| “NO, Mary, there was nothing—not a word. | |
| Nothing, and always nothing. Go again | |
| Yourself, and he may listen—or at least | |
| Look up at you, and let you see his eyes. | |
| I might as well have been the sound of rain, | 5 |
| A wind among the cedars, or a bird; | |
| Or nothing. Mary, make him look at you; | |
| And even if he should say that we are nothing, | |
| To know that you have heard him will be something. | |
| And yet he loved us, and it was for love | 10 |
| The Master gave him back. Why did he wait | |
| So long before he came? Why did he weep? | |
| I thought he would be glad—and Lazarus— | |
| To see us all again as he had left us— | |
| All as it was, all as it was before.” | 15 |
| |
| Mary, who felt her sister’s frightened arms | |
| Like those of someone drowning who had seized her, | |
| Fearing at last they were to fail and sink | |
| Together in this fog-stricken sea of strangeness, | |
| Fought sadly, with bereaved indignant eyes, | 20 |
| To find again the fading shores of home | |
| That she had seen but now could see no longer | |
| Now she could only gaze into the twilight, | |
| And in the dimness know that he was there, | |
| Like someone that was not. He who had been | 25 |
| Their brother, and was dead, now seemed alive | |
| Only in death again—or worse than death; | |
| For tombs at least, always until today, | |
| Though sad were certain. There was nothing certain | |
| For man or God in such a day as this; | 30 |
| For there they were alone, and there was he— | |
| Alone; and somewhere out of Bethany, | |
| The Master—who had come to them so late, | |
| Only for love of them and then so slowly, | |
| And was for their sake hunted now by men | 35 |
| Who feared Him as they feared no other prey— | |
| For the world’s sake was hidden. “Better the tomb | |
| For Lazarus than life, if this be life,” | |
| She thought; and then to Martha, “No, my dear,” | |
| She said aloud; “not as it was before. | 40 |
| Nothing is ever as it was before, | |
| Where Time has been. Here there is more than Time; | |
| And we that are so lonely and so far | |
| From home, since he is with us here again, | |
| Are farther now from him and from ourselves | 45 |
| Than we are from the stars. He will not speak | |
| Until the spirit that is in him speaks; | |
| And we must wait for all we are to know, | |
| Or even to learn that we are not to know. | |
| Martha, we are too near to this for knowledge, | 50 |
| And that is why it is that we must wait. | |
| Our friends are coming if we call for them, | |
| And there are covers we’ll put over him | |
| To make him warmer. We are too young, perhaps, | |
| To say that we know better what is best | 55 |
| Than he. We do not know how old he is. | |
| If you remember what the Master said, | |
| Try to believe that we need have no fear. | |
| Let me, the selfish and the careless one, | |
| Be housewife and a mother for tonight; | 60 |
| For I am not so fearful as you are, | |
| And I was not so eager.” | |
| |
| Martha sank | |
| Down at her sister’s feet and there sat watching | |
| A flower that had a small familiar name | 65 |
| That was as old as memory, but was not | |
| The name of what she saw now in its brief | |
| And infinite mystery that so frightened her | |
| That life became a terror. Tears again | |
| Flooded her eyes and overflowed. “No, Mary,” | 70 |
| She murmured slowly, hating her own words | |
| Before she heard them, “you are not so eager | |
| To see our brother as we see him now; | |
| Neither is he who gave him back to us. | |
| I was to be the simple one, as always, | 75 |
| And this was all for me.” She stared again | |
| Over among the trees where Lazarus, | |
| Who seemed to be a man who was not there, | |
| Might have been one more shadow among shadows, | |
| If she had not remembered. Then she felt | 80 |
| The cool calm hands of Mary on her face, | |
| And shivered, wondering if such hands were real. | |
| |
| “The Master loved you as he loved us all, | |
| Martha; and you are saying only things | |
| That children say when they have had no sleep. | 85 |
| Try somehow now to rest a little while; | |
| You know that I am here, and that our friends | |
| Are coming if I call.” | |
| |
| Martha at last | |
| Arose, and went with Mary to the door, | 90 |
| Where they stood looking off at the same place, | |
| And at the same shape that was always there | |
| As if it would not ever move or speak, | |
| And always would be there. “Mary, go now, | |
| Before the dark that will be coming hides him. | 95 |
| I am afraid of him out there alone, | |
| Unless I see him; and I have forgotten | |
| What sleep is. Go now—make him look at you— | |
| And I shall hear him if he stirs or whispers. | |
| Go!—or I’ll scream and bring all Bethany | 100 |
| To come and make him speak. Make him say once | |
| That he is glad, and God may say the rest. | |
