 | Jesus of Nazareth |  |
51
Scene III.
The banks of the River Jordan. Ben-Aaron and Jesus conversing.Ben-Aaron.
I've sought thee here—for many a year I've known
Thee and thy mother well—her anxious heart
Hath lately found its solace in outpouring
Her griefs, her haunting sorrows, in mine ears.
Thou art her grief, her sorrow,—thou hast mixed
Thy name, thy work, with such a rabble crew!
Thy mother heard that here on Jordan's banks
Along with John the harebrained mad fanatic
Her son was preaching to a motley crowd
Of listeners,—outcasts, malcontents, gay women,
Beggars and fools and revolutionists!
Meet for a mother's hearing—tales like these!
I, on the spur of the moment, started off,
For I have ever taken—as thou knowest—
Sincere pure interest in thy welfare, son.
What news shall I return with? Shall I tell
Mary that thou, acceding to advice,
Wilt henceforth spend thy time in nobler deeds,
Thinking high thoughts in fairer company?
Jesus.
There are two voices calling unto man
Through life, and both are sweet—the voice of friends,
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This voice in many accents murmurs, “Tread
With us the trodden old familiar ways
That lead along the valleys, where the flowers,
Smiling, each summer morning greet the sun:”
But yet another voice, most strangely sweet,
Calls from the mountains, from the starlit dome
Of night, from clouds and sunlit heights of air,
Saying, “Follow to the end the lonely path
That leads along the rugged mountain-side;
Then shalt thou, when thy feet have climbed the heights,
Behold God's glory and be one with him.
A thousand prophets' souls have yearned to see,
Yet never seen, the things thou shalt behold,
For God, desired from all eternity
By seer on seer, for thee is virgin still;
Untouched for thee within the glittering walls
Of his fair starlit palace, lo! God waits”—
Ben-Aaron.
Death rather! Dreams like these have ever death,
And bitterest death, for sequel—
Jesus.
Death itself
Is but the palace-gate. Beyond the gate
Towers high the palace, and within God waits
Superb for man's possessing; he who holds
In his embrace the God of all the stars
What needs he more of light of any star,
Seeing that the Maker of all stars is his,
His own, and his for ever?
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Just one word;
I grant thee this, that even a mortal may
By one sure road—one only—past all heights
That ever mortals dream of travel on
Till face to face with the eternal God
He stands forth wholly godlike, but the way
Is not for thee to tread—the way alone
Is open unto him whose brain hath power
To store all knowledge, knowledge of all times,
All lands, all cities,—secrets of the stars,
Secrets of far-off history, dangerous lore
Long buried, but for him resuscitate;
Who, most of all, hath learnt from woman's heart
Secrets God cannot teach, or, if he can,
Jealous, holds back from mortals. Not for thee
This high pursuit of knowledge—it needs learning,
Research and labour far beyond thy power.
Yet thou mayest quit this desert, change thy ways:
What message shall I bear to Nazareth?
Thy mother hath sought thee sorrowing.
Jesus.
Tell my mother
No more to seek me. Wherefore did she seek?
Following my Father's voice, I left my home
And sought the desert; God is with me here:
I, seeming thus alone, am not alone,
Never alone, because the Father is with me.
Ben-Aaron.
Foxes have holes, the birds of the air have nests,
Thou only hast not where to lay thy head.
Justice there is in that—thou art unwise:
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Yes, gaze around. Is this stern rocky spot
A fitting palace for the Son of Man?
Leave unto John his locusts and wild honey,
His frantic preaching, and his proselytes:
If I mistake thee not, thy soul is dowered
With nobler gifts for nobler ends than these.
John's fate is certain; Antipas will soon
Wake from his trance, and in some hideous prison
John's mad career will find its fitting close.
But thou—thou art not, with those blue soft eyes
That all the women love, those auburn locks
So all un-Jewish in their golden sheen,
Thou, made by God thus fair to look upon,
Art made for pleasure, not for blood-stained ends.
Men call thee Son of Man: be Son of Man
In all man's fulness—drain the cup of life;
Thy Father puts that glad cup in thine hand!
Jesus.
Nay, life is this—to do the Father's will;
To save the race by loving to the end
All saddest strays and outcasts of the race.
I come to preach the deathless law of love,—
The law whose nobler force shall abrogate
The bitter code our teachers call the “Law.”
