CHAPTER XLVIII

IN PERIL OF GREAT CHANGES

Now, when Simon's trial was still fresh in the mind of him called Sarcogenes, that monster sate in a little wine-house of the city, a den disreputable. For so it suited this great, vile man to do. In such places he could hear about the conduct of the world as never a soul might learn of it in the courts of Cæsar. Furthermore, there was always a chance in such twilit spots, to put poison, here into one unsuspecting ear, there into another, which chances, elsewhere, he might not have had.

And Sarcogenes drank and drank again.

For he had come, in that hour, from the palace of Cæsar, wherein he had had conferences with the Lord of the World concerning the future worship which was to be accorded by the peoples to Cæsar's divinity. At this conference, the man Ophidion (for so now even he himself thought) had behaved badly. He had forgotten to flatter Cæsar, as the Ape of the Devil would have had himself to be flattered. This, the man that was born of the flesh told his own self plainly, was the direct consequence of the effect which Simon of Cyrene's speaking out upon the trial-speaking out, that is, both as about Jehovah and also as about Christ-had had upon even him, Sarcogenes, which was truly Ophidion, the lesser snake. Cæsar had said, "Thou, Sarcogenes, I consider as my friend. (Art thou not the master of the revels here?) Well, as friend and companion of thy Prince, thou art now confronted with this question, Whether thy Prince, even I, Cæsar, had better order and declare that, hereafter, all the sacrifices of all the world shall be made unto me, Cæsar, and in my name, and whether all the temples of all the world, save mine own only, should be abolished-or, at the very lightest, closed and again opened, but only in the name of Cæsar."

And Sarcogenes, because of the words of Simon of Cyrene, which still were sounding in his astonished ears, trembled and was afraid to say to Cæsar that which the Lord of All this World desired to hear. He advised therefore, instead: "Nay, Cæsar; I would not do this." Then had Cæsar's gorge risen, and his lips cursed the curse that was in his heart.

But Ophidion (finished courtier that he was) corrected himself, saying unto Cæsar: "Thou didst not let me say my say out. I meant to have added that it were better to teach the peoples that all the other gods than thou are merely thine attributes. For, first of all,

this is literally true. And, second, the peoples will not then be offended (as otherwise they must of a certainty be) by the abolition of all their aforetime gods, to whom indeed they are greatly attached. Thirdly, they will, in that gradual wise, come without any offense, and without any insurrection, to look upon thee as the one god only. Then, later, thou canst, if thou wilt, and devoid of any trouble, abolish all other gods but thyself only."

And Cæsar was merely pleased in part-greatly to Ophidion's marvelling, for he had not perceived that, of late, Cæsar had grown more and more jealous of his godhead.

And Cæsar had thundered, "Wast thou, fool, in any wise affected by the outspeaking of the Jew?"

Sarcogenes sware that not in any wise had he been touched or shapen thereby. Yet verily, as he said the words, he shuddered. This was seen of Cæsar, whose eyes became narrow with hate.

Then had Cæsar dismissed Sarcogenes, who had forthwith come down to this dim wine-shop.

Therefore, as he pondered, he drank, and drank yet again. For he wished to forget the mistakes he had just made with Cæsar, yet still more the words which were ringing, each hour the more strongly, in his ears, and which Simon had spoken in the Court of Cæsar before him, Ophidion, and before Cæsar himself, and before all the gods and the priests and the nations of the world.

In such manner he became foolish, and talked of flies. But remembering who he was, and that, if he became too talkative, he might, on a day, be obliged to explain unto Cæsar, he arose, and cursed, and paid his reckoning, and left the caupona.

The shadows of the city were lengthening over the seven hills. He said, "I, like Simon of Cyrene, am very lonely: I am truly a lonely man." Yet, as he entered his own house, he went not out among the servants, but into a secret chamber, where, being all by himself, he felt not quite so solitary as he would have done among his own ser

vants.

And having arrived here, he cried in a sudden agony: "Oh God! Oh God! How cruel even to the sinner is a life of sin! I believe in thee, O Jesus, and I tremble. Pity thou me." He paced the secret apartment for a little while, with hand over heart, whispering: "Courage, courage! It will all soon be over, and thou shalt be thyself again." Then he apostrophized, "Ah, Simon of Cyrene, hadst thou not been a crypto-Jew, hadst not pretended to be a worshipper of Cæsar and of gods lesser than he, then mightest thou surely have known again thy true wife, Berith. Or even- But thou hast had

thy choice.-Jehovah! Thou who livest out of space, and whose acts are wholly exempt from time and from time's tolls and secret re venges, behold there are other wills than thine. There is the Jew's. There is mine also."

He had just opened the false bottom of the box in which he kept his copy of the Scriptures, including the letters of Paul and of James, and others that had been written with a sacred pen. But there was also in the box "The Book of The Beast," in very many volumes, which had been sent unto him by Levitas, of Gaul, and which had been written by Porneius and Porneia, as well as by a far worser prostitute, Infidelitas. He took out certain of the sacred rolls (and not the others on this day) and kissed them, and started to read. But then he cast the parchments to the floor and trampled them. "What! Shall I throw myself upon mercy, though that of the Eternal? Shall I confess my sins? Where is my pride? Help thou me, Satanas. I pray unto thee. And curse thou all these scriptures, and all men which had to do with them, in especial Simon of Cyrene."

