claimed in Judea that Jesus is a Galilean, a Nazarene, and of parentage
so humble that he is on that account in disfavor with even the people of
Nazareth.”
Aleph ventured to inquire whether some branches of David’s line had not,
in the course of centuries, sunk into a humble condition; and whether it
was not possible that Jesus belonged to some such decayed branch—also,
whether he might not have been born in Bethlehem, though brought up
elsewhere?
“I think,” said Simeon, “that we are hardly entitled to say _No_ to
either of these questions of the young man. I myself was born in
Jerusalem, though brought up in this city. The family of David is now
lost among the common people; and, though it can be recovered in our
genealogies, I never could learn that the enemies of Jesus have taken
the pains to examine them with reference to his claims. Having settled in
their minds that such a Messiah as Jesus is neither what they expected
nor wanted, they easily accepted without examination such rumors in
regard to him as agreed with their wishes and foregone conclusion. So, at
least, it seems to me.”
“Can you tell us about what the age of Jesus is?” asked Cimon.
“He appears, I am told, somewhat less than forty; perhaps he is not much
more than thirty years. I took special pains to inquire about this;
partly because of an experience of my father’s some thirty years ago,
and partly because of wide-spread rumors at that time of a remarkable
birth which had just taken place in connection with celestial phenomena.
However, the matter was kept as close as possible from fear of Herod. My
father at that time was living in Jerusalem—a very old man and as saintly
as old. For a long while he had expressed to his family an assurance that
he should live to see the Christ. One day he came home from the temple
with a radiant face, saying that he was now ready to depart, for he had
just seen and held in his arms an infant which an inward Divine voice
told him was the Messiah. He then lay down, calmly closed his eyes, and
departed in a peaceful sleep. This I had from my sister, for I was in
Alexandria at the time. All this was widely known at the time, but was
spoken of by the people under their breath on account of the jealousy and
cruelty of the rulers. Now at that time Jesus must have been an infant.”
“And we happen to know,” said Aleph, looking at Cimon, “that the name
of the infant concerning whom such remarkable things were told was
Jesus—though we may not at present tell how we came by the knowledge.”
As Aleph said these words he could not well help noticing three
things—the cordial look that Simeon gave him, the look of exasperation
on the face of Ben Abner, and the start made by Rachel, whose attitude
of earnest attention throughout the conversation would have been evident
enough even if her veil had not been gradually drawn somewhat aside as
she watched the speakers. Alexander also noticed the start. Perhaps he
feared a return of yesterday’s faintness. He bent over her, and spoke in
a low tone. She shook her head.
“However, we will go home,” said he, “as soon as I have put off these
vestments.”
He retired to the vestry, followed by the other elders.
Aleph approached the maiden and said that he had been glad to hear from
her father that her nurse continued to mend, and expressed the hope that
she herself was none the worse for her indisposition of yesterday.
“Not at all,” said she promptly; “but I was absorbingly interested in the
subject of the conversation, and was, I confess, startled by what you
said of your knowledge of the infant Jesus. You were not then born.”
“No, lady; my knowledge is altogether second-hand, but is none the less
certain for that. My friend here has some original knowledge in the case;
but both of us have, in addition to this, sources of information that are
beyond all question.”
“I very much fear,” said she with a sigh, “when I hear Ben Abner and
others, that our people will be found treating a new prophet as they have
ever treated prophets. What do you think?”
“I also have my fears.”
“But you also have knowledge; and if at any time it becomes consistent
for you to share your knowledge with others none will welcome it more
gladly than I. Till then I believe in it and—in you”—and her eyes, which
till then had been unconsciously and half-wonderingly perusing his face
as she spoke, sank before his, and the lovely color deepened on the
loveliest features that the Chaldean, or even the more experienced Greek,
had ever seen.
