BEN_HUR.

1880
BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST
by Lew Wallace
BOOK FIRST.

CHAPTER I.
INTO THE DESERT.

THE Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more in length,
and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it a likeness to a
caterpillar crawling from the south to the north. Standing on its
red-and-white cliffs, and looking off under the path of the rising
sun, one sees only the Desert of Arabia, where the east winds, so
hateful to the vine-growers of Jericho, have kept their playgrounds
since the beginning. Its feet are well covered by sands tossed from
the Euphrates, there to lie; for the mountain is a wall to the
pasture-lands of Moab and Ammon on the west- lands which else had been
of the desert a part.
The Arab has impressed his language upon everything south and east
of Judea; so, in his tongue, the old Jebel is the parent of numberless
wadies which, intersecting the Roman road- now a dim suggestion of
what once it was, a dusty path for Syrian pilgrims to and from
Mecca- run their furrows, deepening as they go, to pass the torrents
of the rainy season into the Jordan, or their last receptacle, the
Dead Sea. Out of one of these wadies- or, more particularly, out of
that one which rises at the extreme end of the Jebel, and, extending
east of north, becomes at length the bed of the Jabbok River- a
traveller passed, going to the tablelands of the desert. To this
person the attention of the reader is first besought.
Judged by his appearance, he was quite forty-five years old. His
beard, once of the deepest black, flowing broadly over his breast, was
streaked with white. His face was brown as a parched coffee-berry, and
so hidden by a red kufiyeh (as the kerchief of the head is at this day
called by the children of the desert) as to be but in part visible.
Now and then he raised his eyes, and they were large and dark. He
was clad in the flowing garments so universal in the East; but their
style may not be described more particularly, for he sat under a
miniature tent, and rode a great white dromedary.
It may be doubted if the people of the West ever overcome the
impression made upon them by the first view of a camel equipped and
loaded for the desert. Custom, so fatal to other novelties, affects
this feeling but little. At the end of long journeys with caravans,
after years of residence with the Bedawin, the Western-born,
wherever they may be, will stop and wait the passing of the stately
brute. The charm is not in the figure, which not even love can make
beautiful; nor in the movement, the noiseless stepping, or the broad
careen. As is the kindness of the sea to a ship, so is that of the
desert to its creature. It clothes him with all its mysteries; in such
manner, too, that while we are looking at him we are thinking of them:
therein is the wonder. The animal which now came out of the wady might
well have claimed the customary homage. Its colour and height; its
breadth of foot; its bulk of body, not fat, but overlaid with
muscle; its long, slender neck, of swan-like curvature; the head, wide
between the eyes, and tapering to a muzzle which a lady's bracelet
might have almost clasped; its motion, step long and elastic, tread
sure and soundless- all certified its Syrian blood, old as the days of
Cyrus, and absolutely priceless. There was the usual bridle,
covering the forehead with scarlet fringe and garnishing the throat
with pendent brazen chains, each ending with a tinkling silver bell;
but to the bridle there was neither rein for the rider nor strap for a
driver. The furniture perched on the back was an invention which
with any other people than those of the East would have made the
inventor renowned. It consisted of two wooden boxes, scarce four
feet in length, balanced so that one hung at each side; the inner
space, softly lined and carpeted, was arranged to allow the master
to sit or lie half reclined; over it all was stretched a green awning.
Broad back and breast straps, and girths, secured with countless knots
and ties, held the device in place. In such manner the ingenious
sons of Cush had contrived to make comfortable the sunburnt ways of
the wilderness, along which lay their duty as often as their pleasure.
When the dromedary lifted itself out of the last break of the
wady, the traveller had passed the boundary of El Belka, the ancient
Ammon. It was morning time. Before him was the sun, half curtained
in fleecy mist; before him also spread the desert; not the realm of
drifting sands, which was farther on, but the region where the herbage
began to dwarf; where the surface is strewn with boulders of
granite, and grey and brown stones, interspersed with languishing
acacias and tufts of camel-grass. The oak, bramble and arbutus lay
behind as if they had come to a line, looked over into the well-less
waste, and crouched with fear.
And now there was an end of path or road. More, than ever the
camel seemed insensibly driven; it lengthened and quickened its
pace, its head pointed straight towards the horizon; through the
wide nostrils it drank the wind in great draughts. The litter
swayed, and rose and fell like a boat in the waves. Dried leaves in
occasional beds rustled underfoot. Sometimes a perfume like absinthe
sweetened all the air. Lark, and chat, and rock-swallow leaped to
wing, and white partridges ran whistling and clucking out of the
way. More rarely a fox or a hyena quickened his gallop, to study the
intruders at a safe distance. Off to the right rose the hills of the
Jebel, the pearl-grey veil resting upon them changing momentarily into
a purple which the sun would make matchless a little later. Over their
highest peaks a vulture sailed on broad wings into widening circles.
But of all these things the tenant under the green tent saw nothing,
or, at least, made no sign of recognition. His eyes were fixed and
dreamy. The going of the man, like that of the animal, was as one
being led.
For two hours the dromedary swung forward, keeping the trot steadily
and the line due east. In that time the traveller never changed his
position, nor looked to the right or left. On the desert, distance
is not measured by miles or leagues, but by the saat, or hour, and the
manzil, or halt: three-and-a-half leagues fill the former, fifteen
or twenty-five the latter; but they are the rates for the common
camel. A carrier of the genuine Syrian stock can make three leagues
easily. At full speed he overtakes the ordinary winds. As one of the
results of the rapid advance, the face of the landscape underwent a
change. The Jebel stretched along the western horizon, like a
pale-blue ribbon. A tell, or hummock of clay and cemented sand,
arose here and there. Now and then basaltic stones lifted their
round crowns, outposts of the mountain against the forces of the
plain; all else, however, was sand, sometimes smooth as the beaten
beach, then heaped in rolling ridges; here chopped waves, there long
swells. So, too, the condition of the atmosphere changed. The sun,
high risen, had drunk his fill of dew and mist, and warmed the
breeze that kissed the wanderer under the awning; far and near he
was tinting the earth with faint milk-whiteness, and shimmering all
the sky.
Two hours more passed without rest or deviation from the course.
Vegetation entirely ceased. The sand, so crusted on the surface that
it broke into rattling flakes at every step, held undisputed sway. The
Jebel was out of view, and there was no landmark visible. The shadow
that before followed had now shifted to the north, and was keeping
even race with the objects which cast it; and as there was no sign
of halting, the conduct of the traveller became each moment more
strange.
No one, be it remembered, seeks the desert for a pleasure-ground.
Life and business traverse it by paths along which the bones of things
dead are strewn as so many blazons. Such are the roads from well to
well, from pasture to pasture. The heart of the most veteran sheik
beats quicker when he finds himself alone in the pathless tracts. So
the man with whom we are dealing could not have been in search of
pleasure; neither was his manner that of a fugitive: not once did he
look behind him. In such situations fear and curiosity are the most
common sensations; he was not moved by them. When men are lonely, they
stoop to any companionship; the dog becomes a comrade, the horse a
friend, and it is no shame to shower them with caresses and speeches
of love. The camel received no such token, not a touch, not a word.
Exactly at noon the dromedary, of its own will, stopped, and uttered
the cry or moan, peculiarly piteous, by which its kind always
protest against an overload, and sometimes crave attention and rest.
The master thereupon bestirred himself, waking, as it were, from
sleep. He threw the curtains of the houdah up, looked at the sun,
surveyed the country on every side long and carefully, as if to
identify an appointed place. Satisfied with the inspection, he drew
a deep breath and nodded, much as to say, "At last, at last!" A moment
after, he crossed his hands upon his breast, bowed his head, and
prayed silently. The pious duty done, he prepared to dismount. From
his throat proceeded the sound heard doubtless by the favourite camels
of Job- ikh! ikh!- the signal to kneel. Slowly the animal obeyed,
grunting the while. The rider then put his foot upon the slender neck,
and stepped upon the sand.
CHAPTER II.
MEETING OF THE WISE MEN.

THE man as now revealed was of admirable proportions, not so tall as
powerful. Loosening the silken rope which held the kufiyeh on his
head, he brushed the fringed folds back until his face was bare- a
strong face, almost negro in color; yet the low, broad forehead,
aquiline nose, the outer corners of the eyes turned slightly upward,
the hair profuse, straight, harsh, of metallic lustre, and falling
to the shoulder in many plaits, were signs of origin impossible to
disguise. So looked the Pharaohs and the later Ptolemies; so looked
Mizraim, father of the Egyptian race. He wore the kamis, a white
cotton shirt, tight-sleeved, open in front, extending to the ankles
and embroidered down the collar and breast, over which was thrown a
brown woollen cloak, now, as in all probability it was then, called
the aba, an outer garment with long skirt and short sleeves, lined
inside with stuff of mixed cotton and silk, edged all round with a
margin of clouded yellow. His feet were protected by sandals, attached
by thongs of soft leather. A sash held the kamis to his waist. What
was very noticeable, considering he was alone and that the desert
was the haunt of leopards and lions, and men quite as wild, he carried
no arms, not even the crooked stick used for guiding camels; wherefore
we may at least infer his errand peaceful, and that he was either
uncommonly bold or under extraordinary protection.
The traveller's limbs were numb, for the ride had been long and
wearisome; so he rubbed his hands and stamped his feet, and walked
round the faithful servant, whose lustrous eyes were closing in calm
content with the cud he had already found. Often, while making the
circuit, he paused and, shading his eyes with his hands, examined
the desert to the extremest verge of vision; and always, when the
survey was ended, his face clouded with disappointment, slight, but
enough to advise a shrewd spectator that he was there expecting
company, if not by appointment; at the same time, the spectator
would have been conscious of a sharpening of the curiosity to learn
what the business could be that required transaction in a place so far
from civilized abode.
However disappointed, there could be little doubt of the
stranger's confidence in the coming of the expected company. In
token thereof, he went first to the litter, and, from the cot or box
opposite the one he had occupied in coming, produced a sponge and a
small gurglet of water, with which he washed the eyes, face, and
nostrils of the camel; that done, from the same depository he drew a
circular cloth, red-and-white-striped, a bundle of rods, and a stout
cane. The latter, after some manipulation, proved to be a cunning
device of lesser joints, one within another, which, when united
together, formed a centre pole higher than his head. When the pole was
planted, and the rods set around it, he spread the cloth over them,
and was literally at home- a home much smaller than the habitations of
emir and sheik, yet their counterpart in all other respects. From
the litter again he brought a carpet or square rug, and covered the
floor of the tent on the side from the sun. That done, he went out,
and once more, and with greater care and more eager eyes, swept the
encircling country. Except a distant jackal galloping across the
plain, and an eagle flying towards the Gulf of Akaba, the waste below,
like the blue above it, was lifeless.
He turned to the camel, saying low, and in a tongue strange to the
desert, "We are far from home, O racer with the swiftest winds- we are
far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient."
Then he took some beans from a pocket in the saddle, and put them in
a bag made to hang below the animal's nose; and when he saw the relish
with which the good servant took to the food, he turned and again
scanned the world of sand, dim with the glow of the vertical sun.
"They will come," he said, calmly. "He that led me is leading
them. I will make ready."
From the pouches which lined the interior of the cot, and from a
willow basket which was part of its furniture, he brought forth
materials for a meal: platters close-woven of the fibres of palms;
wine in small gurglets of skin; mutton dried and smoked; stoneless
shami, or Syrian pomegranates; dates of El Shelebi, wondrous rich
and grown in the nakhil, or palm orchards, of Central Arabia;
cheese, like David's "slices of milk"; and leavened bread from the
city bakery- all which he carried and set upon the carpet under the
tent. As the final preparation, about the provisions he laid three
pieces of silk cloth, used among refined people of the East to cover
the knees of guests while at table- a circumstance significant of
the number of persons who were to partake of his entertainment- the
number he was awaiting.
All was now ready. He stepped out: lo! in the east a dark speck on
the face of the desert. He stood as if rooted to the ground; his
eyes dilated; his flesh crept chilly, as if touched by something
supernatural. The speck grew; became large as a hand; at length
assumed defined proportions. A little later, full into view swung a
duplication of his own dromedary, tall and white, and bearing a
houdah, the travelling litter of Hindostan. Then the Egyptian
crossed his hands upon his breast, and looked to heaven.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, his eyes full of tears, his
soul in awe.
The stranger drew nigh- at last stopped. Then he, too, seemed just
waking. He beheld the kneeling camel, the tent, and the man standing
prayerfully at the door. He crossed his hands, bent his head, and
prayed silently; after which, in a little while, he stepped from his
camel's neck to the sand, and advanced towards the Egyptian, as did
the Egyptian towards him. A moment they looked at each other; then
they embraced- that is, each threw his right arm over the other's
shoulder, and the left round the side, placing his chin first upon the
left, then upon the right breast.