That “Law” shall perish: ever clearlier shines
The vision of my task before my gaze;
What centuries have wrought I will undo,
For one bold heart can utterly undo
The heaped-up folly of ages.
Ben Aaron.
Vainest hope!
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Man is far stronger—far more stupid too
And therefore stronger, for in this our world
Folly is strength; the gathered race of man
Can overpower with its collective might
And choke to silence with its brutal grip
A single prophet, be he e'er so bold.
Jesus.
Not so! for even that prophet's blood-drops speak;
The stones with which they stoned him win loud tongues
And cry through all the future's ringing days,
“This prophet was of God; from God he came,
But you, ye viper-brood, sprang forth from hell!”
Ben-Aaron.
And little shall that prophet gain thereby!
Jesus.
Blind that thou art—thou seest the green fair earth,
The blue fair sky, the stars, the kingly sun,
The mountains, fields,—thou thinkest these are all,
And that no kingdom by man's eyes unseen
Waits fair within the heavens.
Ben-Aaron.
Nay, give to me
The starlit kingdom of a woman's heart;
Give me the sunshine in a maiden's eyes;
These are real things and priceless.
Jesus.
Love to thee
Is just the moment's joy, but love means more
To God and those who trust him—yea, it means
A joy that deepens through eternity.
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Thou art but young, thy thoughts are crude as yet:
What hast thou seen—thou filled with heavenly dreams—
What hast thou seen of earth? The holy city
Thou, Son of Man, hast never gazed upon.
When thou art weary of John's wild preaching here,
Visit Jerusalem: thy mind will open;
New thoughts will thrill thee, and thine heart will turn
Ardent towards nobler issues—thou art still
Rustic in manners, rustic in thy speech;
Thou art, as yet, uncultured, Galilean
In all thy views, and 'mid uncultured folk
Thy life has half been wasted.
Jesus.
Friend Ben-Aaron,
The rough uncultured folk are those who see
The face of God most clearly. Oftentimes
Upon Gennesareth's waves my heart hath felt
God's pure strange sweetness thrill it: fishermen
Are nearer unto God than men in towns;
In every sunset they behold God's splendour
And in the clouds they trace the heavenly city.
It does not need a scholarship profound
To spell God's name correctly.
Ben-Aaron.
Then again,
Another thing—thou art fair and full of life,
Keen-witted, bright, pure-blooded, but as yet
What know'st thou of the strange sweet world of women!
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The Lord may be, but sweeter lips than his
Wait in Jerusalem, and hearts most eager,
Doubtless, to hear the Galilean's teaching!
I don't deny it, Galilean girls
Are fair—indeed I've known some very fair
And one—but let that pass—there are far fairer
Within the city's walls; as yet, my friend,
Thy knowledge is defective.
Jesus.
If I go
Up to Jerusalem—and I may go—
It will be there to face the Pharisees,
The Scribes, the Priests, the expounders of the Law;
Aye, in the solemn Temple's very courts
I'll speak the message of a God who reigns
Among the mountains, on the wind-kissed shores,
Whose kingdom's keyless gates are open wide,
Whose precincts harlots enter.
Ben-Aaron.
If thou dost
Thou'lt have against thee all the gathered force
Of all good women, and thy work will end
In most conspicuous failure. Woman hates
Nought with such venomous hate as fallen woman!
Jesus.
And let the Temple's marble pillars rise
August to heaven—their ornate shafts shall fall
Prone on the pavement! Yea, I will destroy
Their Temple made with hands, and in three days
Raise up another.
Ben-Aaron.
Wise and modest words
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I will note them down;
They may be useful. (Aloud)
But enough of this:
Visit Jerusalem—take my advice—
Life comes but once, but once to all of us,
And life is worth the living; live it out,
And live it grandly. Now, my friend, farewell.
(Exit Ben-Aaron).
Jesus.
I'll to Jerusalem—as far as this
He argues not inaptly. Well I know
That in sequestered Galilee my sphere
Of work is over-narrow. I must face
There at Jerusalem the learned folk:
“No prophet comes from Galilee;” a prophet
Shall come from Galilee before whose might
Their strength shall be as weakness. Death may lurk
Awaiting me within the city's walls;
But death—and, it may well be, death alone—
Can nobly crown my mission.
(Exit Jesus).
| Jesus of Nazareth | |