A Williams Anthology Part 16

[The Jew acts as if he does not hear, but the monk is already at prayer and does not notice. AHASUERUS gazes steadfastly into the fire, while all is silent but the crackling of the flames and the moaning of the wind. Then the monk arises.]

Pray, let me sit beside you; all alone My brethren left you? Let me play the host.

[He sits down beside AHASUERUS; the Jew stares at him.]

You seem amazed, fair sir.

AHASUERUS [slowly]. I am a Jew.

[The monk starts, then sits down again, while the Jew regards him attentively.]

ANSELM. A Jew?

AHASUERUS [bitterly]. "Dog Jew," they call me.

ANSELM. G.o.d forbid!

Yet once I would have scorned thee like the rest.

But, long years past, before I sought these walls, Adventurous I rode into the East And underneath the walls of Joppa fell A victim to the fever. Many days I lingered in its grasp, and when I woke To strength, I found a Jew had tended me.

E'en then I scorned him, but with gentle words He heaped great coals of fire on my head.

And then I dreamed a dream--upon a cross-- Two other crosses near--outlined against A dark and dreadful sky, I saw a man; And lo, it was a Jew--Christ was a Jew.

With tears I sought mine host, and told the tale, And he was swift to pardon--he, a Jew.

[AHASUERUS will not trust himself to reply, but gazes steadfastly into the fire. From the adjacent chapel the low notes of an organ fall upon their ears.]

ANSELM. You speak not. Ah, I wonder not at it.

On such a night is meditation good, And soothing to the soul. The wind is high But cannot harm; the torches flicker low, While softly like a benediction falls The distant melody upon our ears; And in the silent watches of the night G.o.d's holy Spirit broods o'er all the world And bringeth calm and peace to all mankind.

AHASUERUS [wildly]. For me there is no peace--I am the Jew Who, cursed of the Lord, must wander till He comes again. For me no peace, forever!

ANSELM [starts]. Thou art that Jew!

AHASUERUS [despairingly]. I am that Jew. Farewell.

[AHASUERUS pulls his cloak around him and arises to leave. As he totters toward the door the monk looks after him irresolutely, then turns his eyes to the Virgin's shrine as if to seek counsel.]

ANSELM [whispers to himself]. Those eyes--still gaze--in mercy. A-a-h, methinks-- How sad they look!

[aloud]. Ahasuerus! Hold!

[ANSELM hastens after the Jew, and seeks to lead him back. AHASUERUS resists.]

AHASUERUS. Not so! I am accursed. Let me go!

ANSELM. Forgive me, if I have offended thee, For I am weak--yet see; I pray you, stay.

Without, the night is wild--and here is calm.

AHASUERUS. The storm was e'er my lot.

ANSELM. But now the calm Invites to rest.

AHASUERUS [slowly]. To--rest?

[He stands undecided, then submits to be led back to the fire. For a moment neither speaks, then AHASUERUS cries out.]

AHASUERUS. There is no rest For me, nor ever can be, for I Am curst of G.o.d.

ANSELM. O miserere! Pray!

Pray and with you I'll pray.--O, thou sweet Christ, Look down in pity on this erring one!

We all like sheep have gone astray; O G.o.d, Thou shepherd of the flock, lead us to thee.

AHASUERUS [whispers]. May G.o.d be merciful!

ANSELM. O, holy Babe, That on this night did'st come to earth to seek Thine own, look down upon our need and grant Thy mercy. Holy Mother, intercede.

AHASUERUS [brokenly]. Cease, cease. It is enough. O, not for me Is G.o.d's high mercy,--I am ever curst.

ANSELM. G.o.d's mercy is not limited, O, no.

His grace is all-sufficient, even for thee.

All we are weak and sinful, He is strong.

Oh, call upon His name, and He will come.

[There is silence for a moment, save for the plaintive notes of the organ. Suddenly AHASUERUS rises, tears coursing down his cheeks.]

AHASUERUS. At last, O G.o.d, at last, my hard heart breaks.

I thank thee for these tears; the burden lifts-- Sing unto G.o.d, O brother, and rejoice!

The darkness disappears, and lo, the light-- Behold, the Light!

[As he speaks, a miraculous radiance fills the room; AHASUERUS slowly sinks down upon the floor, ever gazing heavenward in mute adoration, while the monk falls before the Virgin's shrine in prayer. There is a sound of many feet from without, and the company of the earlier evening enter noisily, but drop on their knees in awe as they behold the miracle. AHASUERUS murmurs in a low voice hardly to be understood.]

AHASUERUS. Lord, comest thou--to me?

[Then dimly, like a distant strain of music, a wondrous Voice is heard, and by some understood.]

THE VOICE. I come, Ahasuerus; lo, I come. Behold, I stand at the door, and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him ... Behold, I come quickly.

[AHASUERUS falls back, and a look of deep peace overspreads his countenance. The radiance fades away, and there remains only the flickering light of the torches, which are almost extinguished in the great gusts of wind that sweep through the room. Far above, the joyous chimes are pealing a welcome to the new day.]

_Literary Monthly_, 1905.

THE MASK OF ADELITA

GERALD MYGATT '08

To think that it all happened within a rifle shot of the greatest city in America, in the very outskirts of New York--this was strange. A romance of old Spain, tingling with the memory of times when men fought single-handed for the toss of a rose or the gleam from under the black lashes of a _senorita_, or bled and died for the sake of a yellow silken scarf! That such a thing should have happened as it did seems preposterous, and yet, on second thought, it occurred so naturally that at the time there was no idea of its being in the least out of place in this prosaic New World. It was like a dream of the past--and yet it was no dream.