"Peace be with thee, O servant of the true God!" the stranger said.
"And to thee, O brother of the true faith!- to thee peace and
welcome," the Egyptian replied, with fervour.
The new-comer was tall and gaunt, with lean face, sunken eyes, white
hair and beard, and a complexion between the hue of cinnamon and
bronze. He, too, was unarmed. His costume was Hindostani; over the
skull-cap a shawl was wound in great folds, forming a turban; his body
garments were in the style of the Egyptian's, except that the aba
was shorter, exposing wide flowing breeches gathered at the ankles. In
place of sandals, his feet were clad in half-slippers of red
leather, pointed at the toes. Save the slippers, the costume from head
to foot was of white linen. The air of the man was high, stately,
severe. Visvamitra, the greatest of the ascetic heroes of the Iliad of
the East, had in him a perfect representative. He might have been
called a Life drenched with the wisdom of Brahma- Devotion
Incarnate. Only in his eyes was there proof of humanity; when he
lifted his face from the Egyptian's breast they were glistening with
tears.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, when the embrace was finished.
"And blessed are they that serve Him!" the Egyptian answered,
wondering at the paraphrase of his own exclamation. "But let us wait,"
he added, "Let us wait; for see, the other comes yonder!"
They looked to the north, where, already plain to view, a third
camel, of the whiteness of the others came careening like a ship. They
waited, standing together- waited until the new-comer arrived,
dismounted, and advanced towards them.
"Peace to you, O my brother!" he said, while embracing the Hindoo.
And the Hindoo answered, "God's will be done!"
The last comer was all unlike his friends; his frame was slighter;
his complexion white; a mass of waving light hair was a perfect
crown for his small but beautiful head; the warmth of his dark-blue
eyes certified a delicate mind, and a cordial, brave nature. He was
bareheaded and unarmed. Under the folds of the Tyrian blanket which he
wore with unconscious grace appeared a tunic, short-sleeved and
low-necked, gathered to the waist by a band, and reaching nearly to
the knee; leaving the neck, arms, and legs bare. Sandals guarded his
feet. Fifty years, probably more, had spent themselves upon him,
with no other effect, apparently, than to tinge his demeanour with
gravity and temper his words with forethought. The physical
organization and the brightness of soul were untouched. No need to
tell the student from what kindred he was sprung; if he came not
himself from the groves of Athene, his ancestry did.
When his arms fell from the Egyptian, the latter said, with a
tremulous voice, "The Spirit brought me first; wherefore I know myself
chosen to be the servant of my brethren. The tent is set, and the
bread is ready for the breaking. Let me perform my office."
Taking each by the hand, he led them within, and removed their
sandals and washed their feet, and he poured water upon their hands,
and dried them with napkins.
Then, when he had laved his own hands, he said, "Let us take care of
ourselves, brethren, as our service requires, and eat, that we may
be strong for what remains of the day's duty. While we eat, we will
each learn who the others are, and whence they come, and how they
are called."
He took them to the repast, and seated them so that they faced
each other. Simultaneously their heads bent forward, their hands
crossed upon their breasts, and, speaking together, they said aloud
this simple grace-
"Father of all- God!- what we have here is of Thee; take our
thanks and bless us, that we may continue to do Thy will."
With the last word they raised their eyes, and looked at each
other in wonder. Each had spoken in a language never before heard by
the others; yet each understood perfectly what was said. Their souls
thrilled with divine emotion; for by the miracle they recognized the
Divine Presence.
CHAPTER III.
THE ATHENIAN SPEAKS- FAITH.

To speak in the style of the period, the meeting just described took
place in the year of Rome 747. The month was December, and winter
reigned over all the regions east of the Mediterranean. Such as ride
upon the desert in this season go not far until smitten with a keen
appetite. The company under the little tent were not exceptions to the
rule. They were hungry, and ate heartily; and, after the wine, they
talked.
"To a wayfarer in a strange land nothing is so sweet as to hear
his name on the tongue of a friend," said the Egyptian, who assumed to
be president of the repast. "Before us lie many days of companionship.
It is time we knew each other. So, if it be agreeable, he who came
last shall be first to speak."
Then, slowly at first, like one watchful of himself, the Greek
began-
"What I have to tell, my brethren, is so strange that I hardly
know where to begin or what I may with propriety speak. I do not yet
understand myself. The most I am sure of is that I am doing a Master's
will, and that the service is a constant ecstasy. When I think of
the purpose I am sent to fulfill, there is in me a joy so
inexpressible that I know the will is God's."
The good man paused, unable to proceed, while the others, in
sympathy with his feelings, dropped their gaze.
"Far to the west of this," he began again, "there is a land which
may never be forgotten; if only because the world is too much its
debtor, and because the indebtedness is for things that bring to men
their purest pleasures. I will say nothing of the arts, nothing of
philosophy, of eloquence, of poetry, of war: O my brethren, hers is
the glory which must shine forever in perfected letters, by which He
we go to find and proclaim will be made known to all the earth. The
land I speak of is Greece. I am Gaspar, son of Cleanthes the
Athenian."
"My people," he continued, "were given wholly to study, and from
them I derived the same passion. It happens that two of our
philosophers, the very greatest of the many teach, one the doctrine of
a Soul in every man, and its Immortality; the other the doctrine of
One God, infinitely just. From the multitude of subjects about which
the schools were disputing, I separated them, as alone worth the
labour of solution; for I thought there was a relation between God and
the soul as yet unknown. On this theme the mind can reason to a point,
a dead, impassable wall; arrived there, all that remains is to stand
and cry aloud for help. So I did; but no voice came to me over the
wall. In despair, I tore myself from the cities and the schools."
At these words a grave smile of approval lighted the gaunt face of
the Hindoo.
"In the northern part of my country- in Thessaly," the Greek
proceeded to say, "there is a mountain famous as the home of the gods,
where Theus, whom my countrymen believe supreme, has his abode:
Olympus is its name. Thither I betook myself. I found a cave in a hill
where the mountain, coming from the west, bends to the south-east;
there I dwelt, giving myself up to meditation- no, I gave myself up to
waiting for what every breath was a prayer- for revelation.
Believing in God, invisible yet supreme, I also believed it possible
so to yearn for Him with all my soul that He would take compassion and
give me answer."
"And He did- He did!" exclaimed the Hindoo, lifting his hands from
the silken cloth upon his lap.
"Hear me, brethren," said the Greek, calming himself with an effort.
"The door of my hermitage looks over an arm of the sea, over the
Themaic Gulf. One day I saw a man flung overboard from a ship
sailing by. He swam ashore. I received and took care of him. He was
a Jew, learned in the history and laws of his people; and from him I
came to know that the God of my prayers did indeed exist, and had been
for ages their lawmaker, ruler, and king. What was that but the
Revelation I dreamed of? My faith had not been fruitless; God answered
me!"
"As He does all who cry to Him with such faith," said the Hindoo.
"But, alas!" the Egyptian added, "how few are there wise enough to
know when He answers them!"
"That was not all," the Greek continued. "The man so sent to me told
me more. He said the prophets who, in the ages which followed the
first revelation, walked and talked with God, declared He would come
again. He gave me the names of the prophets, and from the sacred books
quoted their very language. He told me, further, that the second
coming was at hand- was looked for momentarily in Jerusalem."
The Greek paused, and the brightness of his countenance faded.
"It is true," he said after a little- "it is true the man told me
that as God and the revelation of which he spoke had been for the Jews
alone, so it would be again. He that was to come should be King of the
Jews. 'Had He nothing for the rest of the world?' I asked. 'No,' was
the answer, given in a proud voice- 'No, we are His chosen people.'
The answer did not crush my hope. Why should such a God limit His love
and benefaction to one land, and, as it were, to one family? I set
my heart upon knowing. At last I broke through the man's pride, and
found that his fathers had been merely chosen servants to keep the
Truth alive, that the world might at last know it and be saved. When
the Jew was gone, and I was alone again, I chastened my soul with a
new prayer- that I might be permitted to see the King when He was
come, and worship Him. One night I sat by the door of my cave trying
to get nearer the mysteries of my existence, knowing which is to
know God; suddenly, on the sea below me, or rather in the darkness
that covered its face, I saw a star begin to burn; slowly it arose and
drew nigh, and stood over the hill and above my door, so that its
light shone full. upon me. I fell down, and slept, and in my dream I
heard a voice say:-
"'O Gaspar! Thy faith hath conquered! Blessed art thou! With two
others, come from the uttermost parts of the earth, thou shalt see Him
that is promised, and be a witness for Him, and the occasion of
testimony in His behalf. In the morning arise, and go meet them, and
keep trust in the Spirit that shall guide thee.'
"And in the morning I awoke with the Spirit as a light within me
surpassing that of the sun. I put off my hermit's garb, and dressed
myself as of old. From a hiding-place I took the treasure which I
had brought from the city. A ship went sailing past. I hailed it,
was taken aboard, and landed at Antioch. There I bought the camel
and his furniture. Through the gardens and orchards that enamel the
banks of the Orontes, I journeyed to Emesa, Damascus, Bostra, and
Philadelphia; thence hither. And so, O brethren, you have my story.
Let me now listen to you."
CHAPTER IV.
SPEECH OF THE HINDOO- LOVE.

THE Egyptian and the Hindoo looked at each other; the former waved
his hand; the latter bowed, and began-
"Our brother has spoken well. May my words be as wise."
He broke off, reflected a moment, then resumed-
"You may know me, brethren, by the name of Melchior. I speak to
you in a language which, if not the oldest in the world, was at
least the soonest to be reduced to letters- I mean the Sanscrit of
India. I am a Hindoo by birth. My people were the first to walk in the
fields of knowledge, first to divide them, first to make them
beautiful. Whatever may hereafter befall, the four Vedas must live,
for they are the primal fountains of religion and useful intelligence.
From them were derived the Upa-Vedas, which delivered by Brahma, treat
of medicine, archery, architecture, music, and the four-and-sixty
mechanical arts, the Ved-Angas, revealed by inspired saints, and
devoted to astronomy, grammar, prosody, pronunciation, charms and
incantations, religious rites and ceremonies; the Up-Angas, written by
the sage Vyasa, and given to cosmogony, chronology, and geography;
therein also are the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, heroic poems
designed for the perpetuation of our gods and demi-gods. Such, O
brethren, are the Great Shastras, or books of sacred ordinances.
They are dead to me now; yet through all time they will serve to
illustrate the budding genius of my race. They were promises of
quick perfection. Ask you why the promises failed? Alas! the books
themselves closed all the gates of progress. Under pretext of care for
the creature, their authors imposed the fatal principle that a man
must not address himself to discovery or invention, as Heaven had
provided him all things needful. When that condition became a sacred
law, the lamp of Hindoo genius was let down a well, where ever since
it has lighted narrow walls and bitter waters.
"These allusions, brethren, are not from pride, as you will
understand when I tell you that the Shastras teach a Supreme God
called Brahm; also, that the Puranas, or sacred poems of the Up-Angas,
tell us of Virtue and Good Works, and of the Soul. So, if my brother
will permit the saying"- the speaker bowed deferentially to the Greek-
"ages before his people were known, the two great ideas, God and the
Soul, had absorbed all the forces of the Hindoo mind. In further
explanation, let me say that Brahm is taught, by the same sacred
books, as a Triad- Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Of these, Brahma is said
to have been the author of our race; which, in course of creation,
he divided into four castes. First, he peopled the worlds below and
the heavens above; next, he made the earth ready for terrestrial
spirits; then from his mouth proceeded the Brahman caste, nearest in
likeness to himself, highest and noblest, sole teachers of the
Vedas, which at the same time flowed from his lips in finished
state, perfect in all useful knowledge. From his arms next issued
the Kshatriya, or warriors; from his breast, the seat of life, came
the Vaisya, or producers- shepherds, farmers, merchants; from his
foot, in sign of degradation, sprang the Sudra, or serviles, doomed to
menial duties for the other classes- serfs, domestics, labourers,
artisans. Take notice, further, that the law, so born with them,
forbade a man of one caste becoming a member of another; the Brahman
could not enter a lower order; if he violated the laws of his own
grade, he became an outcast, lost to all but outcasts like himself."
At this point, the imagination of the Greek, flashing forward upon
all the consequences of such a degradation, overcame his eager
attention, and he exclaimed, "In such a state, O brethren, what mighty
need of a loving God!"
"Yes," added the Egyptian, "of a loving God like ours."
