gold badge in front) that seemed well acquainted with one another, and
not disposed to lose the time of waiting, possibly long, in silence.
Some talked together with great enthusiasm of a boat-race that had come
off the day before on the lake: others discussed the merits of various
recent performances in the palæstra, especially those of a certain noted
athlete and trainer who had just arrived from Rome: two agreed that there
was nothing worth living for but the noble art of fencing, and that the
greatest living master of the art was one Draco of Rhodes, of whom they
were taking lessons. A knot of dudes were comparing breast-pins and
finger-rings and experiences at the last fashionable party; or boasting
of the successful tricks they had played on the lecturers at the Museum,
and of how they managed to evade many of the lectures and delude their
parents and other friends at home with the idea that they were hard at
work digging into all the sciences and philosophies and living like
hermits on crusts and water. Some were ready to burst with merriment over
some practical jokes they had played on some citizen or new-comer at the
Museum; or at the way in which they had baffled the police in a midnight
brawl.
The two students who came in with Aleph seemed better to deserve the
name. They had just come from a lecture by Philo, a brother of the
Alabarch; and found much to commend in his ingenious attempts to
Hellenize the Hebrew writers or to Hebraize the Greek—they were uncertain
which way to put it. They agreed that he was a very broad man and ready
to do justice to great men of other nationality than his own. They were
also hearing lectures on astronomy and Hipparchus in the observatory
rooms at the Serapeum, as well as on the physics and metaphysics of
Aristotle at the Museum.
Aleph was not sorry to have this little insight into student life in
Alexandria; and, considering the number of persons in the room on his
arrival, he was expecting to have a still longer time to observe and
listen, when, to his surprise and apparently to that of others around, a
special servant came to conduct him to the banker.
After passing through a large room occupied by many persons busy at
desks, and crossing a broad passage from which rose a flight of marble
steps, they came to a small room plainly furnished, in which were
seated two men. What was his surprise to recognize in one of them the
Egyptian Seti! The pleasure he felt sprang at once to his face, as he
advanced with a warm but modest greeting which the aged man cordially
reciprocated, and then presented him to the Alabarch as “the young man of
whom we have been speaking.”
Alexander was a Jew to the slightest inspection. But his features though
national were royally so, and might have belonged to Solomon. Their
whole expression bespoke one accustomed to great thoughts and plans;
while yet a certain watchfulness, like distant pickets about a royal
encampment, looked out from far back in his frank and friendly eyes as
of one who knows that all sorts of characters will come to a banker, and
who knows how to protect himself on occasion. His manners were polished
and courtly—as might have been expected in one who dealt only with the
highest and most cultured classes, and was even a companion of princes.
In watching him one felt sure that the man was larger than his wealth,
however large that might be. He was still in the prime of life, and
without a thread of silver in his dark hair and beard.
Alexander received the young man graciously, though with wide-open,
all-observing eyes.
“I happened,” said the Egyptian to Aleph, “to be with my son when your
name was brought in; and, though you gave me no name yesterday, I fancied
that the Chaldean was the friend I have occasion to remember, and that
his first business would naturally be with a banker. I had just finished
explaining how we met when you came in.”
“That I am as glad as surprised,” returned the young man, “to see you
here and in such a relation, you doubtless have already discovered.
Perhaps I am the more glad because my business with this gentleman is
such as may call for a word of friendly prepossession in my favor from
one who is known here. For the present I am compelled to remain unknown.
I can only appear as Aleph, the Chaldean, in company with his preceptor
and friend, Cimon the Athenian. So I have no papers to present on which
to ask an open account for him and myself, within certain limits, with a
banker. I have only certain jewels to place in his hands, of the value of
which he must judge”—and he drew from the bosom of his tunic a small box
which he opened and handed to Alexander.
The banker was surprised. In all his wide experience he had never fallen
in with such brilliants—so large, so beautifully and variously hued, with
such soft and mystic fires playing about them and raying out from their
inmost depths. A pearl, a ruby, a sapphire, and a diamond—that was all;
but, as Alexander turned the box this way and that, there flashed out
upon him such lovely lights as he had never seen in the imperial treasury
at Rome, enriched as it was with the regalia of many nations.