| Though He say I shall sleep, and sleep for ever, | |
| I shall not care for that… Go!” | |
| |
| Mary, moving | 105 |
| Almost as if an angry child had pushed her, | |
| Went forward a few steps; and having waited | |
| As long as Martha’s eyes would look at hers, | |
| Went forward a few more, and a few more; | |
| And so, until she came to Lazarus, | 110 |
| Who crouched with his face hidden in his hands, | |
| Like one that had no face. Before she spoke, | |
| Feeling her sister’s eyes that were behind her | |
| As if the door where Martha stood were now | |
| As far from her as Egypt, Mary turned | 115 |
| Once more to see that she was there. Then, softly, | |
| Fearing him not so much as wondering | |
| What his first word might be, said, “Lazarus, | |
| Forgive us if we seemed afraid of you;” | |
| And having spoken, pitied her poor speech | 120 |
| That had so little seeming gladness in it, | |
| So little comfort, and so little love. | |
| |
| There was no sign from him that he had heard, | |
| Or that he knew that she was there, or cared | |
| Whether she spoke to him again or died | 125 |
| There at his feet. “We love you, Lazarus, | |
| And we are not afraid. The Master said | |
| We need not be afraid. Will you not say | |
| To me that you are glad? Look, Lazarus! | |
| Look at my face, and see me. This is Mary.” | 130 |
| She found his hands and held them. They were cool, | |
| Like hers, but they were not so calm as hers. | |
| Through the white robes in which his friends had wrapped him | |
| When he had groped out of that awful sleep, | |
| She felt him trembling and she was afraid. | 135 |
| At last he sighed; and she prayed hungrily | |
| To God that she might hear again the voice | |
| Of Lazarus, whose hands were giving her now | |
| The recognition of a living pressure | |
| That was almost a language. When he spoke, | 140 |
| Only one word that she had waited for | |
| Came from his lips, and that word was her name. | |
| |
| “I heard them saying, Mary, that he wept | |
| Before I woke.” The words were low and shaken, | |
| Yet Mary knew that he who uttered them | 145 |
| Was Lazarus; and that would be enough | |
| Until there should be more… “Who made him come, | |
| That he should weep for me?… Was it you, Mary?” | |
| The questions held in his incredulous eyes | |
| Were more than she would see. She looked away; | 150 |
| But she had felt them and should feel for ever, | |
| She thought, their cold and lonely desperation | |
| That had the bitterness of all cold things | |
| That were not cruel. “I should have wept,” he said, | |
| “If I had been the Master….” | 155 |
| |
| Now she could feel | |
| His hands above her hair—the same black hair | |
| That once he made a jest of, praising it, | |
| While Martha’s busy eyes had left their work | |
| To flash with laughing envy. Nothing of that | 160 |
| Was to be theirs again; and such a thought | |
| Was like the flying by of a quick bird | |
| Seen through a shadowy doorway in the twilight. | |
| For now she felt his hands upon her head, | |
| Like weights of kindness: “I forgive you, Mary…. | 165 |
| You did not know—Martha could not have known— | |
| Only the Master knew…. Where is he now? | |
| Yes, I remember. They came after him. | |
| May the good God forgive him…. I forgive him. | |
| I must; and I may know only from him | 170 |
| The burden of all this… Martha was here— | |
| But I was not yet here. She was afraid…. | |
| Why did he do it, Mary? Was it—you? | |
| Was it for you?… Where are the friends I saw? | |
| Yes, I remember. They all went away. | 175 |
| I made them go away…. Where is he now?… | |
| What do I see down there? Do I see Martha— | |
| Down by the door?… I must have time for this.” | |
| |
| Lazarus looked about him fearfully, | |
| And then again at Mary, who discovered | 180 |
| Awakening apprehension in his eyes, | |
| And shivered at his feet. All she had feared | |
| Was here; and only in the slow reproach | |
| Of his forgiveness lived his gratitude. | |
| Why had he asked if it was all for her | 185 |
| That he was here? And what had Martha meant? | |
| Why had the Master waited? What was coming | |
| To Lazarus, and to them, that had not come? | |
| What had the Master seen before he came, | |
| That he had come so late? | 190 |
| |
| “Where is he, Mary?” | |
| Lazarus asked again. “Where did he go?” | |
| Once more he gazed about him, and once more | |
| At Mary for an answer. “Have they found him? | |
| Or did he go away because he wished | 195 |
| Never to look into my eyes again?… | |
| That, I could understand…. Where is he, Mary?” | |
| |
| “I do not know,” she said. “Yet in my heart | |
| I know that he is living, as you are living— | |
| Living, and here. He is not far from us. | 200 |
| He will come back to us and find us all— | |
| Lazarus, Martha, Mary—everything— | |
