_Eleazar the Convert_
[Sidenote: The War of Extermination]
I was not to escape! As I reached the gate a loud sound of trampling feet
and many voices drove me back. By that curious texture of the feelings
which prefers suffering to suspense I was almost glad to have the
question decided for me by fortune, and flung myself on the ground among
a heap of the undone, who lay enjoying a slumber that might be envied
by thrones. The gate was thrown open and in another moment in burst a
living mass of horror, a multitude of beings in whom the human face and
form were almost obliterated; shapes gaunt with famine, black with dust,
withered with deadly fatigue, and covered with gashes and gore.
The war had gone on from cruelty to cruelty. To the Roman the Jew was a
rebel, and he had a rebel’s treatment; to the Jew the Roman was a tyrant,
and dearly was the price of his tyranny exacted. Quarter was seldom
given on either side. The natural generosity of the son of Vespasian had
attempted for a while to soften this furious system. But the slaughter of
the mission exasperated him; he declared the Jews a people incapable of
faith, and proclaimed a war of extermination. The battle of the day had
furnished the first opportunity of sweeping vengeance.
[Sidenote: Salathiel among the Wounded]
The people, stimulated by the arrival of Onias, had made a desperate
effort to force the Roman lines. The attacks were reiterated with more
than valor—with rage and madness; the Jews fought with a disregard of
life that appalled and had nearly overwhelmed even the Roman steadiness.
The loss of the legions was formidable; all their chief officers were
wounded, many were killed. Titus himself, leading a column from the
Decuman gate of the camp, was wounded by a blow from a sling; and the
state of its ramparts, as I saw them at daybreak, torn down in immense
breaches, and filling up the ditch with their ruins, showed the imminent
hazard of the whole army. Another hour of daylight would probably have
been its ruin. But Judea would not have been the more secure, for the
factions, relieved from the presence of an enemy, would have torn each
other to pieces.
The loss of the Jews was so prodigious[52] as to be accounted for only
by their eagerness to throw away life. Not less than a hundred thousand
corpses lay between the camp and Jerusalem. No prisoners were taken
on either side, and the crowds that now approached were the wounded,
gathered off the field, to be crucified in memory of the mission. The
coming of those victims put an end to the possibility or the desire of
sleep.
The immense and gloomy hall, one of those in use for the stately banquets
customary among the leaders of Jerusalem, was suddenly a blaze of
torches. The malefactors and captives were thrown together in heaps,
guarded by strong detachments of spearmen that lined the sides, like
ranges of iron statues, overlooking the mixed and moving confusion of
wretched life between. Guilt, sorrow, and shame were there in their
dreadful undisguise. The roof rang to oaths and screams of pain as the
wounded tossed and rolled upon each other; rang to bitter lamentation,
and more bitter still, to those self-accusing outcries which the near
approach of violent death sometimes awakens in the most daring criminals.
For stern as the justice was, it still was justice; the Jewish character
had fearfully changed. Rapine and bloodshed had become the habits of the
populace, and among the panting and quivering wretches before me begging
a moment of life I recognized many a face that, seen in Jerusalem, was
the sign of plunder and massacre.
[Sidenote: The Fury of the Condemned]
Repulsive as my recollections were, I spent the greater part of the night
in bandaging their wounds and relieving the thirst which scarcely less
than their wounds wrung them. There were women, too, among those wrecks
of the sword, and now that the frenzy of the day was past, they exhibited
a picture of the most heart-breaking dejection. Lying on the ground
wounded and with every lineament of their former selves disfigured, they
cried from that living grave alternately for vengeance and for mercy.
Then tearing their hair and flinging it, as their last mark of hatred and
scorn, at the legionaries, they devoted them to ruin in the name of the
God of Israel. Then passion gave way to pain, and in floods of tears they
called on the names of parent, husband, and child, whom they were to see
no more!
It was known that at daybreak the prisoners were to die, and the din of
hammers and the creaking of wagons bearing the crosses broke the night
with horrid intimation. At length the stillness terribly told that all
was prepared. The night, measured by moments, seemed endless, and many
a longing was uttered for the dawn that was to put them out of their
misery. Yet when the first gray light fell through the casements and the
trumpets sounded for the escort to get under arms, nothing could exceed
the fury of the crowd. Some rushed upon the spears of the reluctant
soldiery; some bounded in mad antics through the hall; others fell on
their knees and offered up horrid and shuddering prayers; many flung
themselves upon the floor, and in the paroxysm of wrath and fear perished.
