Authors: Unknown
Conceding that the phrase, 'little man,' had not been skilfully chosen.
Marcellus thought he should tell her how children felt toward Jesus; how,
according to Justus, they swarmed about him in his carpenter shop; how, when
Jesus went home in the evening, a crowd of little ones accompanied him. And
dogs.
'Well, I'm glad about the dogs,' drawled Diana. 'From what I had heard
of his goodness, I had supposed that dogs might feel rather embarrassed in his
company.' Instantly she realized that this flippancy had stung. Marcellus
recoiled as if she had slapped him.
'His goodness was not negative, Diana, and it was not smug, and it was
not weak,' declared Marcellus. 'May I reconstruct your picture of him?'
'Please do,' murmured Diana, absently. She caressingly retied the heavy
silk cord at the throat of his tunic, and smiled into his sober eyes from under
her long lashes, her full lips offering a frank invitation. Marcellus swallowed
hard, and gave her a fraternal pat on the cheek. She sighed and shouldered back
under his arm.
Then he told her all about Miriam; all about the wedding-feast--and
Miriam's voice.
'And she never could sing before?'
'No, she had never wanted to sing before.'
'And you talked with her, and heard her sing? You liked her, I think.
Was she pretty?'
'Very!'
'A Jewess?'
'Yes.'
'They are very pretty, sometimes,' conceded Diana. 'It's too bad she was
a cripple.'
'She didn't mind being lame. This other gift was so very important.'
'Why didn't Jesus let her walk?'
'Sounds as if you thought he could,' commented Marcellus, encouraged.
'Well,' Diana replied, defensively, 'you think he could, don't you? I'm
taking your word for it.'
'Miriam thinks she can do more good to the unfortunate in her town if
she, too, has a disability--'
'And yet can sing, in spite of her affliction,' interposed Diana. 'She
must be a fine person.'
'She hadn't been a fine person,' said Marcellus, 'not until this strange
thing happened to her.'
'Was she in love with Jesus?'
'Yes, everybody was.'
'You know what I mean.'
'No, I don't think she was. Not that way.'
Diana thoughtfully rubbed her cheek against Marcellus's sleeve.
'Wasn't Jesus in love with anyone?' she murmured.
'Everyone,' said Marcellus.
'Perhaps he thought it was wrong, to love just one person, above all
others.'
'I think that might have been wrong--for him. You see, Diana, Jesus was
not an ordinary person. He had unusual powers, and felt that his life belonged
to the people.'
'What other things did he do?' Diana's curiosity seemed to be more
serious. 'There was little Jonathan's foot, and Miriam's voice--'
'I must tell you about Lydia.'
But before he went into the story of Lydia's touching the robe,
Marcellus thought he should review his own peculiar experiences with it. Diana
grew indignant as he relived that tragic night at the Insula in Jerusalem when
Paulus had forced him to put on the Galilean's robe.
'This poor Jesus had suffered enough!' she exclaimed. 'They had no right
to make a mockery of his clothes! And he had been so brave--and had done no
wrong!'
Heartened by her sympathy, Marcellus had gone on to tell her all about
that afternoon in Athens when, desperate over his mental condition, he had
decided to destroy himself.
'You may find it hard to understand, dear, how a person could come to a
decision to take his own life.'
'Oh, no!' Diana shook her head. 'I can understand that, Marcellus. I
could easily come to that decision--in certain circumstances.'
'It is a lonely business--suicide,' muttered Marcellus.
'Perhaps that is why I can understand it,' said Diana. 'I am well
acquainted with loneliness.'
Then Marcellus proceeded to tell her about his finding of the robe, and
the peculiar effect it had on him. Diana looked up into his face, her eyes
swimming with tears.
'There's no use trying to explain,' he went on. 'I gathered up the robe
in my hands--and it healed my mind.'
'Maybe that was because you knew it had belonged to another lonely man,'
suggested Diana.
'Curiously enough,' said Marcellus, 'that was the sensation I had when I
held the robe in my arms. Some strange friendship--a new, invigorating
friendship--had come to my rescue. The painful tension was relaxed. Life was
again worth living.' He gravely studied her brooding eyes. 'I wonder if you
believe what I am saying?'