After carefully taking out each gem and examining it on all sides, and
then as carefully replacing it in its luxurious bed, Alexander at length
fetched a long breath and slowly said:
“If any common stranger had brought me these remarkable jewels I should
have demanded to know his name and station—in short, that he is the
rightful owner of such a treasure. This would only be common prudence.
But I happen to have an uncommon father-in-law, who has a notion that he
has a gift of reading character in faces and bearing, and who thinks so
favorably of yours that he might quarrel with me if I should deal with
you on strictly business principles. I should be sorry to have him do
that. Besides, to tell the truth, I have something of his weakness for
a good face and figure, and whatever else that indescribable something
about you is that demands confidence. So I think I will venture”—and he
threw an arch look and smile at Seti.
And he drew two sheets of papyrus toward himself. After writing for some
time, he read over to himself carefully what he had written, and then
handed the sheet to Aleph, saying, “Is this satisfactory?”
The young man read a full description of the box and its contents; an
acknowledgment of the receipt of it as basis for credit to the extent of
200,000 aurei or staters, to be drawn upon at pleasure in large or small
sums; also a promise to restore the jewels on repayment of sums advanced
with a moderate interest.
Aleph pronounced the paper entirely satisfactory, and far more favorable
than he had any reason to expect—adding, however, that he had no idea
of making any large drafts on the sum pledged; as one of the objects he
had in view in Alexandria would compel him to live in a very quiet and
inexpensive way, even if it were not a matter of choice.
Alexander then proceeded to copy the document, and to affix his signature
and seal to it and to the copy. He retained one and gave the other to
Aleph, with a parcel of small slips of papyrus each already signed by
himself, but otherwise blank, saying:
“Whenever you wish current money, fill in one of these with the sum
desired, in your own handwriting and with your name as given to-day, and
present it in the room through which you passed in coming here.... Now I
will put this treasure where it will be somewhat safer than it was when
walking the streets of Alexandria under the protection of a cane”—and
he rose and took the box and his copy of the paper he had just executed
to carry them into an adjoining room whose door, massive with iron,
proclaimed the very citadel of the financial stronghold.
“Will you add this small parcel of valuable documents to the box?” said
Aleph, as he again produced from the bosom of his tunic an elaborately
tied and sealed parcel.
Alexander had hardly resumed his seat, after a few moments’ absence, when
a light step was heard descending the stairs in the neighboring passage,
the door softly opened a little, then wider, and after a moment a young
lady advanced into the room. Seti and Aleph were so seated that they
could not well be seen from the door; and the maiden seeing none but
Alexander went hastily up to him, put her hand on his shoulder, kissed
his forehead, and said:
“Father, word has just been brought me that my poor nurse Miriam, who
has come back to the city sick, is now dying, and wants to see me. May I
take a servant with me and go? In the absence of my mother and brothers,
I thought I had better come directly to you, as I may need to be gone for
some time, and you would be alarmed at my prolonged absence.”
“Certainly I would have been. Take two servants: then you can send
one of them back for anything that may be needed. Let the woman have
every possible help and comfort. But, Rachel, you do not notice your
grandfather!”—nodding his head toward Seti, who had risen and was coming
toward her.
Rachel turned suddenly, with a faint exclamation of surprise, and sprang
into the open arms of the Egyptian, exclaiming:
“When did you come? I thought you were still in Upper Egypt. How glad
I am to see you, my dear grandfather—as glad as one can be whose
foster-mother lies dying!”
“I will not keep you from her—only to answer your question by saying
that I reached the city safely last evening, thanks to a young friend of
mine. No particulars at present. Perhaps I will step in at Miriam’s on
my way home (I accidentally heard of her whereabouts this morning), and
see if the leech has done his best, and, if not, whether old Egypt can do
better.”
“Do, grandfather,” she pleaded, “and come soon: for I verily believe
that the priest Seti knows more of the healing art than all the rest of
Alexandria—the daughters of my people not excepted.”
As she glided toward the door her eye rested for a moment with a startled
look on Aleph. He had till now been unobserved. The tall form of Seti
had been interposed. She hesitated a moment, as if to make sure that the
young man was not some one whom she ought to recognize, and then hastened
away.
