by Wallace, Lew
The eyes of the patriarch glowed mildly, and, raising his head, and looking the inquisitor full in the face, he answered, his associates giving him closest attention,
“With thee, O king, be the peace of God, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob!”
His manner was that of invocation; changing it, he resumed:
“Thou hast demanded of us where the Christ should be born.”
The king bowed, though the evil eyes remained fixed upon the sage’s face.
“That is the question.”
“Then, O king, speaking for myself, and all my brethren here, not one dissenting, I say, in Bethlehem of Judea.”
Hillel glanced at the parchment on the tripod; and, pointing with his tremulous finger, continued, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet, ‘And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Judea, art not the least among the princes of Judah; for out of thee shall come a governor that shall rule my people Israel.’ ”
Herod’s face was troubled, and his eyes fell upon the parchment while he thought. Those beholding him scarcely breathed; they spoke not, nor did he. At length he turned about and left the chamber.
“Brethren,” said Hillel, “we are dismissed.”
The company then arose, and in groups departed.
“Simeon,” said Hillel again.
A man, quite fifty years old, but in the hearty prime of life, answered and came to him.
“Take up the sacred parchment, my son; roll it tenderly.”
The order was obeyed.
“Now lend me thy arm; I will to the litter.”
The strong man stooped; with his withered hands the old man took the offered support, and, rising, moved feebly to the door.
So departed the famous Rector, and Simeon, his son, who was to be his successor in wisdom, learning, and office.
Yet later in the evening the wise men were lying in a lewen of the khan awake. The stones which served them as pillows raised their heads so they could look out of the open arch into the depths of the sky; and as they watched the twinkling of the stars, they thought of the next manifestation. How would it come? What would it be? They were in Jerusalem at last; they had asked at the gate for Him they sought; they had borne witness of his birth; it remained only to find him; and as to that, they placed all trust in the Spirit. Men listening for the voice of God, or waiting for a sign from Heaven, cannot sleep.
While they were in this condition, a man stepped in under the arch, darkening the lewen.
“Awake!” he said to them; “I bring you a message which will not be put off.”
They all sat up.
“From whom?” asked the Egyptian.
“Herod the king.”
Each one felt his spirit thrill.
“Are you not the steward of the khan?” Balthasar asked next.
“I am.”
“What would the king with us?”
“His messenger is without; let him answer.”
“Tell him, then, to abide our coming.”
“You were right, O my brother!” said the Greek, when the steward was gone. “The question put to the people on the road, and to the guard at the gate, has given us quick notoriety. I am impatient; let us up quickly.”
They arose, put on their sandals, girt their mantles about them, and went out.
“I salute you, and give you peace, and pray your pardon; but my master, the king, has sent me to invite you to the palace, where he would have speech with you privately.”
Thus the messenger discharged his duty.
A lamp hung in the entrance, and by its light they looked at each other, and knew the Spirit was upon them. Then the Egyptian stepped to the steward, and said, so as not to be heard by the others, “You know where our goods are stored in the court, and where our camels are resting. While we are gone, make all things ready for our departure, if it should be needful.”
“Go your way assured; trust me,” the steward replied.
“The king’s will is our will,” said Balthasar to the messenger. “We will follow you.”
The streets of the Holy City were narrow then as now, but not so rough and foul; for the great builder, not content with beauty, enforced cleanliness and convenience also. Following their guide, the brethren proceeded without a word. Through the dim starlight, made dimmer by the walls on both sides, sometimes almost lost under bridges connecting the house-tops, out of a low ground they ascended a hill. At last they came to a portal reared across the way. In the light of fires blazing before it in two great braziers, they caught a glimpse of the structure, and also of some guards leaning mo tionlessly upon their arms. They passed into a building unchallenged. Then by passages and arched halls; through courts, and under colonnades not always lighted; up long flights of stairs, past innumerable cloisters and chambers, they were conducted into a tower of great height. Suddenly the guide halted, and, pointing through an open door, said to them,
“Enter. The king is there.”
The air of the chamber was heavy with the perfume of sandal-wood, and all the appointments within were effeminately rich. Upon the floor, covering the central space, a tufted rug was spread, and upon that a throne was set. The visitors had but time, however, to catch a confused idea of the place—of carved and gilt ottomans and couches; of fans and jars and musical instruments; of golden candlesticks glittering in their own lights; of walls painted in the style of the voluptuous Grecian school, one look at which had made a Pharisee hide his head with holy horror. Herod, sitting upon the throne to receive them, clad as when at the conference with the doctors and lawyers, claimed all their minds.
At the edge of the rug, to which they advanced uninvited, they prostrated themselves. The king touched a bell. An attendant came in, and placed three stools before the throne.
“Seat yourselves,” said the monarch, graciously.
“From the North Gate,” he continued, when they were at rest, “I had this afternoon report of the arrival of three strangers, curiously mounted, and appearing as if from far countries. Are you the men?”
