There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was listening to the
story of the Other Wise Man. Through this silence I saw, but very dimly,
his figure passing over the dreary undulations of the desert, high upon
the back of his camel, rocking steadily onward like a ship over the
waves.
The land of death spread its cruel net around him. The stony waste
bore no fruit but briers and thorns. The dark ledges of rock thrust
themselves above the surface here and there, like the bones of perished
monsters. Arid and inhospitable mountain-ranges rose before him,
furrowed with dry channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly as
scars on the face of nature. Shifting hills of treacherous sand were
heaped like tombs along the horizon. By day, the fierce heat pressed its
intolerable burden on the quivering air. No living creature moved on
the dumb, swooning earth, but tiny jerboas scuttling through the parched
bushes, or lizards vanishing in the clefts of the rock. By night the
jackals prowled and barked in the distance, and the lion made the black
ravines echo with his hollow roaring, while a bitter, blighting chill
followed the fever of the day. Through heat and cold, the Magian moved
steadily onward.
Then I saw the gardens and orchards of Damascus, watered by the streams
of Abana and Pharpar, with their sloping swards inlaid with bloom,
and their thickets of myrrh and roses. I saw the long, snowy ridge of
Hermon, and the dark groves of cedars, and the valley of the Jordan,
and the blue waters of the Lake of Galilee, and the fertile plain of
Esdraelon, and the hills of Ephraim, and the highlands of Judah. Through
all these I followed the figure of Artaban moving steadily onward, until
he arrived at Bethlehem. And it was the third day after the three Wise
Men had come to that place and had found Mary and Joseph, with the young
child, Jesus, and had laid their gifts of gold and frankincense and
myrrh at his feet.
Then the Other Wise Man drew near, weary, but full of hope, bearing his
ruby and his pearl to offer to the King. “For now at last,” he said, “I
shall surely find him, though I be alone, and later than my brethren.
This is the place of which the Hebrew exile told me that the prophets
had spoken, and here I shall behold the rising of the great light. But I
must inquire about the visit of my brethren, and to what house the star
directed them, and to whom they presented their tribute.”
The streets of the village seemed to be deserted, and Artaban wondered
whether the men had all gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their
sheep. From the open door of a cottage he heard the sound of a woman’s
voice singing softly. He entered and found a young mother hushing her
baby to rest. She told him of the strangers from the far East who had
appeared in the village three days ago, and how they said that a star
had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging with
his wife and her new-born child, and how they had paid reverence to the
child and given him many rich gifts.
“But the travellers disappeared again,” she continued, “as suddenly
as they had come. We were afraid at the strangeness of their visit.
We could not understand it. The man of Nazareth took the child and his
mother, and fled away that same night secretly, and it was whispered
that they were going to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a spell upon
the village; something evil hangs over it. They say that the Roman
soldiers are coming from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and
the men have driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills, and
hidden themselves to escape it.”
Artaban listened to her gentle, timid speech, and the child in her arms
looked up in his face and smiled, stretching out its rosy hands to grasp
at the winged circle of gold on his breast. His heart warmed to the
touch. It seemed like a greeting of love and trust to one who had
journeyed long in loneliness and perplexity, fighting with his own
doubts and fears, and following a light that was veiled in clouds.
“Why might not this child have been the promised Prince?” he asked
within himself, as he touched its soft cheek. “Kings have been born ere
now in lowlier houses than this, and the favourite of the stars may rise
even from a cottage. But it has not seemed good to the God of wisdom
to reward my search so soon and so easily. The one whom I seek has gone
before me; and now I must follow the King to Egypt.”
The young mother laid the baby in its cradle, and rose to minister to
the wants of the strange guest that fate had brought into her house. She
set food before him, the plain fare of peasants, but willingly offered,
and therefore full of refreshment for the soul as well as for the body.
Artaban accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child fell into a
happy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a great peace
filled the room.
But suddenly there came the noise of a wild confusion in the streets of
the village, a shrieking and wailing of women’s voices, a clangour of
brazen trumpets and a clashing of swords, and a desperate cry: “The
soldiers! the soldiers of Herod! They are killing our children.” The
young mother’s face grew white with terror. She clasped her child to
her bosom, and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the room,
covering him with the folds of her robe, lest he should wake and cry.
But Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house. His
broad shoulders filled the portal from side to side, and the peak of his
white cap all but touched the lintel.
The soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and
dripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress
they hesitated with surprise. The captain of the band approached the
threshold to thrust him aside. But Artaban did not stir. His face was as
calm as though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned
that steady radiance before which even the half-tamed hunting leopard
shrinks, and the bloodhound pauses in his leap. He held the soldier
silently for an instant, and then said in a low voice: “I am all alone
in this place, and I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent
captain who will leave me in peace.”
He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a great
drop of blood.
The captain was amazed at the splendour of the gem. The pupils of his
eyes expanded with desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around
his lips. He stretched out his hand and took the ruby.
“March on!” he cried to his men, “there is no child here. The house is
empty.”
The clamor and the clang of arms passed down the street as the headlong
fury of the chase sweeps by the secret covert where the trembling deer
is hidden. Artaban re-entered the cottage. He turned his face to the
east and prayed:
“God of truth, forgive my sin! I have said the thing that
is not, to save the life of a child. And two of my gifts are gone. I
have spent for man that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy
to see the face of the King?”
But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadow behind him,
said very gently:
“Because thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless
thee and keep thee; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be
gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give
thee peace.”