Ah, those great, lovely eyes! It was but a second that their inquiring
look rested on him; but they at once made him forget every other feature.
He had not failed to notice her faultless figure, the queenly carriage
of her head, the easy grace and even majesty of her every movement; and
when she turned to greet Seti he had had full view of an exquisite face,
hesitating between girlhood and womanhood—a face wonderfully luminous
with a certain spiritual and lofty loveliness—but the moment her eyes
shot their fires into his, all previous impressions vanished, and he saw
nothing but _eyes, eyes_. In talking over the events of the day with
Cimon at the khan in the evening, he could not, for the life of him,
remember distinctly whether she was tall or short, dark or brown-haired,
light-complexioned or otherwise—he could only remember the glorious
_eyes_. But the young man was in Alexandria for a purpose, and a great
one: and what had he to do with a maiden’s haunting eyes? Just nothing at
all. So he turned his own eyes to the business in hand: and the effulgent
twin stars that had just risen above his horizon, contrary to the order
of Nature, silently sank back again and disappeared—almost.
He rose to take leave. But Alexander said, _Wait a little_, and touched
a string. A servant appeared, to whom he gave some directions in a low
voice. When he had dismissed the man, he said that he had just sent to
notify those in waiting that no more business would be done to-day. He
added that he usually closed business earlier on the sixth day of the
week out of regard to the sacred seventh, and that so he had some leisure
for conversation; if the young man would resume his seat.
“Speaking of our Sabbath,” continued he; “reminds me that I ought to
invite you to our place of worship for to-morrow: for I learn that you
are not a worshipper of Belus?”
“Hardly,” said Aleph with a smile.
“Nor a fire-worshipper?”
“By no means.”
“Nor a worshipper of the sun, moon and stars?”
“I was not so taught,” emphatically.
“But you were taught to worship the One God who made the heavens and the
earth, and who spake by Moses and our other prophets?”
“Even so: our family religion for generations has been that of the
Hebrews—as being the most credible and satisfactory within our knowledge.”
“Our common friend here could not tell me quite as much as this,” said
Alexander with a gratified look, “but I am glad to hear it, and hope to
learn at some future time how your family came into possession of our
faith. You observe our sacred day?”
“I do, as does also my companion. Though a Greek by birth, he is a Hebrew
in religion. We will be pleased to accept your invitation for to-morrow.
Where shall we find your place of worship?”
“We Jews are 300,000 strong. So there are several synagogues in the
city; but two of these are much larger than the rest, and stand for two
different schools of doctrine among us. The one with which I am connected
is the _Diapleuston_ and is on the street of Canopus, not far from
here. The other is on Emporium Street, and is not so large as ours, but
still has many substantial adherents, of whom Malus, our chief shipping
merchant, is the most prominent. Indeed, I think that he is now the chief
ruler of his synagogue.”
“May I ask,” inquired Aleph, “what the doctrinal difference between the
two synagogues is?”
“The chief difference,” answered Alexander, “relates to the degree of
authority to be allowed to our Sacred Books. We of the _Diapleuston_ say
that their authority is final on all matters of which they speak—that
their writers were so guided and guarded by Jehovah in composing them
that they were at first perfectly free from mistake of all sorts: while
the other school maintain that, while properly enough said to be of
divine origin, our Scriptures have always been more or less mistaken in
their teachings and need to be sifted by learned men.”
“Do these men offer any criterion by which one may separate the reliable
from the unreliable?”
“They do not _agree_ on any. One says that all important Scripture
statements are reliable; another tells us that all are reliable, save in
the domains of history and science; another excludes as unreliable all
but positively _religious_ statements.”
“Of course they differ widely as to what _are_ important or strictly
religious matters.”
“Certainly. Whatever statements are unsatisfactory to a man for any
reason he is apt to think of small consequence.”
“And I should suppose the other test might be equally elusive. Is there
not room for considerable difference of opinion as to what deserve to be
called moral and religious statements?”
“So it seems: and, as a matter of fact, Malus and his synagogue agree
only in discrediting those parts of the Scriptures that are in the
narrative form and a large part of the remainder. Especially are they
prepared to admit the possibility of mistake to almost any extent in
Moses and the earlier Scripture writers. Not a few deny that we have any
Moses. What passes under the ancient name is really the invention of
recent times.”
