CHAPTER IV.
The Carpenter's Death.
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SCARCELY had Percival finished reading his legend, when we were interrupted by the visit of the medical man. Having other calls to make, I took my leave of Percival, promising to return on the following day, to make myself better acquainted with his little picture gallery.
The next morning, after some conversation on other subjects, we examined together another oil-painting taken down from the wall.
Seyton. This is doubtless a representation of the interior of the humble abode in Nazareth, in which for many years Christ found a home. The youth whose back is turned towards us, so that scarcely any of his face is seen, is doubtless intended for the Saviour Himself. But why should only the outline of the cheek be given; and even that, be half-hidden by the auburn locks that fall downwards as the Lord stoops, as if to catch the faint utterance of the dying man by whose couch He stands?
Percival. Thrice did I begin that picture. In my first attempt, I sketched a full face as that of Christ; but so utterly did I fail in depicting on it Divine power and dignity, blended with human love, that in despair, I began another picture. In that, the position chosen for the chief figure showed the complete profile; and as far as earthly beauty was concerned, I may say that my sketch was not a failure. Every feature was as faultless as my poor skill could make it; but still I was utterly dissatisfied with my work. The beauty was classic and not celestial; nor did the face show any sign of toil.
Percival continued: "Then I felt convinced that imagination could depict the Divine Youth far better than could my weak pencil: so I concentrated my efforts on the face of the dying Joseph, making it reflect, as it were, the brightness of the countenance of Him who bends over His foster-father."
Seyton. Even as artists, unable to give the blaze of the noonday sun, just indicate its presence by lights and shadows thrown on terrestrial objects. Perhaps you did wisely, Percival. One is often pained by the lifeless, soulless countenances given as representations of Christ! Who could depict "the heaven of His eyes," the unearthly sweetness of the lips that spake as never man spake?
Percival. You see the accessories by which I have endeavoured to make the picture tell its own story.
Seyton. There is Mary, dressed in simplest Eastern garb; she has sunk on the floor, exhausted, as it seems, with night after night of watching. Sleep has stolen over her at last. The thin pale countenance shows how much it was needed.
Percival. And her Son will not awaken her.
Seyton. Christ appears to have entered with noiseless step by that open door through which stream the rays of the setting sun on the bed of him whose life-sun is sinking fast. But why should we suppose that Christ had left His mother, even for a little while, to keep her sad watch alone?
Percival. Will you think me too realistic if I point out the small heap of copper coins in that niche in the wall, and the tools on the earthen floor? Christ may have had to take finished work to an employer, and receive the price of His labour; that to the miseries of sickness in that home might not be added that of want.
Seyton. This is being too realistic for me. I can scarcely conceive that He who formed heaven and earth, "without whom nothing was made that was made," actually did common carpenter's work. I can hardly realize that Christ measured, sawed, and planed; that the sound of His hammer was heard; that He actually laboured till He was weary, and then received into a toil-hardened hand, the paltry coins earned by His toil. Can one believe that perhaps He, like poor workmen now, had to call again and again to get even a trifling payment for His work from some purse-proud Jew?
Percival. To gain bread by the sweat of the face was part of the primeval curse; and He who came to bear the more terrible effects of that curse would not be likely to shrink from this. Whatever Christ did, He did as unto God. In His workmanship no flaw could be found. What Christ made, He made to last. And He who was to purchase the redemption of a world, would deem it no disgrace to earn food by His daily toil. In all things, but sin, the Saviour was made like unto us. And this picture is designed to show the shadow of bereavement falling heavily on the Man of Sorrows; probably in the earlier part of His life.
Seyton. We know that Christ wept at the grave of His friend.
Percival. But here the Lord's tears are sacred—those caused by the anguish of bereavement. Christ knew that He was about to raise Lazarus from the sleep of death: therefore the Lord's grief must have had a deeper source than that of mere sympathy with mourners, whose sorrow was in a few minutes to be changed into joy. Christ probably saw in the grave of the dead, and the grief of the living, an image of all earth's misery—all the ravages caused by sin.
Seyton. The Lord may have thought of His own mother; so soon to be a mourner for Him. Christ Himself spake comfort to the sisters of Lazarus: but who would speak comfort to Mary in the hour of her great desolation?
Percival. The pang caused by bereavement must have come to the Lord, when He saw the death of Joseph, His foster-father; the guardian of His infancy, the friend of His boyhood. If Christ were at the time conscious of His own supernatural power (held in abeyance only for a time, until the hour appointed by the Father should come), it must have required a greater effort of submission not to have exercised it then, than when the Saviour, faint with hunger, refrained from turning stones into bread.
Seyton. Yes. If the Son of Mary knew that by a word He could still the rapid beating of the pulse; turn pain into ease; and make His mother's heart bound with delight—not to speak that word must have cost Him an agonizing effort indeed. What meaning do you intend to convey by writing at the bottom of your picture, "I have found a ransom"?
Percival. I wished to represent the Saviour as repeating, by a death-bed, those marvellous words from the Book of Job. Joseph, like the patriarch, had been a just man before his fellow-mortals: but how could he be justified before God? Christ, the Lamb of God, was in the world: but He had not yet suffered for sin; He had not yet borne the iniquity of all. Joseph, on the brink of Death's dark river, may have felt some natural fear: he may have reviewed his past life and seen how far his obedience had fallen short of that required by the Law.
Percival continued: "Joseph may—it is not improbable—have felt himself bound by the chain of his iniquities. But, on such a man as Joseph, a hope inspired by the words of an angel would shine like Bethlehem's star. I fancy I hear the dying one exclaiming, 'Oh, Jesus, I am a sinner! But it was told me before Thy birth that Thou, even Thou, wouldst save Thy people from their sins.' I have sought to depict the holy joy awakened by the answer, coming in the familiar words of Scripture, from the lips of the Lamb of God—'I have found a ransom!'"
Seyton. The exclamation of Job, "I know that my Redeemer liveth; and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth," might be changed by Joseph to "He liveth—He standeth beside me: it is His hand that supports my head! Yea, though my heart and flesh faileth, His love shall be my portion for ever!"
Percival. And so with the star-like hope above him, and the peace of God filling his soul, the poor carpenter is sinking to rest. And Christ will weep the natural tears of human love, and will mingle His sorrow with that of the widowed Mary; and He will help her to lay out a cold form for burial, comforting His own sad heart with the inspired Word: "I HAVE FOUND A RANSOM." * "I will ransom thee from the power of the grave; I will redeem thee from death. O death, where are thy plagues? O grave, where is thy destruction?" †
* Job xxxiii. 24 † Hosea xiii. 14. R.V.
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