Shocked and sickened by this misery, I withdrew from the gate, where the
tumult was thickest, as the soldiery were already driving them out, and
returned to my old lair, to await the will of fortune. But I found it
occupied. A circle of the wounded were standing round a speaker, to whom
they listened with singular attention. The voice caught my ear; from the
crowd round him I was unable to observe his features, but once drawn
within the sound of his words, I shared the general interest in their
extraordinary power. He was a teacher of the new religion.
[Sidenote: The Teachers of Christianity]
In my wanderings through Judea I had often met with those Nazarenes.
Their doctrines had a vivid simplicity that might have attracted my
attention as a philosopher, but philosophy was cold to their power. The
splendor and strength of their preaching realized the boldest traditions
of oratory. Yet their triumph was not that of oratory; they disclaimed
all pretension to eloquence or learning, declaring that even if they
possessed them, they dared not sully by human instruments of success the
glory due to Heaven. They carried this self-denial to the singular extent
of divulging every circumstance calculated to deprive themselves and
their doctrines of popularity. They openly acknowledged that they were
of humble birth and occupation, sinners like the rest of mankind, and
in some instances guilty of former excesses of blind zeal, persecutors
of the new religion, even to blood. Of their Master they spoke with the
same openness. They told of His humble origin, His career of rejection,
and His death by the punishment of a slave. To the scoffer at their hopes
of a kingdom to be given by the sufferer of that ignominious death, they
unhesitatingly answered that their hope was founded expressly upon His
death, and that they lived and rejoiced in the expectation that they
were, like Him, to seal their faith with their blood!
[Sidenote: The Strength of the New Religion]
I had often seen enthusiasm among my countrymen, but this was a spirit of
a distinct and a loftier birth. It had the vigor of enthusiasm without
its rashness; the gentleness of infancy, with the wisdom of years; the
solemn reverence of the Jew for the divine Will, free from his jealous
claims to the sole possession of truth. The Law and the Prophets were
perpetually in their hands, and they often embarrassed our haughty
doctors and acrid Pharisees with questions and interpretations to which
no reply could be returned but a sneer or an anathema. But in the power
of conviction, in the master art of striking the heart and understanding
with sudden light, like the bolt from heaven, I never heard, I never
shall hear, their equals. To call it eloquence was to humiliate this
stupendous gift; the most practised skill of the rhetorician gave way
before it, like gossamer, like chaff before the whirlwind. It broke
its way through sophistry by the mere weight of thought. It had a
rapid reality that swept the hearer along. In its disdain of the mere
decorations of speech, in the bold and naked nerve of its language, there
was an irresistible energy—the energy of the tempest, giving proof in its
untamable rushings of its descent from a region beyond the reach of man.
I never listened to one of these preachers but with a consciousness that
he was the depository of mighty knowledge. He had the whole mystery of
the human affections bare to his eye. Among a thousand hearts one word
sent conviction at the same instant. All their diversities of feeling,
sorrow, and error were shaken at once by that universal language. It
talked to the soul!
Of these overwhelming appeals, which often lasted for hours together
and to which I listened overwhelmed, nothing is left to posterity but
a few fragments, and those letters which the Christians still preserve
among their sacred writings—great productions and giving all the
impression that it is possible to transmit to the future. But the living
voice, the illumined countenance, the frame glowing and instinct with
inspiration!—what can transmit them?
“Here,” said I, as I often stood and heard their voices thundering over
the multitude, “here is the true power that is to shake the temples of
heathenism. Here is a new element come to overthrow or to renovate the
world.”
I saw our holy law struggling to keep itself in existence, compressed on
every side by idolatry; a little fountain feebly urging its way through
its native rocks, but exhausted and dried up at the moment it reached
the plain. But here was an ocean, an inexhaustible depth and breadth of
power made to roll round the world, and be, at the will of Providence,
the illimitable instrument of its bounty. I saw our holy law feebly
sheltering under its despoiled and insulted ordinances the truth of
Heaven. But here was a religion scorning a narrower temple than the earth
and the heaven!