The brows of the Hindoo knit painfully; when the emotion was
spent, he proceeded, in a softened voice-
"I was born a Brahman. My life, consequently, was ordered down to
its least act, its last hour. My first draught of nourishment; the
giving me my compound name; taking me out the first time to see the
sun; investing me with the triple thread by which I became one of
the twice-born; my induction into the first order- were all celebrated
with sacred texts and rigid ceremonies. I might not walk, eat,
drink, or sleep without danger of violating a rule. And the penalty, O
brethren, the penalty was to my soul! According to the degrees of
omission, my soul went to one of the heavens- Indra's the lowest,
Brahma's the highest; or it was driven back to become the life of a
worm, a fly, a fish, or a brute. The reward for perfect observance was
Beatitude, or absorption into the being of Brahm, which was not
existence as much as absolute rest."
The Hindoo gave himself a moment's thought; proceeding, he said,
"The part of a Brahman's life called the first order is his student
life. When I was ready to enter the second order- that is to say, when
I was ready to marry and became a householder- I questioned
everything, even Brahm; I was a heretic. From the depths of the well I
had discovered a light above, and yearned to go up and see what all it
shone upon. At last- ah, with what years of toil!- I stood in the
perfect day, and beheld the principle of life, the element of
religion, the link between the soul and God- Love!"
The shrunken face of the good man kindled visibly, and he clasped
his hands with force. A silence ensued, during which the others looked
at him, the Greek through tears. At length he resumed:
"The happiness of love is in action; its test is what one is willing
to do for others. I could not rest. Brahm had filled the world with so
much wretchedness. The Sudra appealed to me; so did the countless
devotees and victims. The island of Ganga Lagor lies where the
sacred waters of the Ganges disappear in the Indian Ocean. Thither I
betook myself. In the shade of the temple built there to the sage
Kapila, in a union of prayers with the disciples whom the sanctified
memory of the holy man keeps around his house, I thought to find rest.
But twice every year came pilgrimages of Hindoos seeking the
purification of the waters. Their misery strengthened my love. Against
its impulse to speak, I clenched my jaws; for one word against Brahm
or the Triad or the Shastras would doom me; one act of kindness to the
outcast Brahmans who now and then dragged themselves to die on the
burning sands- a blessing said, a cup of water given- and I became one
of them, lost to family, country, privileges, caste. The love
conquered! I spoke to the disciples in the temple; they drove me
out. I spoke to the pilgrims; they stoned me from the island. On the
highways I attempted to preach; my hearers fled from me, or sought
my life. In all India, finally, there was not a place in which I could
find peace or safety- not even among the outcasts; for though
fallen, they were still believers in Brahm. In my extremity, I
looked for a solitude in which to hide from all but God. I followed
the Ganges to its source, far up in the Himalayas. When I entered
the pass at Hurdwar, where the river, in unstained purity leaps to its
course through the muddy lowlands, I prayed for my race, and thought
myself lost to them forever. Through gorges, over cliffs, across
glaciers, by peaks that seemed star-high, I made my way to the Lang
Tso, a lake of marvellous beauty, asleep at the feet of the Tise
Gangri, the Gurla, and the Kailas Parbot, giants which flaunt their
crowns of snow everlastingly in the face of the sun. There, in the
centre of the earth; where the Indus, Ganges, and Brahma-pootra rise
to run their different courses; where mankind took up their first
abode, and separated to replete the world, leaving Balk, the mother of
cities, to attest the great fact; where Nature, gone back to its
primeval condition, and secure in its immensities, invites the sage
and the exile, with promise of safety to the one and solitude to the
other- there I went to abide alone with God, praying, fasting, waiting
for death."
Again the voice fell, and the bony hands met in a fervent clasp.
"One night I walked by the shores of the lake, and spoke to the
listening silence, 'When will God come and claim His own? Is there
to be no redemption?' Suddenly a light began to glow tremulously out
on the water; soon a star arose, and moved towards me, and stood
overhead. The brightness stunned me. While I lay upon the ground, I
heard a voice of infinite sweetness say, 'Thy love hath conquered.
Blessed art thou, O son of India! The redemption is at hand. With
two others, from far quarters of the earth, thou shalt see the
Redeemer, and be a witness that He hath come. In the morning arise,
and go meet them, and put all thy trust in the Spirit which shall
guide thee.'
"And from that time the light has stayed with me; so I knew it was
the visible presence of the Spirit. In the morning I started to the
world by the way I had come. In a cleft of the mountain I found a
stone of vast worth, which I sold in Hurdwar. By Lahore, and Cabool,
and Yezd, I came to Ispahan. There I bought the camel, and thence
was led to Bagdad, not waiting for caravans. Alone I travelled,
fearless, for the Spirit was with me, and is with me yet. What glory
is ours, O brethren! We are to see the Redeemer- to speak to Him- to
worship Him! I am done!"
CHAPTER V.
THE EGYPTIAN'S STORY- GOOD WORKS.

THE vivacious Greek broke forth in expressions of joy and
congratulations; after which the Egyptian said, with characteristic
gravity-
"I salute you, my brother. You have suffered much, and I rejoice
in your triumph. If you are both pleased to hear me, I will now tell
you who I am, and how I came to be called. Wait for me a moment."
He went out and tended the camels; coming back, he resumed his seat.
"Your words, brethren, were of the Spirit," he said, in
commencement; "and the Spirit gives me to understand them. You each
spoke particularly of your countries; in that there was a great object
which I will explain; but to make the interpretation complete, let
me first speak of myself and my people. I am Balthasar the Egyptian."
The last words were spoken quietly, but with so much dignity that
both listeners bowed to the speaker.
"There are many distinctions I might claim for my race," he
continued; "but I will content myself with one. History began with us.
We were the first to perpetuate events by records kept. So we have
no traditions; and instead of poetry, we offer you certainty. On the
facades of palaces and temples, on obelisks, on the inner walls of
tombs, we wrote the names of our kings, and what they did; and to
the delicate papyri we entrusted the wisdom of our philosophers and
the secrets of our religion- all the secrets but one, whereof I will
presently speak. Older than the Vedas of Para-Brahm or the Up-Angas of
Vyasa, O Melchior; older than the songs of Homer or the metaphysics of
Plato, O my Gaspar; older than the sacred books or kings of the people
of China, or those of Siddartha, son of the beautiful Maya; older than
the Genesis of Mosche the Hebrew- oldest of human records are the
writings of Menes, our first king." Pausing an instant, he fixed his
large eyes kindly upon the Greek, saying, "In the youth of Hellas,
who, O Gaspar, were the teachers of her teachers?"
The Greek bowed, smiling.
"By those records," Balthasar continued, "we know that when the
fathers came from the far East, from the region of the birth of the
three sacred rivers, from the centre of the earth- the Old Iran of
which you spoke, O Melchior- came bringing with them the history of
the world before the Flood, and of the Flood itself, as given to the
Aryans by the sons of Noah, they taught God, the Creator and the
Beginning, and the Soul, deathless as God. When the duty which calls
us now is happily done, if you choose to go with me, I will show you
the sacred library of our priesthood; among others, the Book of the
Dead, in which is the ritual to be observed by the soul after Death
has despatched it on its journey to judgment. The ideas- God and the
Immortal Soul- where borne to Mizraim over the desert, and by him to
the banks of the Nile. They were then in their purity, easy of
understanding, as what God intends for our happiness always is; so,
also, was the first worship- a song and a prayer natural to a soul
joyous, hopeful, and in love with its Maker."
Here the Greek threw up his hands, exclaiming, "Oh the light deepens
within me!"
"And in me!" said the Hindoo, with equal fervour.
The Egyptian regarded them benignantly, then went on, saying,
"Religion is merely the law which binds man to his Creator: in
purity it has but these elements- God, the Soul, and their Mutual
Recognition; out of which, when put in practice, spring Worship, Love,
and Reward. This law, like all others of divine origin- like that, for
instance, which binds the earth to the sun- was perfected in the
beginning by its Author. Such, my brothers was the religion of the
first family; such was the religion of our father Mizraim, who could
not have been blind to the formula of creation, nowhere so discernible
as in the first faith and the earliest worship. Perfection is God;
simplicity is perfection. The curse of curses is that men will not let
truths like these alone."
He stopped, as if considering in what manner to continue.
"Many nations have loved the sweet waters of the Nile," he said
next; "the Ethiopian, the Pali-Putra, the Hebrew, the Assyrian, the
Persian, the Macedonian, the Roman- of whom all, except the Hebrew,
have at one time or another been its masters. So much coming and going
of peoples corrupted the old Mizraimic faith. The Valley of Palms
became a Valley of Gods. The Supreme One was divided into eight,
each personating a creative principle in nature, with Ammon-Re at
the head. Then Isis and Osiris, and their circle, representing
water, fire, air, and other forces, were invented. Still the
multiplication went on until we had another order, suggested by
human qualities, such as strength, knowledge, love, and the like."
"In all which there was the old folly!" cried the Greek,
impulsively. "Only the things out of reach remain as they came to us."
The Egyptian bowed, and proceeded-
"Yet a little further, O my Brethren, a little further, before I
come to myself. What we go to will seem all the holier of comparison
with what it is and has been. The records show that Mizraim found
the Nile in possession of the Ethopians, who were spread thence
through the African desert; a people of rich, fantastic genius, wholly
given to the worship of nature. The poetic Persian sacrificed to the
sun, as the completest image of Ormuzd, his God; the devout children
of the far East carved their deities out of wood and ivory; but the
Ethiopian, without writing, without books, without mechanical
faculty of any kind, quieted his soul by the worship of animals,
birds, and insects, holding the cat sacred to Re, the bull to Isis,
the beetle to Pthah. A long struggle against their rude, faith ended
in its adoption as the religion of the new empire. Then rose the
mighty monuments that cumber the riverbank and the desert- obelisk,
labyrinth, pyramid, and tomb of king, blent with tomb of crocodile.
Into such deep debasement, O brethren, the sons of the Aryan fell!"
Here, for the first time, the calmness of the Egyptian forsook
him: though his countenance remained impassive, his voice gave way.
"Do not too much despise my countrymen," he began again. "They did
not all forget God. I said awhile ago, you may remember, that to
papyri we entrusted all the secrets of our religion except one; of
that I will now tell you. We had as king once a certain Pharaoh, who
lent himself to all manner of changes and additions. To establish
the new system, he strove to drive the old entirely out of mind. The
Hebrews then dwelt with us as slaves. They clung to their God; and
when the persecution became intolerable, they were delivered in a
manner never to be forgotten. I speak from the records now. Mosche,
himself a Hebrew, came to the palace, and demanded permission for
the slaves, then millions in number, to leave the country. The
demand was in the name of the Lord God of Israel. Pharaoh refused.
Hear what followed. First, all the water, that in the lakes and
rivers, like that in the wells and vessels, turned to blood. Yet the
monarch refused. Then frogs came up and covered all the land. Still he
was firm. Then Mosche threw ashes in the air, and plague attacked
the Egyptians. Next, all the cattle, except of the Hebrews, were
struck dead. Locusts devoured the green things of the valley. At
noon the day was turned into a darkness so thick that lamps would
not burn. Finally, in the night all the first-born of the Egyptians
died; not even Pharaoh's escaped. Then he yielded. But when the
Hebrews were gone he followed them with his army. At the last moment
the sea was divided, so that the fugitives passed it dry-shod. When
the pursuers drove in after them, the waves rushed back, and
drowned- horse, foot, charioteers, and king. You spoke of
revelation, my Gaspar- "
The blue eyes of the Greek sparkled.
"I had the story from the Jew," he cried. "You confirm it, O
Balthasar!"
"Yes, but through me Egypt speaks, not Mosche. I interpret the
marbles. The priests of that time wrote in their way what they
witnessed, and the revelation has lived. So I come to the one
unrecorded secret. In my country, brethren, we have, from the day of
the unfortunate Pharaoh, always had two religions- one private, the
other public; one of many gods, practised by the people; the other
of one God, cherished only by the priesthood. Rejoice with me, O
brothers! All the trampling by the many nations, all the harrowing
by kings, all the inventions of enemies, all the changes of time, have
been in vain. Like a seed under the mountains waiting its hour, the
glorious Truth has lived; and this- this is its day!"
The wasted frame of the Hindoo trembled with delight, and the
Greek cried aloud-
"It seems to me the very desert is singing."
From a gurglet of water near-by the Egyptian took a draught, and
proceeded-
"I was born at Alexandria, a prince and a priest, and had the
education usual to my class. But very early I became discontented.