The Egyptian took the sign from the Greek and the Hindoo, and answered, with the profoundest salaam, “Were we other than we are, the mighty Herod, whose fame is as incense to the whole world, would not have sent for us. We may not doubt that we are the strangers.”
Herod acknowledged the speech with a wave of the hand.
“Who are you? Whence do you come?” he asked, adding significantly, “Let each speak for himself.”
In turn they gave him account, referring simply to the cities and lands of their birth, and the routes by which they came to Jerusalem. Somewhat disappointed, Herod plied them more directly.
“What was the question you put to the officer at the gate?”
“We asked him, Where is he that is born King of the Jews.”
“I see now why the people were so curious. You excite me no less. Is there another King of the Jews?”
The Egyptian did not blanch.
“There is one newly born.”
An expression of pain knit the dark face of the monarch, as if his mind were swept by a harrowing recollection.
“Not to me, not to me!” he exclaimed.
Possibly the accusing images of his murdered children flitted before him; recovering from the emotion, whatever it was, he asked, steadily, “Where is the new king?”
“That, O king, is what we would ask.”
“You bring me a wonder—a riddle surpassing any of Solomon’s,” the inquisitor said next. “As you see, I am in the time of life when curiosity is as ungovernable as it was in childhood, when to trifle with it is cruelty. Tell me further, and I will honor you as kings honor each other. Give me all you know about the newly-born, and I will join you in the search for him; and when we have found him, I will do what you wish; I will bring him to Jerusalem, and train him in kingcraft; I will use my grace with Caesar for his promotion and glory. Jealousy shall not come between us, so I swear. But tell me first how, so widely separated by
seas and deserts, you all came to hear of him.”
“I will tell you truly, O king.”
“Speak on,” said Herod.
Balthasar raised himself erect, and said, solemnly,
“There is an Almighty God.”
Herod was visibly startled.
“He bade us come hither, promising that we should find the Redeemer of the World; that we should see and worship him, and bear witness that he was come; and, as a sign, we were each given to see a star. His Spirit stayed with us. O king, his Spirit is with us now!”
An overpowering feeling seized the three. The Greek with difficulty restrained an outcry. Herod’s gaze darted quickly from one to the other; he was more suspicious and dissatisfied than before.
“You are mocking me,” he said. “If not, tell me more. What is to follow the coming of the new king?”
“The salvation of men.”
“From what?”
“Their wickedness.”
“How?”
“By the divine agencies—Faith, Love, and Good Works.”
“Then”—Herod paused, and from his look no man could have said with what feeling he continued—“you are the heralds of the Christ. Is that all?”
Balthasar bowed low.
“We are your servants, O king.”
The monarch touched a bell, and the attendant appeared.
“Bring the gifts,” the master said.
The attendant went out, but in a little while returned, and, kneeling before the guests, gave to each one an outer robe or mantle of scarlet and blue, and a girdle of gold. They acknowledged the honors with Eastern prostrations.
“A word further,” said Herod, when the ceremony was ended. “To the officer of the gate, and but now to me, you spoke of seeing a star in the east.”
“Yes,” said Balthasar, “his star, the star of the newly-born.”
“What time did it appear?”
“When we were bidden come hither.”
Herod arose, signifying the audience was over. Stepping from the throne towards them, he said, with all graciousness,
“If, as I believe, O illustrious men, you are indeed the heralds of the Christ just born, know that I have this night consulted those wisest in things Jewish, and they say with one voice he should be born in Bethlehem of Judea. I say to you, go thither; go and search diligently for the young child; and when you have found him bring me word again, that I may come and worship him. To your going there shall be no let or hindrance. Peace be with you!”
And, folding his robe about him, he left the chamber.
Directly the guide came, and led them back to the street, and thence to the khan, at the portal of which the Greek said, impulsively, “Let us to Bethlehem, O brethren, as the king has advised.”
“Yes,” cried the Hindoo. “The Spirit burns within me.”
“Be it so,” said Balthasar, with equal warmth. “The camels are ready.”
They gave gifts to the steward, mounted into their saddles, received directions to the Joppa Gate, and departed. At their approach the great valves were unbarred, and they passed out into the open country, taking the road so lately travelled by Joseph and Mary. As they came up out of Hinnom, on the plain of Rephaim, a light appeared, at first wide-spread and faint. Their pulses fluttered fast. The light intensified rapidly; they closed their eyes against its burning brilliance: when they dared look again, lo! the star, perfect as any in the heavens, but low down and moving slowly before them. And they folded their hands, and shouted, and rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
“God is with us! God is with us!” they repeated, in frequent cheer, all the way, until the star, rising out of the valley beyond Mar Elias, stood still over a house up on the slope of the hill near the town.