What was that? A confused sound as of struggle and disputing voices came
from the direction of the great door on the street of Canopus. This was
soon followed by the noisy tramp on the marble pavement of what seemed in
the distance a body of soldiers. As they came nearer they were seen to be
indeed some twelve Roman soldiers in full armor, carrying at their head
a standard—the legionary standard, consisting of a pike surmounted by a
silver eagle, on whose spread wings stood an effigy of the emperor, with
this superscription in large capitals—DEUS TIBERIUS CÆSAR.
The soldiers were followed at a short distance by a weeping, groaning,
threatening crowd of Jews who had tried, it would seem, to prevent
the entrance of the party with their desecrating symbol, and were now
following them with lamentations and execrations.
As the band came near, Aleph easily recognized in the leader of it the
drunken officer whom he had disarmed on the Nile. Almost as soon the two
friends were recognized by the Roman; and, with an oath, he at once led
the way to where they stood (they had planted themselves in front of
Rachel), although at that moment Alexander and his elders were hastily
coming forward from the vestry.
“I have found you at last,” the man cried, as he disposed his soldiers in
a semicircle, “and you will not easily escape me.”
Alexander had now come up.
“As the head of the community worshipping here, I demand to know for what
purpose you have come into their sanctuary with standard and arms?”
“To give you and your friends,” the officer replied with mock solemnity,
“an opportunity, which no doubt you will gratefully accept, to pay an act
of religious worship to the great god Tiberius Cæsar—after this manner,”
and he kneeled before the standard, and, with both hands lifted, cried,
_Great God, I worship thee_.
Rising, he exclaimed, “Now I have set you an example—copy it, every one
of you!”
The crowd behind groaned and hissed.
The officer shook his fist at them and shouted, “Be still, you snakes
and swine; your turn will come shortly. Let your betters lead off. It is
their privilege. Come, begin, Pontifex Maximus!”—turning to Alexander.
“I demand of you by what authority you make this demand on us,” demanded
the Alabarch.
The Roman pointed to the image of the emperor.
“Do you mean to say that an order has come from Rome for violating the
sanctuaries of the Jews, and revoking the edicts which from the founding
of the city have guaranteed to us our own religious views and usages?”
“The Roman senate has decreed Divine honors to the emperor; and his image
has been received and worshipped in every place of worship in the city,
saving the synagogues of the Jews. Now you shall have your turn.”
“That is no answer to my question. The Jews have always had special
privileges in this city, and one of them is to refuse worship to every
god but their own. Again I ask, has this privilege been recalled by the
emperor since yesterday: for yesterday I received a personal letter from
him in which he promised to abate nothing from our privileges.”
The Roman made no answer, but conferred with one of his men in a low
voice. After a moment’s delay, Alexander continued:
“It is plain that you have no authority from the emperor for this
outrage. Have you for it the authority of the governor, or of the prefect
of the city? I await your careful reply.”
“We are carrying out the wishes of the representatives of Rome in
Alexandria,” said the fellow sullenly.
“And _that_ is no answer to my question. Are we to understand
that Avilleus Flaccus, or Urbanus Civicus, undertakes on his own
responsibility to set aside the decrees of kings and emperors for four
hundred years, those of the reigning emperor included, and has expressly
sent you here to-day for this purpose?”
“We did not come here,” said the officer with a face that was fast
becoming purple, “to be catechised.”
“You came here,” said Alexander sternly, “to commit an outrage—came as a
private venture of yourself and a few mischievous companions, and without
authority from your superiors. You deserve heavy punishment, and I hope
will get it. Now _begone_ from the sanctuary which you have profaned.”
“_Begone!_” echoed the elders. “BEGONE!” shouted and screamed the mob
from behind.
“Whatever privileges you cursed Jews may have, they certainly do not
belong to these men”—pointing at Cimon and Aleph. “These are no more Jews
than I am. And for aught I know the same is true of this woman. We will
see”—and he stepped toward Rachel to lift her veil.