Part of the faith imposed was that after death, upon the destruction
of my body, the soul at once began its former progression from the
lowest up to humanity, the highest and last existence; and that
without reference to conduct in the mortal life. When I heard of the
Persian's Realm of Light, his Paradise across the bridge Chinevat,
where only the good go, the thought haunted me; insomuch that in the
day, as in the night, I brooded over the comparative ideas Eternal
Transmigration and Eternal Life in Heaven. If, as my teacher taught,
God was just, why was there no distinction between the good and the
bad? At length it became clear to me, a certainty, a corollary of
the law to which I reduced pure religion, that death was only the
point of separation at which the wicked are left or lost, and the
faithful rise to a higher life; not the nirvana of Buddha, or the
negative rest of Brahma, O Melchior; nor the better condition in hell,
which is all of Heaven allowed by the Olympic faith, O Gaspar; but
life- life active, joyous, everlasting- LIFE WITH GOD! The discovery
led to another inquiry. Why should the Truth be longer kept a secret
for the selfish solace of the priesthood? The reason for the
suppression was gone. Philosophy had at least brought us toleration.
In Egypt we had Rome instead of Rameses. One day, in the Brucheium,
the most splendid and crowded quarter of Alexandria, I arose and
preached. The East and West contributed to my audience. Students going
to the Library, priests from the Serapeion, idlers from the Museum,
patrons of the race-course, countrymen from the Rhacotis- a multitude-
stopped to hear me. I preached God, the Soul, Right and Wrong, and
Heaven, the reward of a virtuous life. You, O Melchior, were stoned;
my auditors first wondered, then laughed. I tried again; they pelted
me with epigrams, covered my God with ridicule, and darkened my Heaven
with mockery. Not to linger needlessly, I fell before them."
The Hindoo here drew a long sigh, as he said, "The enemy of man is
man, my brother."
Balthasar lapsed into silence.
"I gave much thought to finding the cause of my failure, and at last
succeeded," he said, upon beginning again. "Up the river, a day's
journey from the city, there is a village of herdsmen and gardeners. I
took a boat and went there. In the evening I called the people
together, men and women, the poorest of the poor. I preached to them
exactly as I had preached in the Brucheium. They did not laugh. Next
evening I spoke again, and they believed and rejoiced, and carried the
news abroad. At the third meeting a society was formed for prayer. I
returned to the city then. Drifting down the river, under the stars,
which never seemed so bright and so near, I evolved this lesson:- To
begin a reform, go not into the places of the great and rich; go
rather to those whose cups of happiness are empty- to the poor and
humble. And then I laid a plan and devoted my life. As a first step, I
secured my vast property, so that the income would be certain, and
always at call for the relief of the suffering. From that day, O
brethren, I travelled up and down the Nile in the villages, and to all
the tribes, preaching One God, a righteous life, and reward in Heaven.
I have done good- it does not become me to say how much. I also know
that part of the world to be ripe for the reception of Him we go to
find."
A flush suffused the swarthy cheek of the speaker; but he overcame
the feeling, and continued:-
"The years so given, O my brothers, were troubled by one thought-
When I was gone, what would become of the cause I had started? Was
it to end with me? I had dreamed many times of organization as a
fitting crown for my work. To hide nothing from you, I had tried to
effect it, and failed. Brethren, the world is now in the condition
that, to restore the old Mizraimic faith, the reformer must have a
more than human sanction; he must not merely come in God's name, he
must have the proofs subject to His word; he must demonstrate all he
says, even God. So preoccupied is the mind with myths and systems;
so much do false deities crowd every place- earth, air, sky; so have
they become of everything a part, that return to the first religion
can only be along bloody paths, through fields of persecution; that is
to say, the converts must be willing to die rather than recant. And
who in this age can carry the faith of men to such a point but God
Himself? To redeem the race- I do not mean to destroy it- to redeem
the race, He must make Himself once more manifest: HE MUST COME IN
PERSON."
Intense emotion seized the three.
"Are we not going to find Him?" exclaimed the Greek.
"You understand why I failed in the attempt to organize," said the
Egyptian, when the spell was passed. "I had not the sanction. To
know that my work must be lost made me intolerably wretched. I
believed in prayer; and to make my appeals pure and strong, like
you, my brethren, I went out of the beaten ways- I went where man
had not been, where only God was. Above the fifth cataract, above
the meeting of rivers in Sennar, up the Bahr el Abiad, into the far
unknown of Africa, I went. There, in the morning, a mountain blue as
the sky flings a cooling shadow wide over the western desert, and,
with its cascades of melted snow, feeds a broad lake nestling at its
base on the east. The lake is the mother of the great river. For a
year and more the mountain gave me a home. The fruit of the palm fed
my body, prayer my spirit. One night I walked in the orchard close
by the little sea. 'The world is dying. When wilt Thou come? Why may I
not see the redemption, O God?' So I prayed. The glassy water was
sparkling with stars. One of them seemed to leave its place and rise
to the surface, where it became a brilliancy burning to the eyes. Then
it moved towards me, and stood over my head, apparently in hand's
reach. I fell down and hid my face. A voice, not of the earth, said,
'Thy good works have conquered. Blessed art thou, O son of Mizraim!
The redemption cometh. With two others, from the remoteness of the
world, thou shalt see the Saviour, and testify for Him. In the morning
arise, and go meet them. And when ye have all come to the holy city of
Jerusalem, ask of the people, Where is He that is born King of the
Jews? for we have seen His star in the East, and are sent to worship
Him. Put all thy trust in the Spirit which will guide thee.'
"And the light became an inward illumination not to be doubted,
and has stayed with me, a governor and a guide. It led me down the
river to Memphis, where I made ready for the desert. I bought my
camel, and came hither without rest, by way of Suez and Kufileh, and
up through the lands of Moab and Ammon. God is with us, O my
brethren!"
He paused, and thereupon, with a prompting not their own, they all
arose, and looked at each other.
"I said there was a purpose in the particularity with which we
described our peoples and their histories," so the Egyptian proceeded.
"He we go to find was called 'King of the Jews;' by that name we are
bidden to ask for Him. But, now that we have met, and heard from
each other, we may know Him to be the Redeemer, not of the Jews alone,
but of all the nations of the earth. The patriarch who survived the
Flood had with him three sons, and their families, by whom the world
was repeopled. From the old Aryana-Vaejo, the well-remembered Region
of Delight in the heart of Asia, they parted. India and the far East
received the children of the first; the descendants of the youngest,
through the North, streamed into Europe; those of the second
overflowed the deserts about the Red Sea, passing into Africa; and
though most of the latter are yet dwellers in shifting tents, some
of them became builders along the Nile."
By a simultaneous impulse the three joined hands.
"Could anything be more divinely ordered?" Balthasar continued.
"When we have found the Lord, the brothers, and all the generations
that have succeeded them, will kneel to Him in homage with us. And
when we part to go our separate ways, the world will have learned a
new lesson- that Heaven may be won, not by the sword, not by human
wisdom, but by Faith, Love, and Good Works."
There was silence, broken by sighs and sanctified with tears; for
the joy that filled them might not be stayed. It was the unspeakable
joy of souls on the shores of the River of Life, resting with the
Redeemed in God's presence.
Presently their hands fell apart, and together they went out of
the tent. The desert was still as the sky. The sun was sinking fast.
The camels slept.
A little while after, the tent was struck, and, with the remains
of the repast, restored to the cot; then the friends mounted, and
set out single file, led by the Egyptian. Their course was due west,
into the chilly night. The camels swung forward in steady trot,
keeping the line and the intervals so exactly that those following
seemed to tread in the tracks of the leader. The riders spoke not
once.
By-and-by the moon came up. And as the three tall, white figures
sped, with soundless tread, through the opalescent light, they
appeared like spectres flying from hateful shadows. Suddenly, in the
air before them, not farther up than a low hill-top, flared a
lambent flame; as they looked at it, the apparition contracted into
a focus of dazzling lustre. Their hearts beat fast; their souls
thrilled; and they shouted as with one voice, "The Star! the Star! God
is with us!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE JOPPA GATE.

IN an aperture of the western wall of Jerusalem hang the "oaken
valves" called the Bethlehem or Joppa Gate. The area outside of them
is one of the notable places of the city. Long before David coveted
Zion, there was a citadel there. When at last the son of Jesse
ousted the Jebusite, and began to build, the site of the citadel
became the northwest corner of his new wall, defended by a tower
much more imposing than the old one. The location of the gate,
however, was not disturbed, for the reasons, most likely, that the
roads which met and merged in front of it could not well be
transferred to any other point, while the area outside had become a
recognized market-place. In Solomon's day there was great traffic at
the locality, shared in by traders from Egypt, and the rich dealers
from Tyre and Sidon. Nearly three thousand years have passed, and
yet a kind of commerce clings to the spot. A pilgrim wanting a pin
or a pistol, a cucumber or a camel, a house or a horse, a loan or a
lentil, a date or a dragoman, a melon or a man, a dove or a donkey,
has only to inquire for the article at the Joppa Gate. Sometimes the
scene is quite animated, and then it suggests, What a place the old
market must have been in the days of Herod the Builder! And to that
period and that market the reader is now to be transferred.
Following the Hebrew system, the meeting of the wise men described
in the preceding chapters took place in the afternoon of the
twenty-fifth day of the third month of the year; that is to say, on
the twenty-fifth day of December. The year was the second of the 193rd
Olympiad, or the 747th of Rome; the sixty-seventh of Herod the
Great, and the thirty-fifth of his reign; the fourth before the
beginning of the Christian era. The hours of the day, by Judean
custom, begin with the sun, the first hour being the first after
sunrise; so, to be precise, the market at the Joppa Gate during the
first hour of the day stated was in full session, and very lively. The
massive walls had been wide open since dawn. Business, always
aggressive, had pushed, through the arched entrance into a narrow lane
and court, which, passing by the walls of the great tower, conducted
on into the city. As Jerusalem is in the hill country, the morning air
on this occasion was not a little crisp. The rays of the sun, with
their promise of warmth, lingered provokingly far up on the
battlements and turrets of the great piles about, down from which fell
the crooning of pigeons, and the whir of the flocks coming and going.
As a passing acquaintance with the people of the Holy City,
strangers as well as residents, will be necessary to an
understanding of some of the pages which follow, it will be well to
stop at the gate and pass the scene in review. Better opportunity will
not offer to get sight of the populace who will afterwhile go
forward in a mood very different from that which now possesses them.
The scene is at first one of utter confusion- confusion of action,
sounds, colours, and things. It is especially so in the lane and
court. The ground there is paved with broad unshaped flags, from which
each cry and jar and hoof-stamp arises to swell the medley that
rings and roars up between the solid impending walls. A little
mixing with the throng; however, a little familiarity with the
business going on, will make analysis possible.
Here stands a donkey, dozing under panniers full of lentils,
beans, onions, and cucumbers, brought fresh from the gardens and
terraces of Galilee. When not engaged in serving customers, the
master, in a voice which only the initiated can understand, cries
his stock. Nothing can be simpler than his costume- sandals, and an
unbleached, undyed blanket, crossed over one shoulder and girt round
the waist. Near-by, and far more imposing and grotesque, though
scarcely as patient as the donkey, kneels a camel, rawboned, rough,
and grey, with long shaggy tufts of fox-coloured hair under its
throat, neck, and body, and a load of boxes and baskets curiously
arranged upon an enormous saddle. The owner is an Egyptian, small,
lithe, and of a complexion which has borrowed a good deal from the
dust of the roads and the sands of the desert. He wears a faded
tarbooshe, a loose gown, sleeveless, unbelted, and dropping from the
neck to the knee. His feet are bare. The camel, restless under the
load, groans and occasionally shows his teeth; but the man paces
indifferently to and fro, holding the driving-strap, and all the
time advertising his fruits fresh from the orchards of the Kedron-
grapes, dates, figs, apples, and pomegranates.
At the corner where the lane opens out into the court, some women
sit with their backs against the grey stones of the wall. Their
dress is that common to the humbler class of the country- a linen
frock extending the full length of the person, loosely gathered at the
waist; and a veil or wimple broad enough, after covering the head,
to wrap the shoulders. Their merchandise is contained in a number of
earthen jars, such as are still used in the East for bringing water
from the wells, and some leathern bottles. Among the jars and bottles,
rolling upon the stony floor, regardless of the crowd and cold,
often in danger but never hurt, play half-a-dozen half-naked children;
their brown bodies, jetty eyes, and thick blade hair attesting the
blood of Israel. Sometimes, from under the wimples, the mothers look
up, and in the vernacular modestly bespeak their trade: in the bottles
"honey of grapes," in the jars "strong drink." Their entreaties are
generally lost in the general uproar, and they fare illy against the
many competitors: brawny fellows with bare legs, dirty tunics, and
long beards, going about with bottles lashed to their backs, and
shouting, "Honey of wine! Grapes of En-Gedi!" When a customer halts
one of them, round comes the bottle, and, upon lifting the thumb
from the nozzle, out into the ready cup gushes the deep-red blood of
the luscious berry.