CHAPTER XIV
IT was now the beginning of the third watch, and at Bethlehem the morning was breaking over the mountains in the east, but so feebly that it was yet night in the valley. The watchman on the roof of the old khan, shivering in the chilly air, was listening for the first distinguishable sounds with which life, awakening, greets the dawn, when a light came moving up the hill towards the house. He thought it a torch in some one’s hand; next moment he thought it a meteor; the brilliance grew, however, until it became a star. Sore afraid, he cried out, and brought everybody within the walls to the roof. The phenomenon, in eccentric motion, continued to approach; the rocks, trees, and roadway under it shone as in a glare of lightning; directly its brightness became blinding. The more timid of the beholders fell upon their knees, and prayed, with their faces hidden; the boldest, covering their eyes, crouched, and now and then snatched glances fearfully. Afterwhile the khan and everything thereabout lay under the intolerable radiance. Such as dared look beheld the star standing still directly over the house in front of the cave where the Child had been born.
In the height of this scene, the wise men came up, and at the gate dismounted from their camels, and shouted for admission. When the steward so far mastered his terror as to give them heed, he drew the bars and opened to them. The camels looked spectral in the unnatural light, and, besides their outlandishness, there were in the faces and manner of the three visitors an eagerness and exaltation which still further excited the keeper’s fears and fancy; he fell back, and for a time could not answer the question they put to him.
“Is not this Bethlehem of Judea?”
But others came, and by their presence gave him assurance.
“No, this is but the khan; the town lies farther on.”
“Is there not here a child newly born?”
The bystanders turned to each other marvelling, though some of them answered, “Yes, yes.”
“Show us to him!” said the Greek, impatiently.
“Show us to him!” cried Balthasar, breaking through his gravity; “for we have seen his star, even that which ye behold over the house, and are come to worship him.”
The Hindoo clasped his hands, exclaiming, “God indeed lives! Make haste, make haste! The Saviour is found. Blessed, blessed are we above men!”
The people from the roof came down and followed the strangers as they were taken through the court and out into the enclosure; at sight of the star yet above the cave, though less candescent than before, some turned back afraid; the greater part went on. As the strangers neared the house, the orb arose; when they were at the door, it was high up overhead vanishing; when they entered, it went out lost to sight. And to the witnesses of what then took place came a conviction that there was a divine relation between the star and the strangers, which extended also to at least some of the occupants of the cave. When the door was opened, they crowded in.
The apartment was lighted by a lantern enough to enable the strangers to find the mother, and the child awake in her lap.
“Is the child thine?” asked Balthasar of Mary.
And she who had kept all the things in the least affecting the little one, and pondered them in her heart, held it up in the light, saying,
“He is my son!”
And they fell down and worshipped him.
They saw the child was as other children: about its head was neither nimbus nor material crown; its lips opened not in speech; if it heard their expressions of joy, their invocations, their prayers, it made no sign whatever, but, baby-like, looked longer at the flame in the lantern than at them.
In a little while they arose, and, returning to the camels, brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and laid them before the child, abating nothing of their worshipful speeches; of which no part is given, for the thoughtful know that the pure worship of the pure heart was then what it is now, and has always been, an inspired song.
And this was the Saviour they had come so far to find!
Yet they worshipped without a doubt.
Why?
Their faith rested upon the signs sent them by him whom we have since come to know as the Father; and they were of the kind to whom his promises were so all-sufficient that they asked nothing ab
out his ways. Few there were who had seen the signs and heard the promises—the Mother and Joseph, the shepherds, and the Three—yet they all believed alike; that is to say, in this period of the plan of salvation, God was all and the Child nothing. But look forward, O reader! A time will come when the signs will all proceed from the Son. Happy they who then believe in him!
Let us wait that period.
BOOK SECOND
“There is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
In its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest.”
Childe Harold
CHAPTER I
IT is necessary now to carry the reader forward twenty-one years, to the beginning of the administration of Valerius Gratus, the fourth imperial governor of Judea—a period which will be remembered as rent by political agitations in Jerusalem, if, indeed, it be not the precise time of the opening of the final quarrel between the Jew and the Roman.
In the interval Judea had been subjected to changes affecting her in many ways, but in nothing so much as her political status. Herod the Great died within one year after the birth of the Child—died so miserably that the Christian world had reason to believe him overtaken by the Divine wrath. Like all great rulers who spend their lives in perfecting the power they create, he dreamed of transmitting his throne and crown—of being the founder of a dynasty. With that intent, he left a will dividing his territories between his three sons, Antipas, Philip, and Archelaus, of whom the last was appointed to succeed to the title. The testament was necessarily referred to Augustus, the emperor, who ratified all its provisions with one exception: he withheld from Archelaus the title of king until he proved his capacity and loyalty; in lieu thereof, he created him ethnarch, and as such permitted him to govern nine years, when, for misconduct and inability to stay the turbulent elements that grew and strengthened around him, he was sent into Gaul as an exile.