You know the story of the Three Wise Men of the East, and how they
travelled from far away to offer their gifts at the manger-cradle in
Bethlehem. But have you ever heard the story of the Other Wise Man, who
also saw the star in its rising, and set out to follow it, yet did not
arrive with his brethren in the presence of the young child Jesus? Of
the great desire of this fourth pilgrim, and how it was denied, yet
accomplished in the denial; of his many wanderings and the probations
of his soul; of the long way of his seeking and the strange way of his
finding the One whom he sought--I would tell the tale as I have heard
fragments of it in the Hall of Dreams, in the palace of the Heart of
Man.
I
In the days when Augustus Caesar was master of many kings and Herod
reigned in Jerusalem, there lived in the city of Ecbatana, among the
mountains of Persia, a certain man named Artaban. His house stood close
to the outermost of the walls which encircled the royal treasury. From
his roof he could look over the seven-fold battlements of black and
white and crimson and blue and red and silver and gold, to the hill
where the summer palace of the Parthian emperors glittered like a jewel
in a crown.
Around the dwelling of Artaban spread a fair garden, a tangle of flowers
and fruit-trees, watered by a score of streams descending from the
slopes of Mount Orontes, and made musical by innumerable birds. But all
colour was lost in the soft and odorous darkness of the late September
night, and all sounds were hushed in the deep charm of its silence, save
the plashing of the water, like a voice half-sobbing and half-laughing
under the shadows. High above the trees a dim glow of light shone
through the curtained arches of the upper chamber, where the master of
the house was holding council with his friends.
He stood by the doorway to greet his guests--a tall, dark man of about
forty years, with brilliant eyes set near together under his broad brow,
and firm lines graven around his fine, thin lips; the brow of a dreamer
and the mouth of a soldier, a man of sensitive feeling but inflexible
will--one of those who, in whatever age they may live, are born for
inward conflict and a life of quest.
His robe was of pure white wool, thrown over a tunic of silk; and a
white, pointed cap, with long lapels at the sides, rested on his flowing
black hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood of the Magi,
called the fire-worshippers.
“Welcome!” he said, in his low, pleasant voice, as one after another
entered the room--“welcome, Abdus; peace be with you, Rhodaspes and
Tigranes, and with you my father, Abgarus. You are all welcome. This
house grows bright with the joy of your presence.”
There were nine of the men, differing widely in age, but alike in the
richness of their dress of many-coloured silks, and in the massive
golden collars around their necks, marking them as Parthian nobles, and
in the winged circles of gold resting upon their breasts, the sign of
the followers of Zoroaster.
They took their places around a small black altar at the end of the
room, where a tiny flame was burning. Artaban, standing beside it, and
waving a barsom of thin tamarisk branches above the fire, fed it with
dry sticks of pine and fragrant oils. Then he began the ancient chant
of the Yasna, and the voices of his companions joined in the hymn to
Ahura-Mazda:
We worship the Spirit Divine,
all wisdom and goodness possessing,
Surrounded by Holy Immortals,
the givers of bounty and blessing;
We joy in the work of His hands,
His truth and His power confessing.
We praise all the things that are pure,
for these are His only Creation
The thoughts that are true, and the words
and the deeds that have won approbation;
These are supported by Him,
and for these we make adoration.
Hear us, O Mazda! Thou livest
in truth and in heavenly gladness;
Cleanse us from falsehood, and keep us
from evil and bondage to badness,
Pour out the light and the joy of Thy life
on our darkness and sadness.
Shine on our gardens and fields,
shine on our working and waving;
Shine on the whole race of man,
believing and unbelieving;
Shine on us now through the night,
Shine on us now in Thy might,
The flame of our holy love
and the song of our worship receiving.
The fire rose with the chant, throbbing as if the flame responded to the
music, until it cast a bright illumination through the whole apartment,
revealing its simplicity and splendour.
The floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined with white; pilasters
of twisted silver stood out against the blue walls; the clear-story of
round-arched windows above them was hung with azure silk; the vaulted
ceiling was a pavement of blue stones, like the body of heaven in its
clearness, sown with silver stars. From the four corners of the roof
hung four golden magic-wheels, called the tongues of the gods. At
the eastern end, behind the altar, there were two dark-red pillars of
porphyry; above them a lintel of the same stone, on which was carved the
figure of a winged archer, with his arrow set to the string and his bow
drawn.
The doorway between the pillars, which opened upon the terrace of
the roof, was covered with a heavy curtain of the colour of a ripe
pomegranate, embroidered with innumerable golden rays shooting upward
from the floor. In effect the room was like a quiet, starry night, all
azure and silver, flushed in the cast with rosy promise of the dawn. It
was, as the house of a man should be, an expression of the character and
spirit of the master.