Scarcely less blatant are the dealers in birds- doves, ducks, and
frequently the singing bulbul, or nightingale, most frequently
pigeons; and buyers, receiving them from the nets, seldom fail to
think of the perilous life of the catchers, bold climbers of the
cliffs; now hanging with hand and foot to the face of the crag, now
swinging in a basket far down the mountain fissure.
Blent with peddlers of jewellery- sharp men cloaked in scarlet and
blue, top-heavy under prodigious white turbans, and fully conscious of
the power there is in the lustre of a ribbon and the incisive gleam of
gold, whether in bracelet or necklace, or in rings for the finger or
the nose- and with peddlers of household utensils, and with dealers in
wearing-apparel, and with retailers of unguents for anointing the
person, and with hucksters of all articles, fanciful as well as of
need, hither and thither, tugging at halters and ropes, now screaming,
now coaxing, toil the vendors of animals- donkeys, horses, calves,
sheep, bleating kids, and awkward camels; animals of every kind except
the outlawed swine. All these are there; not singly, as described, but
many times repeated; not in one place, but everywhere in the market.
Turning from this scene in the lane and court, this glance at the
sellers and their commodities, the reader has need to give
attention, in the next place, to visitors and buyers, for which the
best studies will be found outside the gates, where the spectacle is
quite as varied and animated; indeed, it may be more so, for there are
superadded the effects of tent, booth, and sook, greater space, larger
crowd, more unqualified freedom, and the glory of the Eastern
sunshine.
CHAPTER VII.
TYPICAL CHARACTERS AT THE JOPPA GATE.

LET us take our stand by the gate, just out of the edge of the
currents- one flowing in, the other out- and use our eyes and ears
awhile.
In good time! Here come two men of a most noteworthy class.
"Gods! How cold it is!" says one of them, a powerful figure in
armour; on his head a brazen helmet, on his body a shining breastplate
and skirts of mail. "How cold it is! Dost thou remember, my Caius,
that vault in the Comitium at home which the flamens say is the
entrance to the lower world? By Pluto, I could stand there this
morning long enough at least to get warm again!"
The party addressed drops the hood of his military cloak, leaving
bare his head and face, and replies, with an ironic smile, "The
helmets of the legions which conquered Mark Antony were full of Gallic
snow; but thou- ah, my poor friend!- thou has just come from Egypt,
bringing its summer in thy blood."
And with the last word they disappear through the entrance. Though
they had been silent, the armour and the sturdy step would have
published them Roman soldiers.
From the throng a Jew comes next, meagre of frame, round-shouldered,
and wearing a coarse brown robe; over his eyes and face, and down
his back, hangs a mat of long, uncombed hair. He is alone. Those who
meet him laugh, if they do not worse; for he is a Nazarite, one of a
despised sect which rejects the books of Moses, devotes itself to
abhorred vows, and goes unshorn while the vows endure.
As we watch his retiring figure, suddenly there is a commotion in
the crowd, a parting quickly to the right and left, with
exclamations sharp and decisive. Then the cause comes- a man, Hebrew
in feature and dress. The mantle of snow-white linen, held to his head
by cords of yellow silk, flows free over his shoulders; his robe is
richly embroidered; a red sash with fringes of gold wraps his waist
several times. His demeanour is calm; he even smiles upon those who,
with such rude haste, make room for him. A leper? No; he is only a
Samaritan. The shrinking crowd, if asked, would say he is a mongrel-
an Assyrian- whose touch of the robe is pollution; from whom,
consequently, an Israelite, though dying, might not accept life. In
fact, the feud is not of blood. When David set his throne here on
Mount Zion, with only Judah to support him, the ten tribes betook
themselves to Shechem, a city much older, and, at that date,
infinitely richer in holy memories. The final union of the tribes
did not settle the dispute thus begun. The Samaritans clung to their
tabernacle on Gerizim, and, while maintaining its superior sanctity,
laughed at the irate doctors in Jerusalem. Time brought no assuagement
of the hate. Under Herod, conversion to the faith was open to all
the world except the Samaritans; they alone were absolutely and
forever shut out from communion with Jews.
As the Samaritan goes in under the arch of the gate, out come
three men so unlike all whom we have yet seen that they fix our
gaze, whether we will or not. They are of unusual stature and
immense brawn; their eyes are blue, and so fair is their complexion
that the blood shines through the skin like blue pencilling; their
hair is light and short; their heads, small and round, rest squarely
upon necks columnar as the trunks of trees. Woollen tunics, open at
the breast, sleeveless and loosely girt, drape their bodies, leaving
bare arms and legs of such development that they at once suggest the
arena; and when thereto we add their careless, confident, insolent
manner, we cease to wonder that the people give them way, and stop
after they have passed to look at them again. They are gladiators-
wrestlers, runners, boxers, swordsmen; professionals unknown in
Judea before the coming of the Roman; fellows who, what time they
are not in training, may be seen strolling through the king's
gardens or sitting with the guards at the palace gates; or possibly
they are visitors from Caesarea, Sebaste, or Jericho; in which
Herod, more Greek than Jew, and with all a Roman's love of games and
bloody spectacles, has built vast theatres, and now keeps schools of
fighting-men, drawn, as is the custom, from the Gallic provinces, or
the Slavic tribes on the Danube.
"By Bacchus!" says one of them, drawing his clenched hand to his
shoulder, "their skulls are not thicker than egg-shells."
The brutal look which goes with the gesture disgusts us, and we turn
happily to something more pleasant.
Opposite us is a fruit-stand. The proprietor has a bald head, a long
face, and a nose like the beak of a hawk. He sits upon a carpet spread
upon the dust; the wall is at his back; overhead hangs a scant
curtain; around him, within hand's reach and arranged upon little
stools, lie osier boxes full of almonds, grapes, figs, and
pomegranates. To him now comes one at whom we cannot help looking,
though for another reason than that which fixed our eyes upon the
gladiators: he is really beautiful- a beautiful Greek. Around his
temples, holding the waving hair, is a crown of myrtle, to which still
cling the pale flowers and half-ripe berries. His tunic, scarlet in
colour, is of the softest woollen fabric; below the girdle of buff
leather, which is clasped in front by a fantastic device of shining
gold, the skirt drops to the knee in folds heavy with embroidery of
the same royal metal; a scarf, also woollen, and of mixed white and
yellow, crosses his throat and falls trailing at his back; his arms
and legs, where exposed, are white as ivory, and of the polish
impossible except by perfect treatment with bath, oil, brushes, and
pincers.
The dealer, keeping his seat, bends forward, and throws his hands up
until they meet in front of him, palm downwards and fingers extended.
"What hast thou, this morning, O son of Paphos?" says the young
Greek, looking at the boxes rather than at the Cypriote. "I am hungry.
What hast thou for breakfast?"
"Fruits from the Pedius- genuine- such as the singers of Antioch
take of mornings to restore the waste of their voices," the dealer
answers, in a querulous nasal tone.
"A fig, but not one of thy best, for the singers of Antioch!" says
the Greek. "Thou art a worshipper of Aphrodite, and so am I, as the
myrtle I wear proves; therefore I tell thee their voices have the
chill of a Caspian wind. Seest thou this girdle?- a gift of the mighty
Salome- "
"The king's sister!" exclaims the Cypriote, with another salaam.
"And of royal taste and divine judgment. And why not? She is more
Greek than the king. But- my breakfast! Here is thy money- red coppers
of Cyprus. Give me grapes, and- "
"Wilt thou not take the dates also?"
"No, I am not an Arab."
"Nor figs?"
"That would make me a Jew. No, nothing but the grapes. Never
waters mixed so sweetly as the blood of the Greek and the blood of the
grape."
The singer in the grimed and seething market, with all his airs of
the court, is a vision not easily shut out of mind by such as see him;
as if for the purpose, however, a person follows him challenging all
our wonder. He comes up the road slowly, his face towards the
ground; at intervals he stops, crosses his hands upon his breast,
lengthens his countenance, and turns his eyes towards heaven, as if
about to break into prayer. Nowhere, except in Jerusalem, can such a
character be found. On his forehead, attached to the band which
keeps the mantle in place, projects a leathern case, square in form;
another similar case is tied by a thong to the left arm; the borders
of his robe are decorated with deep fringe; and by such signs- the
phylacteries, the enlarged borders of the garment, and the savour of
intense holiness pervading the whole man- we know him to be a
Pharisee, one of an organization (in religion a sect, in politics a
party) whose bigotry and power will shortly bring the world to grief.
The densest of the throng outside the gate covers the road leading
off to Joppa. Turning from the Pharisee, we are attracted by some
parties who, as subjects of study, opportunely separate themselves
from the motley crowd. First among them a man of very noble
appearance- clear, healthful complexion; bright black eyes; beard long
and flowing, and rich with unguents; apparel well-fitting, costly, and
suitable for the season. He carries a staff, and wears, suspended by a
cord from his neck, a large golden seal. Several servants attend
him, some of them with short swords stuck through their sashes; when
they address him, it is with the utmost deference. The rest of the
party consists of two Arabs of the pure desert stock; thin, wiry
men, deeply bronzed, and with hollow cheeks, and eyes of almost evil
brightness; on their heads red tarbooshes; over their abas, and
wrapping the left shoulder and the body so as to leave the right arm
free, brown woollen haicks, or blankets. There is loud chaffering; for
the Arabs are leading horses and trying to sell them; and, in their
eagerness, they speak in high, shrill voices. The courtly person
leaves the talking mostly to his servants; occasionally he answers
with much dignity; directly, seeing the Cypriote, he stops and buys
some figs. And when the whole party has passed the portal, close after
the Pharisee, if we betake ourselves to the dealer in fruits, he
will tell, with a wonderful salaam, that the stranger is a Jew, one of
the princes of the city, who has travelled, and learned the difference
between the common grapes of Syria and those of Cyprus, so
surpassingly rich with the dews of the sea.
And so, till towards noon, sometimes later, the steady currents of
business habitually flow in and out of the Joppa Gate, carrying with
them every variety of character; including representatives of all
the tribes of Israel, all the sects among whom the ancient faith has
been parcelled and refined away, all the religious and social
divisions, all the adventurous rabble who, as children of art and
ministers of pleasure, riot in the prodigalities of Herod, and all the
peoples of note at any time compassed by the Caesars and their
predecessors, especially those dwelling within the circuit of the
Mediterranean.
In other words, Jerusalem, rich in sacred history, richer in
connection with sacred prophecies- the Jerusalem of Solomon, in
which silver was as stones, and cedars as the sycamores of the vale-
had come to be but a copy of Rome, a centre of unholy practices, a
seat of pagan power. A Jewish king one day put on priestly garments,
and went into the Holy of Holies of the first temple to offer incense,
and he came out a leper; but in the time of which we are reading,
Pompey entered Herod's temple and the same Holy of Holies, and came
out without harm, finding but an empty chamber, and of God not a sign.
CHAPTER VIII.
JOSEPH AND MARY GOING TO BETHLEHEM.

THE reader is now besought to return to the court described as
part of the market at the Joppa Gate. It was the third hour of the
day, and many of the people had gone away; yet the press continued
without apparent abatement. Of the new-comers, there was a group
over by the south wall, consisting of a man, a woman, and a donkey,
which requires extended notice.
The man stood by the animal's head, holding a leading-strap, and
leaning upon a stick which seemed to have been chosen for the double
purpose of goad and staff. His dress was like that of the ordinary
Jews around him, except that it had an appearance of newness. The
mantle dropping from his head, and the robe or frock which clothed his
person from neck to heel were probably the garments he was
accustomed to wear to the synagogue on Sabbath days. His features were
exposed and they told of fifty years of life, a surmise confirmed by
the grey that streaked his otherwise black beard. He looked around him
with the half-curious, half-vacant stare of a stranger and provincial.
The donkey ate leisurely from an armful of green grass, of which
there was an abundance in the market. In its sleepy content, the brute
did not admit of disturbance from the bustle and clamour about; no
more was it mindful of the woman sitting upon its back in a
cushioned pillion. An outer robe of dull woollen stuff completely
covered her person, while a white wimple veiled her head and neck.
Once in a while, impelled by curiosity to see or hear something
passing, she drew the wimple aside, but so slightly that the face
remained invisible.
At length the man was accosted.
"Are you not Joseph of Nazareth?"
The speaker was standing close by.
"I am so called," answered Joseph, turning gravely around. "And you-
ah, peace be unto you! my friend, Rabbi Samuel!"
"The same give I back to you." The Rabbi paused, looking at the
woman, then added, "To you, and unto your house and all your
helpers, be peace."
With the last word, he placed one hand upon his breast, and inclined
his head to the woman, who, to see him, had by this time withdrawn the
wimple enough to show the face of one but a short time out of
girlhood. Thereupon the acquaintances grasped right hands, as if to
carry them to their lips; at the last moment, however, the clasp was
let go, and each kissed his own hand, then put its palm upon his
forehead.
