ye and drink at leisure and at ease;
Meanwhile, and not to overtask our friend
Here who likewise shall share his equal chance
With us of what may stay hunger and thirst,
Let us content our nobler appetite
With viand brought us out of utmost Ind."
The Roman hugged himself with a pleased sense
That he had turned his genial phrases right.
The Indian for his part, not voluble
By nature, would have wished to hold his peace;
For Mary's tale had wrought upon him so
That he was lost in thought and absentness.
Loth rallied out of mute to use of speech,
He felt the bonds of courtesy and said:
"O Publius, would thou hadst rather been content
To leave this Hebrew story uncompared.
I have no means to parallel it so
As need were I should do for right effect;
Since neither was I present to behold,
Nor lives there record by eyewitness made."
As these words wavering from the Indian fell,
The dimness of the lamplight in the room,
Clouded with fumy issue from the flame,
Seemed to become a symbol of that dark,
That doubtful, that uncertain, which he thus
Shadowed his tale withal—strange contrast felt
To the eyewitness truth and lifelikeness
Of Mary's story by full daylight told.
But Krishna heartened himself to firmly say:
"Howbeit there is tradition that we trust.
This holds the voyage was peaceful toward the end,
The voyage of Buddha through the last of life;
Not without pain, but peaceful as was fit
For voyage slow tending to the port of peace.
There was no persecution of the Buddh;
Or he had long outlived it ere his death.
He died among old friends who loved him well,
Soothing him toward nirvâna with all heed
Of healing words spoken to him or heard
From him, and nothing lacked to stay his steps,
As he declined gently, with neither haste
To go hence nor desire to linger here,
Down the slow slope that slides into the sea
Of utter, utter void and nothingness.
"It was a kindly office rendered him
By a fast friend, Kunda his name, that brought,
He far from meaning it, the master's end.
Kunda prepared his master's food, a dish
Of swine's flesh dried, with savory messes dressed.
Our lord waxed weary with walking, for he was old;
Full fifty years long since his wasted youth
(Wasted his youth had been on fleshly lusts),
He had gone the beggar's ways from door to door
While he taught men how to escape from life;
Weary thus, Buddha rested in a grove
Of mangoes; his disciples, a great band,
Accompanying. Kunda's was the grove, and he
Sat by the master's side, and with his ears
Drank in deep draughts of wisdom from those lips.
Then he besought the master to partake,
The master with his disciples to partake,
Refreshment on the morrow at his house;
By silence Buddha signified assent.