[Sidenote: “The Hour is Come”]
Yet I turned away from those convictions. A thousand times I was on
the point of throwing myself at the feet of the men who bore this
transcendent gift and asking: “What shall I do?” A thousand times I could
have cried out: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” But oh, my
doubting heart! I make no attempt to account for myself or my career—I
have felt as strongly driven back as if there were an actual hand forcing
me away. The illusion was a willing one, and it was suffered, like all
such, to hold me in its captivity. But even when I shrank away I have
said: “Whence had those men this knowledge? If angels from God were to
come down to reclaim the world, could they tell us things different or
tell us more?”
I looked round upon the labors of ancient wisdom, and I saw how trivial
a space its utmost vigor had cleared, and how soon even that space was
overrun by the rankness of the world, and I said: “Here is the central
fire, the mighty reservoir of light, awaiting but the divine command to
burst up in splendor, consume the impurities of the world at once, and
regenerate mankind.” But the veil was upon my face. I labored against
conviction, and shutting out the subject from my thoughts, sternly
determined to live and die in the faith of my fathers.
I now heard but the few and simple closing words of the speaker in this
group of the devoted. He was sorrowful that the Gospel had been so
long committed to his hands in vain. He had, through fear of his own
inadequacy, and in the remaining deference to the prejudices of his
people, suffered the truth to decay, and seen the illustrious labors of
the apostles without following their example.
“But,” said he, “I was rebuked; the opportunity once neglected was
refused even to my prayers. I was thenceforth in perils, in civil war,
in domestic sedition. I am but now come from a dungeon. But in my bonds
it pleased Him, in whose hand are the heavens, to visit me. I knelt and
prayed, acknowledging my sin, and beseeching Him that before I died
I might proclaim His truth before Israel. In that hour came a voice,
bidding me go forth; and lo! my chains fell from my hands and I went
forth. And when I came to the gates of the dungeon, I willed to go
forward to the city of David. But I was forbidden, and my steps were
turned here, to awake my brethren to knowledge before they perish.”
The trumpets rang again as a new crowd were drained off to execution. My
heart sank at the melancholy sound, but among the converts there was not
a murmur.
“Kneel,” said the preacher; “the hour is come!”
They knelt and he poured out his spirit aloud in prayer
[Sidenote: “Go Forth, Redeemed of the Lord”]
“Now go forth,” he said, rising alone, “go forth, redeemed of the Lord.
This night have ye known that He is gracious. Those things that God
before hath shown by the mouth of all His prophets that Christ should
suffer, He hath fulfilled. But ye have heard, but ye have been converted,
that your sins may be blotted out when the times of refreshing shall
come. But ye have been called—but ye have been justified—but ye shall
be glorified. Our hope of you is stedfast—knowing that as you have been
partakers of His cross, so shall ye be of His kingdom. Now be grace unto
you, and peace from the King of Kings!”
He laid his hands upon the kneeling converts and went slowly round,
blessing them. His face had been hitherto turned from me, and I was too
much impressed by his words and the awful circumstances in which he stood
even to conjecture who he was. At length in moving round he came before
me. To my inexpressible surprise and sorrow the teacher was Eleazar! I
had lost every trace of him since we parted in the fortress, and with
sorrow of heart had concluded him a sacrifice to the common atrocities of
our ferocious war. His long absence was now explained, but no explanation
could account for the extraordinary change that had been wrought upon
his countenance. Always generous and manly, yet the softness of a nature
made for domestic life had concealed the vigor of his understanding. He
was the general reconciler in the disputes of the neighboring districts,
the impartial judge, the unwearied friend, and his features had borne the
stamp of this quiet career.
But the man before me bore uncontrollable energy in every tone and
feature. The failing flame of the torch that burned over his head was
enough to show the transformation of his countenance into grandeur; his
glance was a living fire; the hair that floated over it, changed by
captivity to the whiteness of snow, shaded a forehead that seemed to have
suddenly expanded into majesty. If I had met such a man in a desert, I
should have augured in him the founder or the subverter of a throne.
While I stood absolutely awed by his presence, a cohort of spearmen
poured in to gather up the gleanings of the hall. Then was renewed the
scene of misery. Wretches whom I had thought dead started from the ground
and flung themselves at their feet, or rushed against the ranks, tore
the weapons out of their hands, and broke them in fury through the hall.