'Yes, dear, I believe it; and, considering your earlier experience with
his robe, I am not very much surprised.' She was silent for a moment, and then
said, 'Tell me now about this Lydia.'
It was quite a lengthy story, with many unforeseen excursions. Diana had
remarked that it must almost have killed Lydia when she had to force her way
into that huge crowd of strangers in the street. And that had led Marcellus to
interrupt himself long enough to describe those crowds; how the poor people had
dropped their sickles and left their looms and followed for days, sleeping on
the ground, going hungry and footsore--if only they might stay close to Jesus.
Diana listened with rapt attention, narrowed eyes, parted lips, as the
Galilean story went on, and on, towards its close.
'And you honestly think he is alive, now?' she asked, earnestly.
Marcellus nodded his head, and after a moment continued with an account
of the reappearances.
'And you really think Stephanos saw him?' asked Diana, in an awed voice.
'Do you find that so hard to believe, dear, after the other things I
have told you?'
'I want to believe what you believe, Marcellus.'
He had drawn her into his arms and kissed her.
'It meant much to me, my darling, to have shared this story with you,'
he said, tenderly. 'Knowing how you felt about the supernatural, I hardly
expected you to be so understanding.'
'Well, this is different!' Diana suddenly released herself and sat up to
face him. 'What I feared was that it might somehow affect your life--and mine,
too. It is a beautiful story, Marcellus, a beautiful mystery. Let it remain so.
We don't have to understand it. And we don't have to do anything about it, do
we? Let us plan to live, each for the other, just as if this hadn't happened.'
She waited a long time for his reply. His face was drawn, and his eyes
were transfixed to the far horizon. Diana's slim fingers traced a light pattern
on the back of his hand.
'But it
has
affected my life, darling!' said Marcellus, firmly.
'I
can't
go on as if it hadn't happened.'
'What had you thought of doing?' Diana's voice was unsteady.
'I don't know, yet,' he replied, half to himself. 'But I know I have a
duty to perform. It is not clear--what I am to do. But I couldn't go back to
living as I did, not even if I tried. I
couldn't!'
Then, with a depth of earnestness that stilled her breathing, Marcellus
poured out his pent-up convictions about this strange thing that had come to
pass. It wasn't just a brief phenomenon that had mystified the country people
of little Galilee. It was nothing less than a world-shaking event! For
thousands of years, the common people of the whole earth had lived without hope
of anything better than drudgery, slavery, and starvation. Always the rapacious
rulers of some empire were murdering and pillaging the helpless.
'Look at our record!' he exclaimed, with mounting indignation. 'The
Roman Empire has enslaved half the population of the world! And we have thought
it brave to subdue these little, undefended states! Look at the heroic
sculpture and the bronze tablets dedicated to Emperors and Princes, Knights and
Prefects, Legates and Tribunes who have butchered thousands whose only crime
was their inability to protect themselves and their lands! This, we thought,
was a great credit to the Empire; a gallant thing to do! "I sing of men
and of arms!" chants old Publius Vergilius. Sounds brave, doesn't it?
'Diana, dear,' he went on, gravely, 'while on the ship coming home I
fell to thinking about the Roman splendours, the monuments in the Forum, the
marble palaces; and then I remembered that all these beautiful and impressive
things have either been stolen from other people of better talents than our
own, or built with tribute money extorted from the ragged and hungry! And I
hated these things'. And I hated what we had called Heroism!'
'But you can't do anything about that, Marcellus,' protested Diana,
weakly.
Marcellus's storm was subsiding to a mutter. With bitter irony he
growled: 'Invincible old Rome--that lives in sloth and luxury--paid for by
people up in Aquitania, Anglia, Hispania, Gaul--and down in Crete--and over in
Cappadocia, Pontus, and Thrace--where little children cry for food! Ah, yes,
our brave ones will sneer, no doubt, at the unarmed Jesus. They will revile him
as a weakling, because the only blood he ever shed was his own! But the time
will come, my dear,
when this Jesus will have his way!'
'So, then, what will you do?' Diana asked, with a weary sigh.
'For the present, I'm sure only of what I will
not
do!' declared
Marcellus, passionately. 'I shall not be going back to lounge about in the
Tribunes' Club, pretending to have forgotten I know a man who can save the
world! I am done with this iniquity! I am free of this shame!'
