Iv

Midnight. The city square outside. Didymus in the arched doorway of the same house. A turbulent crowd around.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bailiff. Give way, give way! Order among ye, subjects, citizens; Order, I say! A seaman, in this dark, Would swear he heard the angry equinox Gorging and emptying the island caves: A swash of death, where he had hoped for haven. Whence the commotion, that, from well-earned beds Untimely drags your rulers? Ibrahim, Or Rufus, any of you with unslit tongue, Speak!

A Voice. At me that am terror-struck they laugh, Who was the first to find him: Come, mock not Too easily, but measure what I saw! I heard, and ye too heard, in likelihood, What I called fable, that this Christian God Changed water into wine; yet in night’s eye, A slim maid that was shut ’twixt four known walls, Your Christian God turns to a brawny youth, Whom seven men and myself barely haled hither.

Didymus. Murmur not, wonder not: ye are broad awake. No trick hath been, nor am I one transformed. Whom late ye thought to have, lo, ye have lost; And whom ye have unwitting, ye may keep. There is a twofold glory on the hour: A virgin is a virgin still, and I, The empire’s soldier, champion of her King.

A Voice. A generous comedy!

Another Voice. Dost applaud it? Ay?

The Crowd. See him in the doorway, yellow-gowned; See the young beauty in his flower! O Pan!

The Bailiff. Among these loud boors press your torches in. Back! Let the prefect pass.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Eustratius Proculus is borne into the square.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A Voice. Now shall we view The snorting tiger-dam at bay, the while The cub’s concealed.

The Prefect. Be silent! Clear with rods The threshold of that house: the accused alone Shall stand there. Hither and together call The trumpeters, for I this cause arraign In open air.

[The trumpets sound.

Who so disturbs the streets, With the grave ends of justice interferes, And draws contempt on me? What roysterer, What prince of Alexandria’s worst?

Didymus. I think It must be Christ Himself, or Christ in me, Since in His quarrel I stand ambushed thus.

The Prefect. His talk is echo.

The Bailiff. Learned of lady-love! Dull matter all: sheep filing over bars, One hobble without end.

A Voice. Thy Theodora--

Didymus. Revere that name; for she is Christ’s alone, Not mine, not mine. Whithersoever goes The Lamb in Heaven, such do follow Him.

The Prefect. Enough: with quick straightforward words respond. Who art thou, chief in this unseemly brawl?

Didymus. One new to camp and city, one indeed No alien, but your servant in the wars, Beneath the imperial eagles now three years: Octavius Didymus, centurion.

The Prefect. A Roman, then. What of thy friend, the woman, Duly condemned for heinous sacrilege?

Didymus. The innocent Theodora is set free. In as a thief came I who gave such good, But never greeted her, nor saw, nor heard, Up to our late accost in this vile pen.

A Voice. How now, neighbors? A joker.

Another Voice. Or a liar.

The Crowd. More like, a fellow-Christian.

Didymus. Why a Christian?

The Prefect. If not a Christian, it rejoiceth me, Aweary grown of all the casuist breed. I deem thou art sincere. The charge is light; The penalty shall therefore too be light, Since thou thyself of prior circumstance Wert plainly unaware; and forasmuch In thy regard, our judged idolatress Was one with any whimsied wench, cajoling A frolic hand to let her out o’ doors.

Didymus. Let us not fail in truth: sir, I knew this. My soul’s defiance glowed in all I wrought.

A Voice. By Pompey’s certain pillar, he’s a Christian! The prancing gesture, see: the head upcast, The bosom all in a white wrath, and yet Bridled and bitted: that’s their duplex way.

The Prefect. I hesitate.

The Crowd. Eustratius Proculus, We take him for a Christian!

The Prefect. Prisoner, Attend, and ease our cares. Obediently Unto the known gods wilt thou sacrifice?

[Didymus is silent.

Art thou a Christian: nay?

Didymus. Tell me.

The Prefect. Alas, Why loath to sacrifice? Do thou but so, Irreverence to the law shall be condoned, And for the brave adventure of a night, No tax be laid.

Didymus. I sacrifice no more. Who hath inspired me? I can but attest One Infinite loved her for her confident eyes. Would we were open to the heart of things! For if He keeps without spot, as some say, Those leal to Him, is it not wonderful? And Him thus fair reputed, Him untried, Shall I reject? I sacrifice no more, Save to the Living: save to Him who died, And rose again.

The Bailiff. Ye hear.

A Voice. A leprous word!

The Prefect. It is a difficult hour: I must comport Myself within mine office, steadfastly. Bring me the writ. One act is mine to do: Another time for fond alternatives! Though fain to spare, fain to respect in thee, Arms, broadening empire, and invincible Rome, I that would never, fighting civic harm, See Diocletian fail, nor have it said Great Decius and Valerian failed before, Rise to the common weal, and so bar out Contagion from our long inviolate air.

Didymus. I feel the little lovely kiss of death Breathe at my temples, softer than a bride.

The Prefect. Octavius Didymus, bound in triple cords, Shall be at sunrise, on the appointed plain, Beheaded. Gracious Cæsar, hail! all hail!

The Crowd. Hail, Cæsar!

Didymus. These have made me Thine, O Christ!

The Prefect. Reflect: I can revoke, I would revoke. Name but thy young confederate’s hiding-place.

Didymus. I know not, sir, where Theodora is. She passed: and I remain.... Demonic laughter! I would I had said less: it saddens me. In all this swarm, there figures verily Not one that will believe; not one kind soul But is so sodden with the slime of life, (Life pagan, and without our Star,) that he Must read awry, and slander my fair deed. Ah, if they knew: but wherefore should they know? Lord, fold amid the leafage of my heart Her lilied memory! I will strive no more; But turn to Thee, away from time and tears, A melting snowflake in Thy mercy’s sea.

The Prefect. Disperse.

[The trumpets sound.

A Voice. Our novel damsel, fallen dumb, On the good public flint shall soon strike fire; And we may trap that masking man-at-arms, Before a lizard gets his inch of sun. Ho, ho! Away: lead on!

The Crowd. Huzza! huzza!

----------------------------------------------------------------------