Others dashed their foreheads against the walls and floor and died upon
the spot. Others sprang up the projections of the sculpture and climbed
with the agility of leopards to the roof, to force the casements. But
additional troops poured in, and the crowd were overwhelmed and driven
out to undergo their destiny.
During this long tumult, the Christian converts continued kneeling and
evidently absorbed by thoughts that extinguished fear. Even the sounds
from without, that terribly told what was going on, and every tone of
which pierced me to the heart, produced only a deeper supplication
that light would be given to the souls of the sufferers. This patience
probably induced the soldiery to leave them to the last, while they drove
out the more untractable at the point of the spear, like cattle to the
slaughter. I still stood aloof. The sacredness of the moments that came
before death were not to be interrupted. The transformed Eleazar had
already passed away from the things of this world. I would not force them
on him again, nor vainly and cruelly disturb the holy serenity of one at
peace alike with man and Heaven.
At length the order came.
[Sidenote: “Go to the Kingdom of Glory”]
“Now, my beloved brothers, beloved in the Lord, go forth,” said Eleazar,
with a noble exultation glowing in his countenance, “quit ye like men;
be strong; fear not them who can kill only the body. Even this night saw
you still in your sins—the wisdom that was before all worlds, hidden from
you. But He that calleth light out of darkness hath wrought in you. He
hath poured upon you that Spirit which is an earnest of your inheritance,
holy, incorruptible, eternal in the heavens. Now, sons of Abraham,
redeemed of Christ, kings and priests of God forever, go where He is gone
to prepare a place for you—go to the house of many mansions—go to the
kingdom of glory!”
[Illustration: “‘Now, my beloved brothers, beloved in the Lord, go
forth,’ said Eleazar.”
[_see page 452._
Copyright, 1901, by Funk & Wagnalls Company, N. Y. and London.]
With tears and blessings Eleazar took water and baptized the converts.
They sang a hymn, and then rising, moved toward the gate, the soldiers
standing at a distance and looking on at this more than heroic
resignation with eyes of respect and wonder.
[Sidenote: Salathiel Confronts Eleazar]
I could restrain myself no longer. I grasped Eleazar; he instantly
recognized me, and the color that shot through his cheek showed that with
me came a tide of memory. I was speechless; I embraced him; tears of old
friendship dimmed my eyes. He was overpowered like myself, and could only
exclaim:
“Salathiel, my brother! What misfortune has brought you here? Where is
Miriam? Where are your children? You can not be a prisoner? Fly from this
dreadful place!”
“Never, my brother, unless I can save you. The tyrants shall have the
curse of both upon their heads.”
“This is madness, Salathiel—impiety! Oh, that you were this moment even
as I am—in all but death! It is your duty to live; you have many ties to
the world.”
He paused, and with a look upward said in a tone of prayer:
“Oh, that you were at this moment awake to the truths, the holy and
imperishable consolations, that make the cross to me more triumphant than
a throne!”
The theme was a painful one. He instantly saw my perturbation and
forebore to urge me; but fixing his humid eyes on heaven, and with
uplifted hands, he gave me his parting benediction.
“May the time come,” said he, “when the veil shall be taken away from the
face of my unhappy kindred and of my undone country! When the days of the
desolation of Israel come to be accomplished, let her kneel before the
altar!—let her weep in sackcloth and repent of her iniquities; so shall
the sun of glory arise upon her once more.”
Then, as if a flash of knowledge had darted into his soul, he fixed his
solemn gaze on me.
[Sidenote: A Day of Brightness]
“Salathiel, you are not fit to die; pray that you may not now sink
into the grave. You have fierce impulses, of whose power you have yet
no conception. Supplicate for length of years; rather endure all the
miseries of exile; be alone upon the earth—weary, wild, and desolate; but
pray that you may not die until you know the truths that Israel yet shall
know. Let it be for me to die, and seal my faith by my blood. Let it be
for you to live, and seal it by your penitence. But live in hope. Even
on earth, a day bright beyond earthly splendor, lovely beyond all the
visions of beauty, magnificent and powerful beyond the loftiest thought
of human nature, shall come, and we, even we, my brother, shall on earth
meet again.”