The Epic of Paul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

Drusilla summoned Syrus, and said to him:
"Thou lovest thy master and thy mistress well—
Better, I think, of late than once thou didst."
"My master and my mistress both I love
So as, I trust, to serve them faithfully,"
The slave, a little hard bestead, replied.
"Aye, I have noted thy true love for us;
Be sure, lad, thou shalt nothing lose thereby,"
Drusilla wheedlingly resumed; whereat
Syrus could not refrain himself from saying
In so much spurning of the sense implied:
"Yea, noble lady, none can ever lose
Aught by obeying Christ the Lord in heaven."
"What meanest thou, boy?" Drusilla sharply said.
"Lord other than lord Felix hast thou then?"

Syrus was sorry he had gone so far;
Yet loyalty to Jesus and to Paul
Wrought in him, and, supported as it was
With instinct of unquenchable revolt
From Felix and Drusilla both alike,
Buoyed him and kept him firm in that assay.
"Yea, madam," he replied, "I have a lord,
Christ Jesus, crucified once, but alive
Now and ascended far above all height
By the right hand of God in heaven set down."
'That is of Paul, that surely is of Paul!'
Drusilla reasoned; then, with threatening brow,
To Syrus: "Whence these things to thee? The truth—
Thou hast heard Paul, and learned such lies from him?"
"I have heard Paul, yea, madam, and have learned
From him such truth as makes me true to thee
Beyond what ever I had been before."
"Aye, aye, no doubt," Drusilla, musing, sneered.
A light broke in upon her mind; she said:
"That precious runaway, Onesimus,
He, I suppose, heard Paul, and got himself
Puffed up with these same notions of a lord
In heaven, which set him feeling free of us.
Tell me, what knowest thou of Onesimus?
Did he hear Paul? Where is he now? Tell me,
Thou rogue, for verily I believe thou knowest."

Shrewd as he was, Syrus conceived a hope,
A sudden simple hope that if the truth,
The beautiful mere truth, were told her now,
Drusilla, yea, Drusilla even, would feel
Its power. So he rehearsed the history,
How that Onesimus, induced by Paul,
Had gone back to his master at Colossæ;
How that his master, for the love of Paul
Who had erst won him to the love of Jesus,
Had bidden Onesimus return to Rome
There in his stead to minister to Paul;
How that Onesimus had gladly come,
And was that moment gratefully with Paul.
Drusilla listened, but she gave no sign;
She had in truth been listening absently,
Absorbedly considering what fresh proof
To purpose against Paul perhaps was here.
She said to Syrus: "Aye, a pretty tale
To entertain thy mistress' ear withal!
Why never can you people tell the truth?
You always seem to think you must contrive
Some falsehood, though the truth would better serve.
Well, well, it is your way. But now, my lad,
Be ready, when thy master to his bath
Shall presently repair, bring me prompt word.
An errand I shall have for thee to him
That as thou lovest him thou wilt love to do."

Syrus, as bidden duly coming, heard:
"Take this, my lad, let not a drop be spilled,
And bearing it to thy master say to him,
'Thy lady sends a sleeping-draught to thee,
And with it wishes health and placid sleep.'"
Syrus, deep scrupling, 'Fair is this, or foul?'
Yet found no way not to fulfill the word.
Felix said: "This is strange. What sayest thou, boy?
Thy mistress sends me this? Thou liest, thou wretch!
This is thine own work; thou wouldst do me dead;
Drink it thyself, thou varlet, and go sleep.
Thou wilt not? Nay, but yea thou wilt, thou shalt;
Now, let me see thee drink it every drop."
And with his trembling hand the debauchee
Gave Syrus back the chalice.

"Let me call
My mistress; thou shalt hear from her own lips
Whether she did not send this draught to thee,
Charging me not to waste one precious drop.
I know I should offend by drinking it.
But thou mightst take it somewhat heedfully,
Trying it drop by drop at first to prove
Its virtue and its fitness to thy case."
So Syrus pleaded; and his master said:
"That is not spoken like a poisoner.
But so thou darest, rascal, cast a doubt
On what thy mistress sends in love to me?
Thou shalt pay dear for that; for I shall tell
Her thou presumedst to advise to me
A care, forsooth, how I partook her cheer.
Here, give it me, and I will toss it off—
One swallow—there!—and lay me down to sleep."