“This is the result I should expect. One seems to be left at liberty to
take as much or little of the Scriptures as suits him: for if parts of
them are unreliable, and we have no sure way of determining where these
parts are, we will be likely to locate them where our prejudices and
inclinations say. The larger part of the Book may easily be considered
secular or unimportant by one who wishes as much.”
“Very true,” said Alexander; “and see what the other synagogue have
actually come to! Some reject the doctrine of angels, some that of a
human soul distinct from the body, some that of personal responsibility,
and nearly all that of miracles and all other forms of supernaturalism
in history, as well as that of a future state of settled character and
destiny for men. And so on. Really, between them all, there is very
little of the sacred Book left. The sum of their doubts and denials would
cover almost the whole of it. What is left is the brief revelation that
Malus, the Sadducee, uses. His maxim is to discard what anybody doubts.”
“This seems to me a sad state of things,” said Aleph, fetching a long
breath that was almost a sigh. “It would be almost unimaginable in the
house of my fathers. Practically these people are without a revelation.
The only revelation to each is that bundle of guesses and notions
which he calls his knowledge or judgments: and there are about as many
different revelations of this sort as there are men; and, to my thinking,
they are all about equally worthless. It is sad that circumcised people
should hold such uncircumcised notions.”
“A sad state of things, indeed,” consented Alexander, “but we may console
ourselves with the fact that this sad sort of people are a minority and a
small one, and have been quite unknown among our people till quite recent
times. I trust they will soon become unknown again. When the Messiah,
whom we are daily looking for, comes and, accrediting himself by signs
and wonders, declares that not one jot or tittle of the law shall fail,
even Malus will have a revelation that is worth the having.”
“May He come quickly!” said the young man devoutly.
Alexander looked intently for a moment on the kindling and abstracted
face before him, and then as devoutly said _Amen_.
During this conversation Seti maintained an unbroken silence—his arms
folded, his face impassive, but his eyes as watchful as eagles’. He
seemed to be hearing as well as seeing with those ancient eyes of his
that never once left the face of Aleph.
They both rose at the same time—Seti saying that he would walk along with
the young man and point out the Diapleuston in passing.
The Alabarch courteously escorted them through the now vacant rooms to
the door; saying to Aleph, as he parted, “Remember—at the third hour
to-morrow. Come half an hour earlier.”
Turning into the street of Canopus, and going westward under the
colonnade, they soon came to a corner on which stood an imposing
structure of white marble. As Aleph glanced down the side street he saw
that the length of the structure was immense: as he passed to the front
he saw that its breadth was nearly as great. A central part raised on
a lofty pediment, surmounted by a gilded dome, and supported in front
and on either hand by immense monolith columns, was surrounded on all
visible sides at a little distance by low marble cloisters—save where a
broad flight of steps led up from the street to the great doors. From the
wide platform at the top the great columns rose in elaborately wrought
clusters, each supporting an ornate capital, architrave, frieze, and
cornice; while, behind, the whole front was alive with spirited sculpture
in relief of the Feast of Tabernacles.
I must not forget to add that at one angle the low cloisters swelled into
a graceful and lofty tower that ended in a parapet.
“From behind that parapet,” said Seti, pointing, “are sounded the seventy
silver trumpets that summon the Jews to their worship; for here is the
Diapleuston to which you have been invited.”
They passed on to another crossing.
“Let us turn down this street,” said the Egyptian. “It is less crowded
than the thoroughfare, and equally direct for both of us, as I learn that
you are staying for the present near where we landed yesterday. Besides,
I wish to stop for a few moments with the sick woman. I am afraid of
these Alexandrian leeches. Once in every five or ten years they get a new
fashion of treating diseases and call it science.”
They turned south and soon came to a humble house, where Seti knocked.
The door was opened by a shiftless looking Greek who, on request, pointed
to a door within which the sick woman could be found. On entering, they
found her on a rude bed, supported almost in a sitting posture by the
daughter of Alexander, who sat behind her. She was a woman of middle age,
very emaciated, eyes closed, lips parted, chest laboriously heaving,
apparently unconscious.