“Stand back,” said Aleph sternly, as he placed his hand on the breast of
the man and sent him staggering back on his men.
Before the man could recover himself, Alexander interfered: “This lady
is my daughter; and as for these men, they are of our faith, and as
co-religionists are entitled to our immunities.”
“And if it were not so,” said Aleph, “it may be well for this man to
know that under no conceivable circumstances would we pay religious
worship to the emperor, though quite ready to pay the magistrates all due
observance.”
“We will see,” cried the Roman in a transport of fury, as he rushed on
the young man with his drawn sword. “Down on your knees to the standard
this instant, you renegade, or by Jupiter, I will put you on your knees
for the rest of your life,” and he struck at his knees.
Aleph caught the blow with his cane. Whereupon the officer lost all
self-restraint and made a rapid succession of strokes and thrusts that
sought life. But Aleph had evidently learned the art of fence: his cane
was as good as a shield and met the sword at every point. At last, after
a desperate lunge, the sword went flying aloft; and both Cimon and Aleph
had seized its master.
“EXPEL THEM!” shouted Alexander to the crowd of Jews that was now
surging and roaring like a maddened sea, “Expel them with your canes and
your hands! They have forced an entrance into our sanctuary, they have
profaned it with an idol, and now they have sought to stain it with the
blood of unarmed men. EXPEL THEM, I say!”
The mob needed no spur. They threw themselves on the soldiers, already
cowed by what had passed, and in a moment were dragging them, disarmed
and unresisting, behind Cimon and Aleph with their prisoner. Had it not
been for the example of coolness and forbearance set by our friends and
an occasional moderating word from them, the people might have torn their
prisoners limb from limb. As it was, the soldiers had no gentle handling.
They had little armor left on them when they reached the great doors.
They had gotten many an accidental elbowing and tripping. Somehow people
had stumbled heavily and found it hard to recover themselves. There
were few parts of those Roman bodies which had not become intimately
acquainted with both the point and broadside of a cane. Their captain
suffered least—in fact, suffered nothing beyond the shame and uneasiness
of being held fast in iron hands.
When those hands were taken off, just outside the great door, he suddenly
drew a knife from a fold in his sash and made a pass at Aleph. But both
friends were vigilant; and Cimon, while beating off the knife with one
hand, with the other dealt the rascal such a blow on the head that his
helmet flew off and went clattering down the steps into the street. He
followed staggering. The people behind, seeing only the cuff and the
result, cheered, and very cheerfully followed the example supposed to be
set them. Each soldier received such a hearty cuff and push as he went
down the steps as made his descent little less than a fall.
Once down, they were not allowed to linger. The blood of the people was
up; and they followed the soldiers in their precipitate flight a long
distance with menacing cries and gestures, and with such missiles as they
happened to find in the street.
Meanwhile the friends had been called within the synagogue by Alexander,
and the great doors fastened. What consultations took place it is not
necessary to record. There _were_ consultations; and that too of a
very political and secular sort. The situation of the Jews was always
delicate. There was much reason to fear that the morning’s disturbance
would seriously embroil them with the authorities at both Alexandria and
Rome. What should be done? If any one has light let him speak out at
once—_though it be Sabbath_.
But none had scruples. The ideas of the Alexandrian Jews of the first
century were not exactly like those of some of their ancestors in the
time of the Maccabees who refused to defend themselves against their
enemies on the Sabbath because self-defense was work, and that too of
the severest sort. The children had become wiser if not better. They had
come to believe that self-preservation is a work of necessity, not to say
of mercy; and were ready to fight the idolaters seven days in the week
if necessary for even a less matter than self-preservation—as we have
seen. They would not consent to be martyrs till they had tried hard to be
victors. They would not be idolaters, and they did not want to be rebels.
They wanted to preserve their religion, and also wanted to preserve
themselves. Was it possible? _Let us see_, said the Seventy, as they
resumed their gilded chairs. So the men who did not hesitate to fight
a battle on the Sabbath did not scruple to consult on that day how to
prevent the battle from souring into a defeat. Were they wrong in this?