Drusilla, soon thereafter called again
To audience with the emperor, high in hope
Went radiant with her beauty; but was vexed
To find Poppæa seated by his side
As if assessor of his judgment-throne.
She sat resplendent in her robes of state,
As queenly in her person and her port;
Yet of a soft delicious loveliness
That took Drusilla captive by its charm.
Aspiring as she did to rival her
Drusilla thought involuntary thoughts
Of admiration mixed with jealousy:
'No wonder that she sits there throned by him,
Imperial lovely creature that she is!
That bloom of youth and beauty on her cheek!
The tempting undulation of repose
Suggested underneath the graceful folds
Of vesture that flow down the supple limbs
And softening into curves of lusciousness
The statuesque perfection of her form!
But pampered with what pains of luxury!
They say five hundred asses follow her
Wherever she makes progresses abroad
And spend their milk to brim a bath for her,
That her sweet flesh and delicate lose not
That melting softness and that lucency!'
'The wanton!'—so she virtuously thought.

Poppæa was all graciousness; she bade
Drusilla trust her friendship utterly.
She had had herself her sorrow; whereat tears
Orbed large her lucid eyes and fairer made.
She quoted Dido out of Virgil, saying,
"'Myself not inexperienced in distress,
I learn to succor who are miserable.'
My Otho—but that wound is yet too fresh!
Why had lord Felix died so suddenly?
He had no need to die so—if he took
His own life rashly in despair; his cause
Was far from lost—in fact, was safe enough—"
"His brother Pallas," Nero interposed,
"Had seen to that; but there were reasons of state
Why his acquittal should not yet transpire."
"Indeed I comforted my spouse with hope
All that I could," Drusilla wiped a tear
Responding, "and it was not suicide,
I think now, but a prompted murder base."
"Murder is rampant everywhere in Rome,"
The Rhadamanthine Nero sadly said;
"But we think little of it till it stalks
Into the sacred circle of our own
And strikes down husband, mother, ruthlessly!"
Poppæa and the emperor joined hands
In tacit token of sweet sympathy.

'Such acting! Can I hope to equal it?'
Drusilla, not a little dashed in spirit,
Said to herself; 'yet let me not despair.'
"Madam, thy husband's death must be avenged,"
So Nero, with imperial complaisance
But in a manner to dismiss the theme.
Accepting the dismissal meant, and yet
Attaching to her dutiful reply
A hint to tempt him on, Drusilla said:
"I thank thy majesty for saying that;
And the same stroke will many crimes avenge."

Had she achieved her wish? She could not guess.
Nero, as if with shift of aim, inquired:
"Thou art late arrived in Rome from Palestine;
What dost thou chance to know of this man Paul,
Prisoner here, like thyself Jew in blood?"
"I thank thee too that thou hast asked me that,"
Drusilla with judicial candor said;
"Aye, Paul is of one kindred with myself,
I blush to say it; he is a renegade,
Offscouring, outcast of his countrymen.
I pray thee judge thou not our race from him."
"But our sage Seneca, my schoolmaster,"
Smiled Nero with imperial pleasantry,
"Speaks otherwise of Paul. I bade him go
Visit the Jew philosopher in chains
And sound him of the depth of wisdom his.
He brought me back a wonderful report;
'A little transcendental,' so he said,
'Too much of Oriental mysticism,
But sane at bottom, and a man of worth.'
Tell us about Paul. I should be much pleased
To put to blush my old oracular
Smug Seneca with proof that he for once
At least mistook; a fine old gentleman
Is Seneca, but too infallible;
In fact, intolerably infallible.
I cannot stand infallibility—
Except my own and thine of course, my dear
Poppæa! When they come to deify
Us, we shall have to be infallible.
That is, supposably: I will inquire
Of Seneca; he is my arbiter,
Know, madam, in these minor points, as is
My superfine good friend Petronius
In those more serious points of etiquette."

Drusilla masked amazement, listening keen
While this young portent of an emperor
Let play his humor of hilarity.
Eccentric and incalculable curves
Of orbit, pure caprices of career,
Might seem to be the movement of his speech;
But always, from whatever apogee,
It failed not its return to bitterness:
The playful tiger gnashed his ravin fangs.
Still turning toward Drusilla, he went on:
"Behooves, lady, thine emperor of the world
Should be well schooled in all things; I abound
In tutors at my elbows to nudge me;
Old Burrus there, I have not mentioned him—
No disrespect intended—what thinkest thou?
Schoolmasters and schoolmistresses and all,
Is there not risk they overstep the bound?
So few know where, just where, the limit is.
My own dear mother—to her ashes peace!—
Sacred as was her right, if she had lived
Might yet have come to manage overmuch."