'But, do you mean to cut yourself off from all your old
friends--and--and go about with these poor slaves?' asked Diana.
'It is
we
who are the poor slaves, my dear,' deplored Marcellus.
'These ragged ones, who follow the divine Galilean, are on their way to
freedom!'
'You mean--they will band together--and revolt?'
'They may still wear chains on their wrists, Diana, but not on their
souls!'
'You're not thinking of joining them!' Diana's cheeks were pale.
'I
have
joined them!' muttered Marcellus.
Impetuously springing to her feet, Diana gave way to a surprising
outburst of desperate disappointment.
'Then you can leave me out of it!' she cried. Burying her face in her
arms, and weeping inconsolably, she went on, half-incoherently, 'If you're
going to ruin yourself--and make an outcast of yourself--and become an object
of ridicule--that's for you to decide--but--'
As impulsively as she had torn away from him, Diana sank down dejectedly
on the lectus, and threw her arms tightly around his neck.
'You are dreaming, Marcellus!' she sobbed. 'You are making a new world
out of people and things that don't exist! And you know it!
If
men would
stop fighting--
if
men would live as your Jesus wants them to--
if
men would be honest and merciful--then there would be a new world! Nobody would
be killed! Little children would have enough to eat! Yes--but men are not made
that way. Maybe there will come a time when people will stop mistreating one
another--and weeds will stop growing--and lions will stop biting--but not in
our time! Why shall we make ourselves wretched? Why not accept things as they
are? Why throw your life away?' Diana pressed her wet face hard against his
shoulder. 'Marcellus,' she moaned piteously, 'don't you know you are breaking
my heart? Don't you care?'
'My darling,' said Marcellus, huskily, 'I care--so much--that I would
rather die than see you in sorrow. I am not choosing--which way I shall go. I
am not permitted a choice.'
There seemed nothing to say, after that. It was nearing noon and
Marcellus would have to go to the Emperor. Diana raised her face and glanced at
the sundial. Her eyes were heavy with weeping and the tight little curls on her
forehead were damp. Marcellus's throat ached in pity as he looked down into her
flushed face. She smiled pensively.
'I must be a dreadful sight,' she sighed.
Marcellus kissed her eyes.
'You must not keep him waiting,' she murmured, lifelessly. 'Come back to
me--this afternoon--soon as you can--and tell me about it.'
He drew her tightly to him. Her lips trembled as he kissed her.
'Our happiness was too sweet to last, Marcellus. Go, now, dear. I shall
try to understand. I know this has been as hard for you as for me. I shall
always love you.' Her voice fell to a whisper. 'I hope your Jesus will take
care of you.'
'Do you believe what I told you about him?' asked Marcellus, gently.
'Yes, dear, I believe it.'
'Then--I think he will take care of you, too.'
The Chamberlain was waiting for him in the atrium and led him directly
to the imperial suite. Opening the door, he stood aside deferentially, and when
Marcellus had passed in, he noiselessly closed the door behind him.
Tiberius, propped up high on his pillows, regarded him with a penetrating
scowl as he crossed the room and approached the massive bed.
Marcellus, bowing deeply, came to attention and waited the Emperor's
pleasure. For a long time the old man stared silently into his grave face.
'It is plain to see,' he said, soberly, 'that you have decided to cast
your lot with your Jesus. We were sure you would take that course.'
Marcellus inclined his head, but made no audible reply.
There was another long, strained silence.
'That will be all, then,' growled Tiberius. 'You may go!'
Marcellus hesitated for a moment.
'Go!' shouted the Emperor. 'You are a fool!' The shrill old voice rose
to a scream. 'You are a fool!'
Dazed and speechless in the face of the old man's clamorous anger,
Marcellus retreated unsteadily toward the door, which had swung open.
'You are a fool!' shrieked Tiberius. 'You will die for your folly!' The
cracked voice deepened to a hoarse bellow. '
You are a brave, brave fool!'
Stunned by the encounter, Marcellus walked slowly and indecisively into
the atrium where the Chamberlain, bowing obsequiously, directed him out toward
the high-vaulted peristyle.