Francesca Alexander - The Hidden Servants and Other Very Old Stories

The mountebank saw, with vague surprise,
The patient, sorrowful, searching eyes,
Whose look, so solemn, and kindly too,
Seemed piercing all his disguises through.
They made him restless, he knew not why:
He could not play; it was vain to try!
His face grew sober, his movements slow;
And, soon as might be, he closed the show.

He saw that the hermit lingered on,
When all the rest of the crowd were gone.
Then over his gaudy clothes he drew
A ragged mantle of faded hue;
And he himself was the first to speak:
"Good Father, is it for me you seek?"
"My son, I have sought you all the day;
Would you come with me a little way,
Into some quiet corner near,
Where no one our words can overhear?"

Not far away, in a lonely street,
By a garden wall they found a seat.
It now was late, and the sun had set,
Though a golden glory lingered yet,
And the moon looked pale in it overhead.
They sat them down, and the hermit said:
"My son, to me was a vision sent,
And as yet I know not what it meant;
But I think that you, and you alone,
Are able to make its meaning known.
Answer me then – I have great need —
And tell me, what is the life you lead?"

"My life's a poor one, you may suppose!
I 've many troubles that no one knows;
For I have to keep a smiling face.
I wander, friendless, from place to place,
Risking my neck for a scanty gain;
But I must do it, and not complain.
I know, whatever may go amiss,
That I have deserved much worse than this."

To the hermit this a meaning bore
Of deep humility, nothing more.
So, gaining courage, "But this," he said,
"Is not the life you have always led.
So much the vision to me revealed;
I know there 's something you keep concealed."

The mountebank answered sadly: "Yes!
'T is true: you ask, and I must confess.
But keep my secret, good Father, pray;
Or my life will not be safe for a day!
Alas, I have led a life of crime!
I 've been an evil man in my time.
I was a robber – I think you know —
Till little more than a year ago;
One of a desperate, murderous band,
A curse and terror to all the land!"

The hermit's head sank down on his breast;
His trembling hands to his eyes he pressed.
"Has God rejected me?" then he moaned:
"Are all my service and love disowned?
Have I been blind, and my soul deceived?"

The other, seeing the old man grieved,
Said: "Father, why do you care so much
For one not worthy your robe to touch?
The Lord is gracious, and if He will,
He can forgive and save me still.
And as for my wicked life, 't is I,
Not you, who have reason to weep and sigh!
Your prayers may help me, and bring me peace."

The hermit made him a sign to cease;
Then raised his head, and began to speak,
With tears on his wrinkled, sun-browned cheek.
"If you could remember even one
Good deed that you in your life have done,
I need not go in despair away.
Think well; and if you can find one, say!"

"Once," said the mountebank, "that was all,
I did for the Lord a service small,
And never yet have I told the tale!
But if you wish it, I will not fail.
A few of our men had gone one day —
'T was less for plunder, I think, than play —
To a certain convent, small and poor,
Where a dozen sisters lived secure
For very poverty! dreaming not
That any envied their humble lot.
There, finding the door was locked and barred,
They climbed the wall of a grass-grown yard.
Some vines were planted along its side,
Their trailing branches left room to hide;
Where, neither by pity moved nor shame,
They crouched, till one of the sisters came
To gather herbs for the noonday meal;
Then out from under the leaves they steal!
So she was taken, poor soul, and bound,
And carried off to our camping ground.
A harmless creature, who knew no more
Of the world outside her convent door,
Than you or I of the moon up there!
A shame, to take her in such a snare!

"But, Father, I wished that I had been
Ten miles away, when they brought her in,
To hold for ransom; or if that failed —
Oh, well, we knew when the pirates sailed!
We knew their captain, who paid us well,
And carried our prisoners off to sell.
They never beheld their country more,
Being bought for slaves on a foreign shore.

"But oh! 't was enough the tears to bring,
To see that innocent, frightened thing,
Looking, half hopeful, from face to face,
As if she thought, in that wicked place,
There might be one who would take her part!
She looked at me, and it stung my heart.
But I, with a hard, disdainful air,
Turned from her as one who did not care,
I heard her sighing: she did not know
That her gentle look had hurt me so!

"That night they set me the watch to keep;
And when the others were all asleep,
And I had been moving to and fro,
With branches keeping the fire aglow,
I crept along to the woman's side, —
She sat apart, and her arms were tied, —
And said, – 't was only a whispered word;
We both were lost if the others heard, —
'If you will trust me and with me come,
I 'll bring you safe to your convent home.'
She started, into my face she gazed;
Said she, 'I'll trust you – the Lord be praised!'

"I very quickly the cords unbound.
She rose; I led her without a sound
Between the rows of the sleeping men,
Till we left the camp behind; and then
I found my horse, that was tied near by.
The woman mounted, and she and I
Set off in haste, through the midnight shade,
On the wildest journey I ever made!
By wood and thicket the horse I led,
And over a torrent's stony bed, —
For along the road I dared not go,
For fear that the others our flight should know,
And follow after; the woman prayed.
I, quick and cautious, but not afraid,
Went first, with the stars for guide, until
We saw the convent, high on a hill.
We reached the door as the east grew red.
'God will remember!' was all she said;
Her face was full of a sweet content.
She knocked, they opened, and in she went.
The door was closed – she was safe at last!
I heard the bolt as they made it fast —
And I in the twilight stood alone,
With the lightest heart I had ever known!

"So, Father, my robber days were o'er;
I could not be what I was before.
I wandered on with a thankful mind,
For I left the old bad life behind,
And tried, as I journeyed day by day,
To gain my bread in an honest way.
But little work could I find to do;
And so, as some juggling tricks I knew,
I took this business which now you see:
'T is good enough for a man like me!"

While yet the story was going on,
The cloud from the hermit's face had gone;
And if his eyes in the moonlight shone,
They glistened with thankful tears alone.
He listened in solemn awe until
The mountebank's tale was done; and still,
Some moments, he neither spoke nor stirred,
But silently pondered every word.

Then humbly speaking, "The Lord," said he,
"Has had great mercy on you and me!
And now, my son, I must tell you why
I came to speak with you – know that I
Have tried with the Lord alone to dwell,
For forty years, in my mountain cell;
In prayer and solitude, day and night,
Have striven to keep my candle bright!
And there, but yesterday, while I prayed,
An angel came to my side, and said
That I should seek you, – and told me where, —
And should your life with my own compare;
For in God's service and love and grace
Your soul with mine has an equal place,
We both alike have his mercy shared,
The same reward is for both prepared.
I came; I sought you – and you know how
I found you out in the square just now!
At which – may the Lord forgive my pride! —
At first I was poorly satisfied.
But now I have heard your story through —
What you in a single night could do! —
And know that this to the Lord appears
Worth all my service of forty years;
I can but wonder, and thank His grace
Which raised us both to an equal place,"