“Oh, grandfather, I feared you would not come,” exclaimed the maiden in
a subdued voice, “feared you would be too late,—I am afraid you _are_
too late. The leech says that nothing more can be done”—and the tears
dropped fast from the lovely eyes.
The rich dress worn at home had been exchanged for one exceedingly plain
and suited to her present sad and humble surroundings. But the change did
not detract from her superb loveliness. On the contrary, the exquisite
graces of feature and figure became all the more apparent in the absence
of the distractions of extrinsic ornament; and a new light born of a
heavenly pity and self-forgetfulness was shining in her face.
Without replying to her words, Seti advanced to a casement and door, and
threw them widely open on a small open court.
“But the leech, grandfather, said that the fresh air must be excluded.”
“Did he bring this?” said the Egyptian, taking up from the bed a partly
unrolled manuscript. He read aloud: “_The Psalms of David translated by
the Seventy_.”
“That is mine,” said Rachel. “I brought it with me, and have read from
it to Miriam while she could listen. It was her only comfort, besides
prayer.”
“What have you learned about her case?”
“You know that she left us two years ago to marry a man whom we could not
approve: and until yesterday we did not know what had become of her. Then
I had a message from her husband, who is a Greek, that she was sick at
this place. I went to her at once and found her very weak and low with
this fever; and gathered from her with great difficulty that she had led
a life of hardship and exposure since leaving us, had sometimes been in
the extreme of want, but was ashamed to make her situation known to us
after having rejected our counsel. So she had gradually been worn down by
want and disappointment until this fever seized on her and found an easy
victim”—and the fair head drooped with a sigh to the hot forehead that
rested against her shoulder.
“Has she asked for nothing?” inquired Seti.
“Not of late. When I first came she wanted water, and asked for it almost
constantly. But the leech said she must not have it. It would chill her
and finally make the fever worse. He would only allow her lips to be
moistened occasionally with a sponge.”
“Her lips are trying to move now. Can you hear anything?”
“Nothing.”
Seti stooped and put his ear close to the lips of the dying woman. He
shook his head.
“Old age,” said he, “has its disadvantages, and dull ears are one of
them. Perhaps my young friend here can help us”—and he beckoned to Aleph,
who had remained at some distance.
The young man at once came forward, and, kneeling by the bed, laid his
ear close to the twitching lips. For a few moments he seemed not to
breathe at all. As Seti looked down on that noble head with its wealth of
youth and strength in broad contrast with the sharp, worn features of the
sick woman, he said to himself: “It is the head of Horus, the sun-god.”
At length Aleph rose. “She says _water, water_—that and nothing else.”
“Give her water, then,” commanded Seti.
“But the leech, grandfather!” interposed the maiden anxiously.
“No matter what the leech says. I too am a leech. Let her drink freely.”
Aleph took up the water-jar that was standing by the bed, poured into
a large cup that was near till it was almost full, and held it to the
lips of the woman—saying to Rachel as he did so: “It is the way of my
country.” The dry lips closed spasmodically over the rim of the cup, and
did not release it till not a drop was left. She opened her eyes. A faint
sigh of relief reached the younger ears.
“Give her another cup,” said Seti.
She drained that also: then whispered _Heaven_—so that they all heard,
and almost a smile hovered upon her wan features. Great drops stood on
her forehead, and she quietly sank into sleep.
“Now lay her down softly,” said the Egyptian to the maiden, “and let her
sleep. She will do well. What has she eaten?”
“Nothing since I have been here. The leech said that food would not
nourish her: it would only nourish the fever.”
“Has she never asked for anything in particular?”
“The woman who was here when I came tells me that before nurse became so
weak she asked for fried lampreys and onions. But the leech said that she
could not ask for a worse dish. It would kill her outright. And, what was
worse, it would kill him too; for it would ruin his practice to allow
such a thing. It was against all rules.”
“Never you mind his rules. Tell the woman—but here she is; I will tell
her myself,” and he turned toward a peasant woman, who had just softly
entered and was standing embarrassed at the presence of strangers.
“When this sick person wakes let her drink all the water she wants.
Then ask her if she can think of anything she would like to eat, calling
over to her all the eatables you can think of, and whatever she chooses
get for her, even though it is fried lampreys or fried dragons. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, my lord; but the leech ...”