Iii

Midnight. A brothel. Theodora alone. Didymus breaks in.

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Didymus. Grant me forgiveness, lady Theodora! And fear not. I have spent my breath of life, Beating the human hurricane outside, To reach thee first of any. Piteous thing, Flutter not to and fro; thy net is cut: No carrion crow shall ever prey on thee, White dove! The evil room’s alive with light, Thy light shed out; nor am I longer dark, Who see, feel, bathe in it. Oh, what a stream, Full from within, as through a lattice door, Widens around thee in an aureole; From lifted eyes, loose hair, and hands unlocked, Gushes the even glory! While I look, So bright, thou seraph of the golden blood, Rains that pure fire on me, that now I know Of what clear essence thou, not less am I; Yea, I with thee, and all my thoughts with thine, Run up before our God in one straight flame. Child, I am here to help thee: Didymus, A Cappadocian.

Theodora. Heaven be thanked, and thou, For I believe thee! Cappadocia: Was it not there the blessed Dorothy Brought apples to her lover, after death, In token of the riches of that orchard Where Christ walks with His own? Let us go thither.

Didymus. Ah, muse no more.

Theodora. The Lord abide with thee!

Didymus. Though unto me thy voice be like the foam Upon a wave of quiet, thy delay Dearer than wine of roses, rouse thee: haste! How else can I the pact maintain with Him Who bade me loose thee from the snare? Come nigh: Doff thine apparel; put mine armor on. Think but of flight, and safety.

Theodora. Wingèd one, Best brother, brighter than a star, and stronger, Uphold me!

Didymus. Bind thy locks. Alas, I am No angel sent of Christ, nor yet a Christian.

Theodora. Why dwell in lowland shadow? Thou, ere long, Must drink of grace divine the deathless light. On, happy soul: for there are hills to climb, E’en Calvary hill.

Didymus. Art thou not vested yet? The minutes seethe and rush. Oh, had I time, I’d tell thee of my pangs: how it has been From march to march with me; how vehemently The sluices brake in this tormented heart, Last night, ten lives ago; how on yon heights A boy, (not sweeter Hyacinthus was,) Having a pensive garland of green thorns Intrailed among his auburn curls, came by, And with his new-cut reed, and myrrhy lip, Entranced me into slumber; how I saw Thy foster-father, and walked on with him, And heard thy sacred story: thence I sprang Into this hell, where I for thee shall answer. And do thou plead with Christ, for me His thrall.

Theodora. The thong: pray knot it! Gentle Didymus, Here is my robe: the stuff is torn; the stains Began ’neath sharpened spikes, the hooks, the rack.

Didymus. For dress of mine, good in the foray once, That keeps thee and a holy dream intact, Thou giv’st me this, strangely to make of me The athlete of thy Lord. Well, give it so: I kiss each dear and venerable stain, And lay the rended linen over me: Would I were worthier!

Theodora. Cratidas the fond Has somehow faded from me, and our roof Among the date-palms, and my dial old, Set in the myrtle plot that takes the sun. But thou art close and real: thou hast seen The Mystical, the Virgin-born: his name Not Hyacinthus, but Emmanuel. (Much have I startled thee, who art so brave!) None shared with me that vision until now. It was to Him I pledged my early troth, Towards whom I live, for whom I look to die; Whose love was sovereign healing unto me, When late within the torture-cell I lay. His chosen other, kneel not thou to me! There is a Hand that will not let thine fall, As mine doth.

Didymus. Sign me slowly with the cross.

Theodora. So: on predestined brows.

Didymus (after a pause). Thy sandal’s fast, The breastplate firm and fine, each joint in place; Draw low the vizor; let the short cloak hang; And stoop in issuing forth: step hurriedly, As one ashamed, whom his loud sins pursue. Go thus, secure.

Theodora. Thou shalt not always hunger! O thy requital: might I see it!

Didymus. Go: Go, even as I said.

Theodora. I am so weak: What if I cannot?

Didymus. Hush: unbar the door, And front the pack.--My sister, my twin-born, Live thy sequestered life; and pray for me.

[Theodora goes.

Ah, gracer of our Roman mail! I hear No smallest rumor that her passage makes, Not one least vicious snarl or jeer the more. I dare to dream Thou hast accepted this, My true task in the world! By now, I think, She leaves behind the fetid neighborhood; A moment more, and her accustomed feet Will be among the vineyards and the folds. The little weary feet wounded for Thee, Do Thou sustain!... They come.

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