The Hidden Servants and Other Very Old Stories

Where he must enter to learn his fate.

Now fear did over his hope prevail:
He almost wished in his search to fail,
And find no mountebank there at all!
For then his vision he well might call
A dream that came of its own accord,
Instead of a message from the Lord!
A few more minutes, and then he knew
That all which the angel said was true!

A mountebank, in the market square,
Was making the people laugh and stare.
With antics more befitting an ape
Than any creature in human shape!
The hermit took his place with the rest,
Not heeding the crowd that round him pressed,
And earnestly set his eyes to scan
The face of the poor, unsaintly man.
Alas, there was little written there
Of inward peace or of answered prayer!
For all the paint, and the droll grimace,
'T was a haggard, anxious, weary face.

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;