"There is so little dust upon your garments," the Rabbi said,
familiarly, "that I infer you passed the night in this city of our
fathers."
"No," Joseph replied, "as we could only make Bethany before the
night came, we stayed in the khan there, and took the road again at
daybreak."
"The journey before you is long, then- not to Joppa, I hope."
"Only to Bethlehem."
The countenance of the Rabbi, theretofore open and friendly,
became lowering and sinister, and he cleared his throat with a growl
instead of a cough.
"Yes, yes- I see," he said. "You were born in Bethlehem and wend
thither now, with your daughter, to be counted for taxation, as
ordered by Caesar. The children of Jacob are as the tribes in Egypt
were- only they have neither a Moses nor a Joshua. How are the
mighty fallen!"
Joseph answered, without change of posture or countenance-
"The woman is not my daughter."
But the Rabbi clung to the political idea; and he went on, without
noticing the explanation, "What are the Zealots doing down in
Galilee?"
"I am a carpenter, and Nazareth is a village," said Joseph,
cautiously. "The street on which my bench stands is not a road leading
to any city. Hewing wood and sawing plank leave me no time to take
part in the disputes of parties."
"But you are a Jew," said the Rabbi earnestly. "You. are a Jew,
and of the line of David. It is not possible you can find pleasure
in the payment of any tax except the shekel given by ancient custom to
Jehovah."
Joseph held his peace.
"I do not complain," his friend continued, "of the amount of the
tax- a denarius is a trifle. Oh, no! The imposition of the tax is
the offence. And, besides, what is paying it but submission to
tyranny? Tell me, is it true that Judas claims to be the Messiah?
You live in the midst of his followers."
"I have heard his followers say he was the Messiah," Joseph replied.
At this point the wimple was drawn aside, and for an instant the
whole face of the woman was exposed. The eyes of the Rabbi wandered
that way, and he had time to see a countenance of rare beauty, kindled
by a look of intense interest; then a blush overspread her cheeks
and brow, and the veil was returned to its place.
The politician forgot his subject.
"Your daughter is comely," he said, speaking lower.
"She is not my daughter," Joseph repeated.
The curiosity of the Rabbi was aroused; seeing which, the Nazarene
hastened to say further, "She is the child of Joachim and Anna of
Bethlehem, of whom you have at least heard; for they were of great
repute- "
"Yes," remarked the Rabbi, deferentially, "I know them. They were
lineally descended from David. I knew them well."
"Well, they are dead now," the Nazarene proceeded. "They died in
Nazareth. Joachim was not rich, yet he left a house and garden to be
divided between his daughters Marian and Mary. This is one of them;
and to save her portion of the property, the law required her to marry
her next of kin. She is now my wife."
"And you were- "
"Her uncle."
"Yes, yes! And as you were both born in Bethlehem, the Roman compels
you to take her there with you to be also counted."
The Rabbi clasped his hands, and looked indignantly to heaven,
exclaiming, "The God of Israel still lives! The vengeance is His!"
With that he turned and abruptly departed. A stranger near by,
observing Joseph's amazement, said quietly, "Rabbi Samuel is a zealot.
Judas himself is not more fierce."
Joseph, not wishing to talk with the man, appeared not to hear,
and busied himself gathering in a little heap the grass which the
donkey had tossed abroad; after which he leaned upon his staff
again, and waited.
In another hour the party passed out the gate, and, turning to the
left, took the road to Bethlehem. The descent into the valley of
Hinnom was quite broken, garnished here and there with straggling wild
olive-trees. Carefully, tenderly, the Nazarene walked by the woman's
side, leading-strap in hand. On their left, reaching to the south
and east round Mount Zion, rose the city wall, and on their right
the steep prominences which form the western boundary of the valley.
Slowly they passed the Lower Pool of Gihon, out of which the sun was
fast driving the lessening shadow of the royal hill; slowly they
proceeded, keeping parallel with the aqueduct from the Pools of
Solomon, until near the site of the country-house on what is now
called the Hill of Evil Counsel; there they began to ascend to the
plain of Rephaim. The sun streamed garishly over the stony face of the
famous locality, and under its influence Mary, the daughter of
Joachim, dropped the wimple entirely, and bared her head. Joseph
told the story of the Philistines surprised in their camp there by
David. He was tedious in the narrative, speaking with the solemn
countenance and lifeless manner of a dull man. She did not always hear
him.
Wherever on the land men go, and on the sea ships, the face and
figure of the Jew are familiar. The physical type of the race has
always been the same; yet there have been some individual
variations. "Now he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful
countenance, and goodly to look to." Such was the son of Jesse when
brought before Samuel. The fancies of men have been ever since ruled
by the description. Poetic license has extended the peculiarities of
the ancestor to his notable descendants. So all our ideal Solomons
have fair faces, and hair and beard chestnut in the shade, and of
the tint of gold in the sun. Such, we are also made believe, were
the locks of Absolom the beloved. And, in the absence of authentic
history, tradition has dealt no less lovingly by her whom we are now
following down to the native city of the ruddy king.
She was not more than fifteen. Her form, voice, and manner
belonged to the period of transition from girlhood. Her face was
perfectly oval, her complexion more pale than fair. The nose was
faultless; the lips, slightly parted, were full and ripe, giving to
the lines of the mouth warmth, tenderness, and trust; the eyes were
blue and large, and shaded by drooping lids and long lashes; and, in
harmony with all, a flood of golden hair, in the style permitted to
Jewish brides, fell unconfined down her back to the pillion on which
she sat. The throat and neck had the downy softness sometimes seen
which leaves the artist in doubt whether it is an effect of contour or
colour. To these charms of feature and person were added others more
indefinable- an air of purity which only the soul can impart, and of
abstraction natural to such as think much of things impalpable. Often,
with trembling lips, she raised her eyes to heaven, itself not more
deeply blue; often she crossed her hands upon her breast, as in
adoration and prayer; often she raised her head like one listening
eagerly for a calling voice. Now and then, midst his slow
utterances, Joseph turned to look at her, and, catching the expression
kindling her face as with light, forgot his theme, and with bowed
head, wondering, plodded on.
So they skirted the great plain, and at length reached the elevation
Mar Elias; from which, across a valley, they beheld Bethlehem, the
old, old House of Bread, its white walls crowning a ridge, and shining
above the brown scumbling of leafless orchards. They paused there
and rested, while Joseph pointed out the places of sacred renown; then
they went down into the valley to the well which was the scene of
one of the marvellous exploits of David's strong men. The narrow space
was crowded with people and animals. A fear came upon Joseph- a fear
lest, if the town were so thronged, there might not be house-room
for the gentle Mary. Without delay, he hurried on, past the pillar
of stone, marking the tomb of Rachel, up the gardened slope,
saluting none of the many persons he met on the way, until he
stopped before the portal of the khan that then stood outside the
village gates, near a junction of roads.
CHAPTER IX.
THE CAVE AT BETHLEHEM.

To understand thoroughly what happened to the Nazarene at the
khan, the reader must be reminded that Eastern inns were different
from the inns of the Western world. They were called khans, from the
Persian, and, in simplest form, were fenced enclosures, without
house or shed, often without a gate or entrance. Their sites were
chosen with reference to shade, defence, or water. Such were the
inns that sheltered Jacob when he went to seek a wife in Padan-Aram.
Their like may be seen at this day in the stopping-places of the
desert. On the other hand, some of them, especially those on the roads
between great cities, like Jerusalem and Alexandria, were princely
establishments, monuments to the piety of the kings who built them. In
ordinary, however, they were no more than the house or possession of a
sheik, in which, as in headquarters, he swayed his tribe. Lodging
the traveller was the least of their uses; they were markets,
factories, forts; places of assemblage and residence for merchants and
artisans quite as much as places of shelter for belated and
wandering wayfarers. Within their walls, all the year round,
occurred the multiplied daily transactions of a town.
The singular management of these hostelries was the feature likely
to strike a Western mind with most force. There was no host or
hostess; no clerk, cook, or kitchen; a steward at the gate was all the
assertion of government or proprietorship anywhere visible.
Strangers arriving stayed at will without rendering account. A
consequence of the system was that whoever came had to bring his
food and culinary outfit with him, or buy them of dealers in the khan.
The same rule held good as to his bed and bedding, and forage, for his
beasts. Water, rest, shelter, and protection were all he looked for
from the proprietor, and they were gratuities. The peace of synagogues
was sometimes broken by brawling disputants, but that of the khans
never. The houses and all their appurtenances were sacred: a well
was not more so.
The khan at Bethlehem, before which Joseph and his wife stopped, was
a good specimen of its class, being neither very primitive nor very
princely. The building was purely Oriental; that is to say, a
quadrangular block of rough stones, one storey high, flat-roofed,
externally unbroken by a window, and with but one principal
entrance- a doorway, which was also a gateway, on the eastern side, or
front. The road ran by the door so near that the chalk dust half
covered the lintel. A fence of flat rocks, beginning at the
northeastern corner of the pile, extended many yards down the slope to
a point from whence it swept westwardly to a limestone bluff; making
what was in the highest degree essential to a respectable khan- a safe
enclosure for animals.
In a village like Bethlehem, as there was but one sheik, there could
not well be more than one khan; and, though born in the place, the
Nazarene, from long residence elsewhere, had no claim to hospitality
in the town. Moreover, the enumeration for which he was coming might
be the work of weeks or months; Roman deputies in the provinces were
proverbially slow; and to impose himself and wife for a period so
uncertain upon acquaintances or relations was out of the question. So,
before he drew nigh the great house, while he was yet climbing the
slope, in the steep places toiling to hasten the donkey, the fear that
he might not find accommodations in the khan became a painful anxiety;
for he found the road thronged with men and boys who, with great
ado, were taking their cattle, horses, and camels to and from the
valley, some to water, some to the neighbouring caves. And when he was
come close by, his alarm was not allayed by the discovery of a crowd
investing the door of the establishment, while the enclosure
adjoining, broad as it was, seemed already full.
"We cannot reach the door," Joseph said, in his slow way. "Let us
stop here, and learn, if we can, what has happened."
The wife, without answering, quietly drew the wimple aside. The look
of fatigue at first upon her face changed to one of interest. She
found herself at the edge of an assemblage that could not be other
than a matter of curiosity to her, although it was common enough at
the khans on any of the highways which the great caravans were
accustomed to traverse. There were men on foot, running hither and
thither, talking shrilly and in all the tongues of Syria; men on
horseback screaming to men on camels; men struggling doubtfully with
fractious cows and frightened sheep; men peddling bread and wine;
and among the mass a herd of boys apparently in chase of a herd of
dogs. Everybody and everything seemed to be in motion at the same
time. Possibly the fair spectator was too weary to be long attracted
by the scene; in a little while she sighed, and settled down on the
pillion, and, as if in search of peace and rest, or in expectation
of some one, looked off to the south, and up to the tall cliffs of the
Mount of Paradise, then faintly reddening under the setting sun.
While she was thus looking, a man pushed his way out of the press,
and, stopping close by the donkey, faced about with an angry brow. The
Nazarene spoke to him.
"As I am what I take you to be, good friend- a son of Judah- may I
ask the cause of this multitude?"
The stranger turned fiercely; but, seeing the solemn countenance
of Joseph, so in keeping with his deep, slow voice and speech, he
raised his hand in half-salutation, and replied-
"Peace be to you, Rabbi! I am a son of Judah, and will answer you. I
dwell in Beth-Dagon, which, you know, is in what used to be the land
of the tribe of Dan."
"On the road to Joppa from Modin," said Joseph.
"Ah, you have been in Beth-Dagon," the man said, his face
softening yet more. "What wanderers we of Judah are! I have been
away from the ridge- old Ephrath, as our father Jacob called it- for
many years. When the proclamation went abroad requiring all Hebrews to
be numbered at the cities of their birth- That is my business here,
Rabbi."
Joseph's face remained stolid as a mask, while he remarked, "I
have come for that also- I and my wife."
The stranger glanced at Mary and kept silence. She was looking up at
the bald top of Gedor. The sun touched her upturned face, and filled
the violet depths of her eyes; and upon her parted lips trembled an
aspiration which could not have been to a mortal. For the moment,
all the humanity of her beauty seemed refined away: she was as we
fancy they are who sit close by the gate in the transfiguring light of
Heaven. The Beth-Dagonite saw the original of what, centuries after,
came as a vision of genius to Sanzio the divine, and left him
immortal.
"Of what was I speaking? Ah! I remember. I was about to say that
when I heard of the order to come here, I was angry. Then I thought of
the old hill, and the town, and the valley falling away into the
depths of Cedron; of the vines and orchards, and fields of grain,
unfailing since the days of Boaz and Ruth; of the familiar
mountains- Gedor here, Gibeah yonder, Mar Elias there- which, when I
was a boy, were the walls of the world to me; and I forgave the
tyrants and came- I, and Rachel, my wife, and Deborah and Michal,
our roses of Sharon."