| All as it was before. Martha said that. | |
| And he said we were not to be afraid.” | |
| Lazarus closed his eyes while on his face | 205 |
| A tortured adumbration of a smile | |
| Flickered an instant. “All as it was before,” | |
| He murmured wearily. “Martha said that; | |
| And he said you were not to be afraid … | |
| Not you… Not you… Why should you be afraid? | 210 |
| Give all your little fears, and Martha’s with them, | |
| To me; and I will add them unto mine, | |
| Like a few rain-drops to Gennesaret.” | |
| |
| “If you had frightened me in other ways, | |
| Not willing it,” Mary said, “I should have known | 215 |
| You still for Lazarus. But who is this? | |
| Tell me again that you are Lazarus; | |
| And tell me if the Master gave to you | |
| No sign of a new joy that shall be coming | |
| To this house that he loved. Are you afraid? | 220 |
| Are you afraid, who have felt everything— | |
| And seen…?” | |
| |
| But Lazarus only shook his head, | |
| Staring with his bewildered shining eyes | |
| Hard into Mary’s face. “I do not know, | 225 |
| Mary,” he said, after a long time. | |
| “When I came back, I knew the Master’s eyes | |
| Were looking into mine. I looked at his, | |
| And there was more in them than I could see. | |
| At first I could see nothing but his eyes; | 230 |
| Nothing else anywhere was to be seen— | |
| Only his eyes. And they looked into mine— | |
| Long into mine, Mary, as if he knew.” | |
| |
| Mary began to be afraid of words | |
| As she had never been afraid before | 235 |
| Of loneliness or darkness, or of death, | |
| But now she must have more of them or die: | |
| “He cannot know that there is worse than death,” | |
| She said. “And you…” | |
| |
| “Yes, there is worse than death.” | 240 |
| Said Lazarus; “and that was what he knew; | |
| And that is what it was that I could see | |
| This morning in his eyes. I was afraid, | |
| But not as you are. There is worse than death, | |
| Mary; and there is nothing that is good | 245 |
| For you in dying while you are still here. | |
| Mary, never go back to that again. | |
| You would not hear me if I told you more, | |
| For I should say it only in a language | |
| That you are not to learn by going back. | 250 |
| To be a child again is to go forward— | |
| And that is much to know. Many grow old, | |
| And fade, and go away, not knowing how much | |
| That is to know. Mary, the night is coming, | |
| And there will soon be darkness all around you. | 255 |
| Let us go down where Martha waits for us, | |
| And let there be light shining in this house.” | |
| |
| He rose, but Mary would not let him go: | |
| “Martha, when she came back from here, said only | |
| That she heard nothing. And have you no more | 260 |
| For Mary now than you had then for Martha? | |
| Is Nothing, Lazarus, all you have for me? | |
| Was Nothing all you found where you have been? | |
| If that be so, what is there worse than that— | |
| Or better—if that be so? And why should you, | 265 |
| With even our love, go the same dark road over?” | |
| |
| “I could not answer that, if that were so,” | |
| Said Lazarus,—“not even if I were God. | |
| Why should He care whether I came or stayed, | |
| If that were so? Why should the Master weep— | 270 |
| For me, or for the world,—or save himself | |
| Longer for nothing? And if that were so, | |
| Why should a few years’ more mortality | |
| Make him a fugitive where flight were needless, | |
| Had he but held his peace and given his nod | 275 |
| To an old Law that would be new as any? | |
| I cannot say the answer to all that; | |
| Though I may say that he is not afraid, | |
| And that it is not for the joy there is | |
| In serving an eternal Ignorance | 280 |
| Of our futility that he is here. | |
| Is that what you and Martha mean by Nothing? | |
| Is that what you are fearing? If that be so, | |
| There are more weeds than lentils in your garden. | |
| And one whose weeds are laughing at his harvest | 285 |
| May as well have no garden; for not there | |
| Shall he be gleaning the few bits and orts | |
| Of life that are to save him. For my part, | |
| I am again with you, here among shadows | |
| That will not always be so dark as this; | 290 |
| Though now I see there’s yet an evil in me | |
| That made me let you be afraid of me. | |
| No, I was not afraid—not even of life. | |
| I thought I was…I must have time for this; | |
| And all the time there is will not be long. | 295 |
| I cannot tell you what the Master saw | |
| This morning in my eyes. I do not know. | |
| I cannot yet say how far I have gone, | |
| Or why it is that I am here again, | |
| Or where the old road leads. I do not know. | 300 |
| I know that when I did come back, I saw | |
| His eyes again among the trees and faces— | |
| Only his eyes; and they looked into mine— | |
| Long into mine—long, long, as if he knew.” | |