Yet, in that very moment wherein he cursed, had it happened that Simon of Cyrene came unto him, or the bearer of Christian light, Christopherus, he, even Sarcogenes, who was also Ophidion, might have confessed his sins, passing over unto Righteousness.

But so it was not ordained to be.

And Ophidion had heard the truth, ere now, times innumerable out of the mouths of babes and of sucklings and of men that were very wise. Yea, from his own poor servants, out of their mouths also had he often heard the truth. And yet he accepted not Jesus.

But now, the rather, cursed he Simon of Cyrene. He said, "I will get thee, O thou Simon; for I see a way. I perceive what it is that hath come across the mind of Cæsar. I will make thee a Christian, if I can. In any case, Cæsar shall be jealous, yet more jealous, of his godhead, as concerneth thee, and shall hate thee more for that than he shall love thee for thine inexhaustible wealth. Let me see. The best of mine agents- Who shall poppy thee, O Jew, into sweet rest any more, until that thou art stricken by death, either in the Mines of the Wretched, or else on a cross? And the slower the way, the better."

He beat upon a gong, whereat two servants (which knew about this chamber, and waited upon it) came. Sarcogenes said, "The Jew woman, O Marcion and Apelles." The woman was brought by the mastigophorus.

Said the Man of Sin, "Beat her."

The woman looked unto him, crying: "Have pity on me, since I tremble."

"Pity!" shouted he, vomiting language which seemed to have come from the refuse of all the tongues of earth, "I will have thee flayed alive, an if thou once callest for pity again.

The mastigophorus beat her with many stripes, so that she fell, at length, fainting.

Whereat Sarcogenes said, "Yet another hour for her of work each day. And may all the curses of Hades rest upon thee, O thou detestable Amahnah.”

And Simon, when he had come back from his loud (but futile) rejection of the Christ before the whole Basilica, had had music and slept.

He awoke, and said unto Conatus: "Did I leave this place and go back unto the Basilica, or did I but sleep?"

Conatus said, "Master! Master!"

Simon slept again, and again awoke. He said to Conatus, "I dreamed that I awoke and spake with thee a little while ago, but I only dreamed. Now I know that I wake. And happy times await me surely, for I also dreamed of Berith. Then he remembered the part which he had played in the Basilica, his brow was sore troubled.

"Why," asked he, "Conatus, art thou ever a man of so great peace? When all the world is on my shoulders (or so it seemeth, and I am not Atlas either) why hast thou only peace?"

"I, Master!"

"Thou. Tell me thy secret. I see thee ever with an infinite exaltation in thine eye!" Then, as Simon looked upon his servant and true friend, he believed yet again that he beheld in the eyes of the humble Conatus, the sweetly solemn look of Christ, and he rose quickly, and said: "Away!"

"Master!"

"Away! Get hence!"

But he quickly got thence himself, and, passing out among the courts, made haste to that loneliest place of all, the place of the evergreens, the viridarium. For behold he was lonely, and in the midst of solitude and silence, was less of a hermit than among his own peoples.

He went, therefore, in among the cypresses, and sate in the cold white seat which there was in the midst of the darkness, there beside his unsunned sun-dial.

He knelt and prayed. But whether to the Father alone, the man himself knew not. Yet he prayed, and rose again, and sate melancholy in the seat, and said aloud to his soul: "As the sparks fly

upward! And rather had I upon me even now the gray garments of my simple shepherdhood than all these."

He thought of everything which had been said and done at the trial, whereat he had been tried of so many crimes before Cæsar. Once again he beheld the vast Basilica, seeming to stand out great yet also trivial before him, devoid of space and time, with its multitude of priests and philosophers, its gods of marble and of bronze, yea and all the peoples of the mighty world, and Demos and Vulgus and Mobilis and Defectus, and that Grand Accuser, Ophidion, and Cæsar himself with Philautia by his side. How he had thought to place a seal of closeness over his lips that day. Yet how he had spoken like a brazen trumpet to the world. "Jehovah! Jesus!" Was there any that had not heard? And of what avail his impassioned rejection afterward?

"Why was it that I so spake, and did ruin me? Might they notthese Gentiles, these idolaters-have seen, if see they would, the walls of our synagogues? Might they not have entered into them whenas they wished, and have become our proselytes at will? But thou wouldst speak, O vain tongue, thou wouldst speak! And thou hast spoiled everything. Even as I did have the very heart of Cæsar in my fingers, thou spakest up and didst ruin me.

"Or, O Lord God, usedst thou me? Or was it only in my heart already that I should say those things, and yet I knew it not?" Like a lighted lamp in a cavern, this idea began to illumine in his mind. various hitherto unsuspected recesses and (as he supposed) dangerous pits of belief. "Methought I had been a crypto-Jew, yet was I not conversant-" There was an eternal conflict somehow between himself and (so he believed) his surroundings, which was the world.

The wingéd seeds were being blown about by the restless wind, and one of these, chance-borne (or so it appeared to Simon) came finally within the circle of the cypresses, and so to rest in the halfclosed palm of the Jew. Simon held it idly, turning it now and again with uncomprehending fingers. And did see the seed not, for his pore-blind eyes were fixed on nothing.

What thought Cæsar now of his speaking out? What, in especial, thought Philautia and what the world? He pondered deeply. Then, What thought his own people of these matters? What the Christians? The more he pondered, the more inextricably perplexed he became. He began, also, to see himself, through a long succession of grievous days, more and more perplexed continually. Would death end all before Death!