He turned to his friends when the song was ended, and invited them to be
seated on the divan at the western end of the room.
“You have come to-night,” said he, looking around the circle, “at my
call, as the faithful scholars of Zoroaster, to renew your worship and
rekindle your faith in the God of Purity, even as this fire has been
rekindled on the altar. We worship not the fire, but Him of whom it is
the chosen symbol, because it is the purest of all created things. It
speaks to us of one who is Light and Truth. Is it not so, my father?”
“It is well said, my son,” answered the venerable Abgarus. “The
enlightened are never idolaters. They lift the veil of form and go in
to the shrine of reality, and new light and truth are coming to them
continually through the old symbols.” “Hear me, then, my father an
while I tell you of the new light and truth that have come to me
through the most ancient of all signs. We have searched the secrets of
Nature together, and studied the healing virtues of water and fire and
the plants. We have read also the books of prophecy in which the future
is dimly foretold in words that are hard to understand. But the highest
of all learning is the knowledge of the stars. To trace their course is
to untangle the threads of the mystery of life from the beginning to the
end. If we could follow them perfectly, nothing would be hidden from us.
But is not our knowledge of them still incomplete? Are there not many
stars still beyond our horizon--lights that are known only to the
dwellers in the far south-land, among the spice-trees of Punt and the
gold mines of Ophir?”
There was a murmur of assent among the listeners.
“The stars,” said Tigranes, “are the thoughts of the Eternal. They are
numberless. But the thoughts of man can be counted, like the years
of his life. The wisdom of the Magi is the greatest of all wisdoms on
earth, because it knows its own ignorance. And that is the secret of
power. We keep men always looking and waiting for a new sunrise. But we
ourselves understand that the darkness is equal to the light, and that
the conflict between them will never be ended.”
“That does not satisfy me,” answered Artaban, “for, if the waiting must
be endless, if there could be no fulfilment of it, then it would not be
wisdom to look and wait. We should become like those new teachers of the
Greeks, who say that there is no truth, and that the only wise men are
those who spend their lives in discovering and exposing the lies that
have been believed in the world. But the new sunrise will certainly
appear in the appointed time. Do not our own books tell us that this
will come to pass, and that men will see the brightness of a great
light?”
“That is true,” said the voice of Abgarus; “every faithful disciple of
Zoroaster knows the prophecy of the Avesta, and carries the word in his
heart. ‘In that day Sosiosh the Victorious shall arise out of the number
of the prophets in the east country. Around him shall shine a mighty
brightness, and he shall make life everlasting, incorruptible, and
immortal, and the dead shall rise again.’”
“This is a dark saying,” said Tigranes, “and it may be that we shall
never understand it. It is better to consider the things that are near
at hand, and to increase the influence of the Magi in their own country,
rather than to look for one who may be a stranger, and to whom we must
resign our power.”
The others seemed to approve these words. There was a silent feeling
of agreement manifest among them; their looks responded with that
indefinable expression which always follows when a speaker has uttered
the thought that has been slumbering in the hearts of his listeners. But
Artaban turned to Abgarus with a glow on his face, and said:
“My father, I have kept this prophecy in the secret place of my soul.
Religion without a great hope would be like an altar without a living
fire. And now the flame has burned more brightly, and by the light of it
I have read other words which also have come from the fountain of Truth,
and speak yet more clearly of the rising of the Victorious One in his
brightness.”
He drew from the breast of his tunic two small rolls of fine parchment,
with writing upon them, and unfolded them carefully upon his knee.
“In the years that are lost in the past, long before our fathers came
into the land of Babylon, there were wise men in Chaldea, from whom the
first of the Magi learned the secret of the heavens. And of these
Balaam the son of Beor was one of the mightiest. Hear the words of his
prophecy: ‘There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a sceptre shall
arise out of Israel.’”
The lips of Tigranes drew downward with contempt, as he said:
“Judah was a captive by the waters of Babylon, and the sons of Jacob
were in bondage to our kings. The tribes of Israel are scattered through
the mountains like lost sheep, and from the remnant that dwells in Judea
under the yoke of Rome neither star nor sceptre shall arise.”
“And yet,” answered Artaban, “it was the Hebrew Daniel,
the mighty searcher of dreams, the counsellor of kings, the wise
Belteshazzar, who was most honoured and beloved of our great King Cyrus.
A prophet of sure things and a reader of the thoughts of the Eternal,
Daniel proved himself to our people. And these are the words that he
wrote.” (Artaban read from the second roll:) “‘Know, therefore, and
understand that from the going forth of the commandment to restore
Jerusalem, unto the Anointed One, the Prince, the time shall be seven
and threescore and two weeks.”’