The man paused again, looking abruptly at Mary, who was now
looking at him and listening. Then he said, "Rabbi, will not your wife
go to mine? You may see her yonder with the children, under the
leaning olive-tree at the bend of the road. I tell you"- he turned
to Joseph and spoke positively- "I tell you the khan is full. It is
useless to ask at the gate."
Joseph's will was slow, like his mind; he hesitated, but at length
replied, "The offer is kind. Whether there be room for us or not in
the house, we will go see your people. Let me speak to the
gatekeeper myself. I will return quickly."
And, putting the leading-strap in the stranger's hand, he pushed
into the stirring crowd.
The keeper sat on a great cedar block outside the gate. Against
the wall behind him leaned a javelin. A dog squatted on the block by
his side.
"The peace of Jehovah be with you," said Joseph, at last confronting
the keeper.
"What you give, may you find again; and, when found, be it many
times multiplied to you and yours," returned the watchman, gravely,
though without moving.
"I am a Bethlehemite," said Joseph, in his most deliberate way.
"Is there not room for- "
"There is not."
"You may have heard of me- Joseph of Nazareth. This is the house
of my fathers. I am of the line of David."
These words held the Nazarene's hope. If they failed him, further
appeal was idle, even that of the offer of many shekels. To be a son
of Judah was one thing- in the tribal opinion a great thing; to be
of the house of David was yet another; on the tongue of a Hebrew there
could be no higher boast. A thousand years and more had passed since
the boyish shepherd became the successor of Saul and founded a royal
family. Wars, calamities, other kings, and the countless obscuring
processes of time had, as respects fortune, lowered his descendants to
the common Jewish level; the bread they ate came to them of toil never
more humble; yet they had the benefit of history sacredly kept, of
which genealogy was the first chapter and the last; they could not
become unknown; while, wherever they went in Israel, acquaintance drew
after it a respect amounting to reverence.
If this were so in Jerusalem and elsewhere, certainly one of the
sacred line might reasonably rely upon it at the door of the khan of
Bethlehem. To say, as Joseph said, "This is the house of my
fathers," was to say the truth most simply and literally; for it was
the very house Ruth ruled as the wife of Boaz; the very house in which
Jesse and his ten sons, David the youngest, were born; the very
house in which Samuel came seeking a king, and found him; the very
house which David gave to the son of Barzillai, the friendly
Gileadite; the very house in which Jeremiah, by prayer, rescued the
remnant of his race flying before the Babylonians.
The appeal was not without effect. The keeper of the gate slid
down from the cedar block, and, laying his hand upon his beard,
said, respectfully, "Rabbi, I cannot tell you when this door first
opened in welcome to the traveller, but it was more than a thousand
years ago; and in all that time there is no known instance of a good
man turned away, save when there was no room to rest him in. If it has
been so with the stranger, just cause must the steward have who says
no to one of the line of David. Wherefore, I salute you again; and, if
you care to go with me, I will show you that there is not a
lodging-place left in the house; neither in the chambers, nor in the
lewens, nor in the court- not even on the roof. May I ask when you
came?"
"But now."
The keeper smiled.
"'The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be as one born among
you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.' Is not that the law, Rabbi?"
Joseph was silent.
"If it be the law, can I say to one a long time come, 'Go thy way;
another is here to take thy place'?"
Yet Joseph held his peace.
"And, if I said so, to whom would the place belong? See the many
that have been waiting, some of them since noon."
"Who are all these people?" asked Joseph, turning to the crowd. "And
why are they here at this time?"
"That which doubtless brought you, Rabbi- the decree of the Caesar"-
the keeper threw an interrogative glance at the Nazarene, then
continued- "brought most of those who have lodging in the house. And
yesterday the caravan passing from Damascus to Arabia and Lower
Egypt arrived. These you see here belong to it- men and camels."
Still Joseph persisted.
"The court is large," he said.
"Yes, but it is heaped with cargoes- with bales of silk, and pockets
of spices, and goods of every kind."
Then for a moment the face of the applicant lost its stolidity;
the lustreless, staring eyes dropped. With some warmth he next said,
"I do not care for myself, but I have with me my wife, and the night
is cold- colder on these heights than in Nazareth. She cannot live
in the open air. Is there not room in the town?"
"These people"- the keeper waved his hand to the throng before the
door- "have all besought the town, and they report its
accommodations all engaged."
Again Joseph studied the ground, saying, half to himself, "She is so
young! if I make her bed on the hill, the frosts will kill her."
Then he spoke to the keeper again.
"It may be you knew her parents, Joachim and Anna, once of
Bethlehem, and, like myself, of the line of David."
"Yes, I knew them. They were good people. That was in my youth."
This time the keeper's eyes sought the ground in thought. Suddenly
he raised his head.
"If I cannot make room for you," he said, "I cannot turn you away.
Rabbi, I will do the best I can for you. How many are of your party?"
Joseph reflected, then replied, "My wife and a friend with his
family, from Beth-Dagon, a little town over by Joppa; in all, six of
us."
"Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people
and hasten; for, when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you
know the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now."
"I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller; that of the
sojourner will follow."
So saying, the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the
Beth-Dagonite. In a little while the latter brought up his family, the
women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly, the daughters were
images of what she must have been in youth; and as they drew nigh
the door, the keeper knew them to be of the humble class.
"This is she of whom I spoke," said the Nazarene; "and these are our
friends."
Mary's veil was raised.
"Blue eyes and hair of gold," muttered the steward to himself,
seeing but her. "So looked the young king when he went to sing
before Saul."
Then he took the leading-strap from Joseph and said to Mary,
"Peace to you, O daughter of David!" Then to the others, "Peace to you
all!" Then to Joseph, "Rabbi, follow me!"
The party were conducted into a wide passage paved with stone,
from which they entered the court of the khan. To a stranger the scene
would have been curious; but they noticed the lewens that yawned
darkly upon them from all sides, and the court itself, only to
remark how crowded they were. By a lane reserved in the stowage of the
cargoes, and thence by a passage similar to the one at the entrance,
they emerged into the enclosure adjoining the house, and came upon
camels, horses, and donkeys, tethered and dozing in close groups;
among them were the keepers, men of many lands; and they, too, slept
or kept silent watch. They went down the slope of the crowded yard
slowly, for the dull carriers of the women had wills of their own.
At length they turned into a path running towards the grey limestone
bluff overlooking the khan on the west.
"We are going to the cave," said Joseph, laconically.
The guide lingered till Mary came to his side.
"The cave to which we are going," he said to her, "must have been
a resort of your ancestor David. From the field below us, and from the
well down in the valley, he used to drive his flock to it for
safety; and afterwards, when he was king, he came back to the old
house here for rest and health, bringing great trains of animals.
The mangers yet remain as they were in his day. Better a bed upon
the floor where he has slept than one in the court-yard or out by
the roadside. Ah, here is the house before the cave!"
This speech must not be taken as an apology for the lodging offered.
There was no need of apology. The place was the best then at disposal.
The guests were simple folks, by habits of life easily satisfied. To
the Jew of that period, moreover, abode in caverns was a familiar
idea, made so by every-day occurrences, and by what he heard of
Sabbaths in the synagogues. How much of Jewish history, how many of
the most exciting incidents in that history, had transpired in
caves! Yet further, these people were Jews of Bethlehem, with whom the
idea was especially commonplace; for their locality abounded with
caves great and small, some of which had been dwelling-places from the
time of the Emim and Horites. No more was there offence to them in the
fact that the cavern to which they were being taken had been, or
was, a stable. They were the descendants of a race of herdsmen,
whose flocks habitually shared both their habitations and
wanderings. In keeping with a custom derived from Abraham, the tent of
the Bedawin yet shelters his horses and children alike. So they obeyed
the keeper cheerfully, and gazed at the house, feeling only a
natural curiosity. Everything associated with the history of David was
interesting to them.
The building was low and narrow, projecting but a little from the
rock to which it was joined at the rear, and wholly without a
window. In its blank front there was a door, swung on enormous hinges,
and thickly daubed with ochreous clay. While the wooden bolt of the
lock was being pushed back, the women were assisted from their
pillions. Upon the opening of the door, the keeper called out-
"Come in!"
The guests entered, and stared about them. It became apparent
immediately that the house was but a mask or covering for the mouth of
a natural cave or grotto, probably forty feet long, nine or ten
high, and twelve or fifteen in width. The light streamed through the
doorway, over an uneven floor, falling upon piles of grain and fodder,
and earthenware and household property, occupying the centre of the
chamber. Along the sides were mangers, low enough for sleep, and built
of stones laid in cement. There were no stalls or partitions of any
kind. Dust and chaff yellowed the floor, filled all the crevices and
hollows, and thickened the spider-webs, which dropped from the ceiling
like bits of dirty linen; otherwise the place was cleanly, and, to
appearance, as comfortable as any of the arched lewens of the khan
proper. In fact, a cave was the model and first suggestion of the
lewen.
"Come in!" said the guide. "These piles upon the floor are for
travellers like yourselves. Take what of them you need."
Then he spoke to Mary.
"Can you rest here?"
"The place is sanctified," she answered.
"I leave you then. Peace be with you all!"
When he was gone, they busied themselves making the cave habitable.
CHAPTER X.
THE LIGHT IN THE SKY.

AT a certain hour in the evening the shouting and stir of the people
in and about the khan ceased; at the same time, every Israelite, if
not already upon his feet, arose, solemnized his face, looked
towards Jerusalem, crossed his hands upon his breast, and prayed;
for it was the sacred ninth hour, when sacrifices were offered in
the temple on Moriah, and God was supposed to be there. When the hands
of the worshippers fell down, the commotion broke forth again;
everybody hastened to bread, or to make his pallet. A little later the
lights were put out, and there was silence, and then sleep.
* * * * *
About midnight some one on the roof cried, "What light is that in
the sky? Awake, brethren, awake and see!"
The people, half asleep, sat up and looked; then they became
wide-awake, though wonder-struck. And the stir spread to the court
below, and into the lewens; soon the entire tenantry of the house
and court and enclosure were out gazing at the sky.
And this was what they saw. A ray of light, beginning at a height
immeasurably beyond the nearest stars, and dropping obliquely to the
earth; at its top, a diminishing point; at its base, many furlongs
in width; its sides blending softly with the darkness of the night;
its core a roseate electrical splendour. The apparition seemed to rest
on the nearest mountain south-east of the town, making a pale corona
along the line of the summit. The khan was touched luminously, so that
those upon the roof saw each other's faces, all filled with wonder.
Steadily, through minutes, the ray lingered, and then the wonder
changed to awe and fear; the timid trembled; the boldest spoke in
whispers.
"Saw you ever the like?" asked one.
"It seems just over the mountain there. I cannot tell what it is,
nor did I ever see anything like it," was the answer.
"Can it be that a star has burst and fallen?" asked another, his
tongue faltering.
"When a star falls, its light goes out."
"I have it!" cried one, confidently. "The shepherds have seen a
lion, and made fires to keep him from the flocks."
The men next the speaker drew a breath of relief, and said, "Yes,
that is it! The flocks were grazing in the valley over there to-day."
A bystander dispelled the comfort.
"No, no! Though all the wood in all the valleys of Judah was brought
together in one pile and fired, the blaze would not throw a light so
strong and high."
After that there was silence on the house-top, broken but once again
while the mystery continued.
"Brethren!" exclaimed a Jew of venerable mien, "what we see is the
ladder our father Jacob saw in his dream. Blessed be the Lord God of
our fathers!"
CHAPTER XI.
CHRIST IS BORN.

A MILE and a half, it may be two miles, south-east of Bethlehem,
there is a plain separated from the town by an intervening swell of
the mountain. Besides being well sheltered from the north winds, the
vale was covered with a growth of sycamore, dwarf-oak, and pine trees,
while in the glens and ravines adjoining there were thickets of
olive and mulberry; all at this season of the year invaluable for
the support of sheep, goats, and cattle, of which the wandering flocks
consisted.
At the side farthest from the town, close under a bluff, there was
an extensive marah, or sheepcot, ages old. In some long-forgotten
foray the building had been unroofed and almost demolished. The
enclosure attached to it remained intact, however, and that was of
more importance to the shepherds who drove their charges thither
than the house itself. The stone wall around the lot was high as a
man's head, yet not so high but that sometimes a panther or a lion,
hungering from the wilderness, leaped boldly in. On the inside of
the wall, and as an additional security against the constant danger
a hedge of the rhamnus had been planted, an invention so successful
that now a sparrow could hardly penetrate the overtopping branches,
armed as they were with great clusters of thorns hard as spikes.