“But, my son,” said Abgarus, doubtfully, “these are mystical numbers.
Who can interpret them, or who can find the key that shall unlock their
meaning?”
Artaban answered: “It has been shown to me and to my three companions
among the Magi--Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. We have searched the
ancient tablets of Chaldea and computed the time. It falls in this year.
We have studied the sky, and in the spring of the year we saw two of the
greatest planets draw near together in the sign of the Fish, which is
the house of the Hebrews. We also saw a new star there, which shone
for one night and then vanished. Now again the two great planets are
meeting. This night is their conjunction. My three brothers are watching
by the ancient Temple of the Seven Spheres, at Borsippa, in Babylonia,
and I am watching here. If the star shines again, they will wait
ten days for me at the temple, and then we will set out together for
Jerusalem, to see and worship the promised one who shall be born King of
Israel. I believe the sign will come. I have made ready for the journey.
I have sold my possessions, and bought these three jewels--a sapphire,
a ruby, and a pearl--to carry them as tribute to the King. And I ask
you to go with me on the pilgrimage, that we may have joy together in
finding the Prince who is worthy to be served.”
While he was speaking he thrust his hand into the inmost fold of his,
girdle and drew out three great gems--one blue as a fragment of the
night sky, one redder than a ray of sunrise, and one as pure as the peak
of a snow-mountain at twilight--and laid them on the outspread scrolls
before him.
But his friends looked on with strange and alien eyes. A veil of doubt
and mistrust came over their faces, like a fog creeping up from the
marshes to hide the hills. They glanced at each other with looks of
wonder and pity, as those who have listened to incredible sayings, the
story of a wild vision, or the proposal of an impossible enterprise.
At last Tigranes said: “Artaban, this is a vain dream. It comes from
too much looking upon the stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts.
It would be wiser to spend the time in gathering money for the new
fire-temple at Chala. No king will ever rise from the broken race of
Israel, and no end will ever come to the eternal strife of light and
darkness. He who looks for it is a chaser of shadows. Farewell.”
And another said: “Artaban, I have no knowledge of these things, and my
office as guardian of the royal treasure binds me here. The quest is not
for me. But if thou must follow it, fare thee well.”
And another said: “In my house there sleeps a new bride, and I cannot
leave her nor take her with me on this strange journey. This quest is
not for me. But may thy steps be prospered wherever thou goest. So,
farewell.”
And another said: “I am ill and unfit for hardship, but there is a man
among my servants whom I will send with thee when thou goest, to bring
me word how thou farest.”
So, one by one, they left the house of Artaban. But Abgarus, the oldest
and the one who loved him the best, lingered after the others had gone,
and said, gravely: “My son, it may be that the light of truth is in this
sign that has appeared in the skies, and then it will surely lead to the
Prince and the mighty brightness. Or it may be that it is only a shadow
of the light, as Tigranes has said, and then he who follows it will have
a long pilgrimage and a fruitless search. But it is better to follow
even the shadow of the best than to remain content with the worst.
And those who would see wonderful things must often be ready to travel
alone. I am too old for this journey, but my heart shall be a companion
of thy pilgrimage day and night, and I shall know the end of thy quest.
Go in peace.”
Then Abgarus went out of the azure chamber with its silver stars, and
Artaban was left in solitude.
He gathered up the jewels and replaced them in his girdle. For a long
time he stood and watched the flame that flickered and sank upon the
altar. Then he crossed the hall, lifted the heavy curtain, and passed
out between the pillars of porphyry to the terrace on the roof.
The shiver that runs through the earth ere she rouses from her
night-sleep had already begun, and the cool wind that heralds the
daybreak was drawing downward from the lofty snow-traced ravines
of Mount Orontes. Birds, half-awakened, crept and chirped among the
rustling leaves, and the smell of ripened grapes came in brief wafts
from the arbours.
Far over the eastern plain a white mist stretched like a lake. But where
the distant peaks of Zagros serrated the western horizon the sky was
clear. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of lambent flame
about to blend in one.
As Artaban watched them, a steel-blue spark was born out of the darkness
beneath, rounding itself with purple splendours to a crimson sphere, and
spiring upward through rays of saffron and orange into a point of white
radiance. Tiny and infinitely remote, yet perfect in every part, it
pulsated in the enormous vault as if the three jewels in the Magian’s
girdle had mingled and been transformed into a living heart of light.
He bowed his head. He covered his brow with his hands.
“It is the sign,” he said. “The King is coming, and I will go to meet
him.”