The day of the occurrences which occupy the preceding chapters, a
number of shepherds, seeking fresh walks for their flocks, led them up
to this plain; and from early morning the groves had been made ring
with calls, and the blows of axes, the bleating of sheep and goats,
the tinkling of bells, the lowing of cattle, and the barking of
dogs. When the sun went down, they led the way to the marah, and by
nightfall had everything safe in the field; then they kindled a fire
down by the gate, partook of their humble supper, and sat down to rest
and talk, leaving one on watch.
There were six of these men, omitting the watchman; and afterwhile
they assembled in a group near the fire, some sitting, some lying
prone. As they went bareheaded habitually, their hair stood out in
thick, coarse, sunburnt shocks; their beard covered their throats, and
fell in mats down the breast; mantles of the skin of kids and lambs,
with the fleece on, wrapped them from neck to knee, leaving the arms
exposed; broad belts girthed the rude garments to their waists;
their sandals were of the coarsest quality; from their right shoulders
hung scrips containing food and selected stones for slings, with which
they were armed; on the ground near each one lay his crook, a symbol
of his calling and a weapon of offence.
Such were the shepherds of Judea! In appearance, rough and savage as
the gaunt dogs sitting with them around the blaze; in fact,
simple-minded, tender-hearted; effects due, in part, to the
primitive life they led, but chiefly to their constant care of
things lovable and helpless.
They rested and talked; and their talk was all about their flocks- a
dull theme to the world, yet a theme which was all the world to
them. If in narrative they dwelt long upon affairs of trifling moment;
if one of them omitted nothing of detail in recounting the loss of a
lamb, the relation between him and the unfortunate should be
remembered: at birth it became his charge, his to keep all its days,
to help over the floods, to carry down the hollows, to name and train;
it was to be his companion, his object of thought and interest, the
subject of his will; it was to enliven and share his wanderings; in
its defence he might be called on to face the lion or robber- to die.
The great events, such as blotted out nations and changed the
mastery of the world, were trifles to them, if perchance they came
to their knowledge. Of what Herod was doing in this city or that,
building palaces and gymnasia, and indulging forbidden practices, they
occasionally heard. As was her habit in those days, Rome did not
wait for people slow to inquire about her; she came to them. Over
the hills along which he was leading his lagging herd, or in the
fastnesses in which he was hiding them, not unfrequently the
shepherd was startled by the blare of trumpets, and, peering out
beheld a cohort, sometimes a legion, in march; and when the glittering
crests were gone, and the excitement incident to the intrusion over,
he bent himself to evolve the meaning of the eagle and gilded globes
of the soldiery, and the charm of a life so the opposite of his own.
Yet these men, rude and simple as they were, had a knowledge and a
wisdom of their own. On Sabbaths they were accustomed to purify
themselves, and go up into the synagogues, and sit on the benches
farthest from the ark. When the chazzan bore the Torah round, none
kissed it with greater zest; when the sheliach read the text, none
listened to the interpreter with more absolute faith; and none took
away with them more of the elder's sermon, or gave it more thought
afterwards. In a verse of the Shema they found all the learning and
all the law of their simple lives- that their Lord was One God, and
that they must love Him with all their souls. And they loved Him,
and such was their wisdom, surpassing that of kings.
While they talked, and before the first watch was over, one by one
the shepherds went to sleep, each lying where he had sat.
The night, like most nights of the winter season in the hill
country, was clear, crisp, and sparkling with stars. There was no
wind. The atmosphere seemed never so pure, and the stillness was
more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was
stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.
By the gate, hugging his mantle close, the watchman walked; at times
he stopped, attracted by a stir among the sleeping herds, or by a
Jackal's cry off on the mountain-side. The midnight was slow coming to
him; but at last it came. His task was done; now for the dreamless
sleep with which labour blesses its wearied children! He moved towards
the fire, but paused; a light was breaking around him, soft and white,
like the moon's. He waited breathlessly. The light, deepened; things
before invisible came to view; he saw the whole field, and all it
sheltered. A chill sharper than that of the frosty air- a chill of
fear- smote him. He looked up; the stars were gone; the light was
dropping as from a window in the sky; as he looked, it became a
splendour; then, in terror he cried-
"Awake, awake!"
Up sprang the dogs, and, howling, ran away.
The herds rushed together bewildered.
The men clambered to their feet, weapons in hand.
"What is it?" they asked, in one voice.
"See!" cried the watchman, "the sky is on fire!"
Suddenly the light became intolerably bright, and they covered their
eyes, and dropped upon their knees; then, as their souls shrank with
fear, they fell upon their faces blind and fainting, and would have
died had not a voice said to them-
"Fear not!"
And they listened.
"Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people."
The voice, in sweetness and soothing more than human, and low and
clear, penetrated all their being, and filled them with assurance.
They rose upon their knees, and, looking worshipfully, beheld in the
centre of a great glory the appearance of a man, clad in a robe
intensely white; above its shoulders towered the tops of wings shining
and folded; a star over its forehead glowed with steady lustre,
brilliant as Hesperus; its hands were stretched towards them in
blessing; its face was serene and divinely beautiful.
They had often heard, and in their simple way talked, of angels; and
they doubted not now, but said, in their hearts, The glory of God is
about us, and this is he who of old came to the prophet by the river
of Ulai.
Directly the angel continued-
"For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour
which is Christ the Lord!"
Again there was a rest, while the words sank into their minds.
"And this shall be a sign unto you," the annunciator said next.
"Ye shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a
manger."
The herald spoke not again; his good tidings were told; yet he
stayed awhile. Suddenly the light, of which he seemed the centre,
turned roseate and began to tremble; then up, far as the men could
see, there was flashing of white wings, and coming and going of
radiant forms, and voices as of a multitude chanting in unison-
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will
towards men!"
Not once the praise, but many times.
Then the herald raised his eyes as seeking approval of one far
off; his wings stirred, and spread slowly and majestically, on their
upper side white as snow, in the shadow vari-tinted, like
mother-of-pearl; when they were expanded many cubits beyond his
stature, he rose lightly, and, without effort, floated out of view,
taking the light up with him. Long after he was gone, down from the
sky fell the refrain in measure mellowed by distance, "Glory to God in
the highest, and on earth peace, good-will towards men."
When the shepherds came fully to their senses, they stared at each
other stupidly, until one of them said, "It was Gabriel, the Lord's
messenger unto men."
None answered.
"Christ the Lord is born; said he not so?"
Then another recovered his voice, and replied, "That is what he
said."
"And did he not also say, in the city of David, which is our
Bethlehem yonder. And that we should find Him a babe in swaddling
clothes?"
"And lying in a manger."
The first speaker gazed into the fire thoughtfully, but at length
said, like one possessed of a sudden resolve, "There is but one
place in Bethlehem where there are mangers; but one, and that is in
the cave near the old khan. Brethren, let us go see this thing which
has come to pass. The priests and doctors have been a long time
looking for the Christ. Now He is born, and the Lord has given us a
sign by which to know Him. Let us go and worship Him."
"But the flocks!"
"The Lord will take care of them. Let us make haste."
Then they all arose and left the marah.
* * * * *
Around the mountain and through the town they passed, and came to
the gate of the khan, where there was a man on watch.
"What would you have?" he asked.
"We have seen and heard great things to-night," they replied.
"Well, we, too, have seen great things, but heard nothing. What
did you hear?"
"Let us go down to the cave in the enclosure, that we may be sure;
then we will tell you all. Come with us, and see for yourself."
"It is a fool's errand."
"No, the Christ is born."
"The Christ! How do you know?"
"Let us go and see first."
The man laughed scornfully.
"The Christ indeed! How are you to know Him?"
"He was born this night, and is now lying in a manger, so we were
told; and there is but one place in Bethlehem with mangers."
"The cave?"
"Yes. Come with us."
They went through the court-yard without notice, although there were
some up even then talking about the wonderful light. The door of the
cavern was open. A lantern was burning within, and they entered
unceremoniously.
"I give you peace," the watchman said to Joseph and the
Beth-Dagonite. "Here are people looking for a child born this night,
whom they are to know by finding Him in swaddling-clothes and lying in
a manger."
For a moment the face of the stolid Nazarene was moved; turning
away, he said, "The child is here."
They were led to one of the mangers, and there the child was. The
lantern was brought, and the shepherds stood by mute. The little one
made no sign; it was as others just born.
"Where is the mother?" asked the watchman.
One of the women took the baby, and went to Mary, lying near, and
put it in her arms. Then the bystanders collected about the two.
"It is the Christ!" said a shepherd at last.
"The Christ!" they all repeated, falling upon their knees in
worship. One of them repeated several times over-
"It is the Lord, and His glory is above the earth and heaven."
And the simple men, never doubting, kissed the hem of the mother's
robe, and with joyful faces departed. In the khan, to all the people
aroused and pressing about them, they told their story; and through
the town, and all the way back to the marah, they chanted the
refrain of the angels, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good-will towards men!"
The story went abroad, confirmed by the light so generally seen; and
the next day, and for days thereafter, the cave was visited by curious
crowds, of whom some believed, though the greater part laughed and
mocked.
CHAPTER XII.
THE WISE MEN ARRIVE AT JERUSALEM.

THE eleventh day after the birth of the child in the cave, about
mid-afternoon, the three wise men approached Jerusalem by the road
from Shechem. After crossing Brook Cedron, they met many people, of
whom none failed to stop and look after them curiously.
Judea was of necessity an international thoroughfare; a narrow
ridge, raised, apparently, by the pressure of the desert on the
east, and the sea on the west, was all she could claim to be; over the
ridge, however, nature had stretched the line of trade between the
east and the south; and that was her wealth. In other words, the
riches of Jerusalem were the tolls she levied on passing commerce.
Nowhere else, consequently, unless in Rome, was there such constant
assemblage of so many people of so many different nations; in no other
city was a stranger less strange to the residents than within her
walls and purlieus. And yet these three men excited the wonder of
all whom they met on the way to the gates.
A child belonging to some women sitting by the roadside opposite the
Tombs of the Kings saw the party coming; immediately it clapped its
hands, and cried, "Look, look! What pretty bells! What big camels!"
The bells were silver; the camels, as we have seen, were of
unusual size and whiteness, and moved with singular stateliness; the
trappings told of the desert and of long journeys thereon, and also of
ample means in possession of the owners, who sat under the little
canopies exactly as they appeared at the rendezvous beyond the
Jebel. Yet it was not the bells or the camels, or their furniture,
or the demeanour of the riders, that were so wonderful; it was the
question put by the man who rode foremost of the three.
The approach to Jerusalem from the north is across a plain which
dips southward, leaving the Damascus Gate in a vale or hollow. The
road is narrow, but deeply cut by long use, and in places difficult on
account of the cobbles left loose and dry by the washing of the rains.
On either side, however, there stretched, in the old time, rich fields
and handsome olive-groves, which must, in luxurious growth, have
been beautiful, especially to travellers fresh from the wastes of
the desert. In this road the three stopped before the party in front
of the Tombs.
"Good people," said Balthasar, stroking his plaited beard and
bending from his cot, "is not Jerusalem close by?"
"Yes," answered the woman into whose arms the child had shrunk.
"If the trees on yon swell were a little lower, you could see the
towers on the Market-place."
Balthasar gave the Greek and the Hindoo a look, then asked,
"Where is He that is born King of the Jews?"
The women gazed at each other without reply.
"You have not heard of Him?"
"No."
"Well tell everybody that we have seen His star in the east, and are
come to worship Him."
Thereupon the friends rode on. Of others they asked the same
question, with like result. A large company whom they met going to the
Grotto of Jeremiah were so astonished by the inquiry and the
appearance of the travellers that they turned about and followed
them into the city.
So much were the three occupied with the idea of their mission
that they did not care for the view which presently rose before them
in the utmost magnificence: for the village first to receive them on
Bezetha; for Mizpah and Olivet, over on their left; for the wall
behind the village, with its forty tall and solid towers, superadded
partly for strength, partly to gratify the critical taste of the
kingly builder; for the same towered wall bending off to the right,
with many an angle, and here and there an embattled gate, up to the
three great white piles, Phasaelus, Mariamne, and Hippicus; for
Zion, tallest of the hills, crowned with marble palaces, and never
so beautiful; for the glittering terraces of the temple on Moriah,
admittedly one of the wonders of the earth; for the regal mountains
rimming the sacred city round about until it seemed in the hollow of a
mighty bowl.
They came, at length, to a tower of great height and strength,
overlooking the gate which, at that time, answered to the present
Damascus Gate, and marked the meeting place of the three roads from
Shechem, Jericho, and Gibeon. A Roman guard kept the passage-way. By
this time the people following the camels formed a train sufficient to
draw the idlers hanging about the po