Cimon and Aleph answered in the negative. I am not sure but that I
agree with them. Doubtless a council of war _may_ be as holy as a
prayer-meeting. I once knew of one that was holier, but that began with a
prayer.
But a narrative is like a star—it perishes if it stops moving. So let us
proceed.
V.
THE UNIVERSITY.
Ο δὲ παῖς, πάντων θηριων, ὲστὶ δυσμεταχειριστότατον.
—PLATO, _Leg._ vii. 14.
_Of all wild beasts, a boy is the hardest to manage._
1. Breakers ahead.
2. Behold, the Serapeum!
3. Another school quite as good.
4. A Messianic partnership.
V.
THE UNIVERSITY.
Early the next morning Cimon and Aleph transferred themselves and their
effects to a small khan in the Egyptian quarter of the city. This was
done for the following reasons.
The events of the Sabbath seemed to make it prudent to withdraw from
public notice as much as possible. Of course, the son of Flaccus was a
source of danger: and then the seeming look of recognition on the face of
Malus, which both of them had noticed, was not a pleasant feature of the
situation. It was the silent lightning on the horizon. They felt it even
more important, just then, to keep out of the sight of the Jew than it
was to keep out of the sight of the Roman. Especially after an incident
that occurred on their way back from the synagogue.
As they came down the steps of the Diapleuston, they noticed a Jew across
the street, watching them. Before they had gone far, Aleph, happening
to look behind, saw the man following, and spoke of it to Cimon. They
walked slower—at length very slowly. The man slackened his pace to suit.
They walked faster—at length very fast. The man quickened his pace
correspondingly. It was annoying.
“Let us go to meet him,” said Cimon, “and see if he will retreat.”
Accordingly they turned and, for a moment, it seemed as if their shadow
would turn too. But he thought better of it; and only stood still, in
some confusion, till they came up.
“Can we do anything for you?” inquired the Greek. “If so we are at your
service.”
“I certainly owe you an apology,” stammered the Jew. “The fact is, I
was in the synagogue at the time of the disturbance, and was so struck
with the very great likeness of this young man to one whom I saw many
years ago that I determined to wait for his coming out and to follow
him—in hope of finding where he was staying, or at least of getting a
better view. And I have gotten it,” he added laughingly, “in a way I did
not expect, but certainly deserved. However, I will not complain; as I
now have an opportunity to thank you both for standing up so boldly and
effectually for us to-day.”
“Well,” said Cimon, good-humoredly, “since we have now gratified your
curiosity, perhaps you will not refuse to gratify ours by telling us who
you are, and whom you suppose this young man to resemble.”
“That is but fair,” returned the Jew. “I keep a khan at the east end of
this street, near the gate of Canopus, as did my father before me. When
I was a youth, there came to our place from Judea a caravan of eastern
people, evidently of great distinction, on their way homeward by the
Red Sea route. It was in this company that I saw a man whose appearance
made such an impression on me that if I were a painter I could put him
on canvas to-day: and this young man is his double—perhaps somewhat
brightened by youth.”
“I have to confess,” said Aleph with a smile, “that I am a Chaldean; and
also that all Chaldeans have a certain likeness to one another. But you
must not forget that the imagination is a powerful faculty, especially
among us orientals, and has sometimes been known to see things that did
not exist. But you can see for yourself, without any help from your
imagination, that the peculiar way in which this conference has come
about has attracted the notice of the street, and that the curious are
beginning to thicken about us. So now let us separate: but, as soon as
our affairs permit, we will seek you out and hear further about the
pilgrims of whom you speak.”
So they parted. But the incident, especially after reflection and
conference early the next morning, determined the friends to withdraw as
fully as possible from the Jewish and Roman quarters of the city, and to
hasten certain inquiries as to Malus.
There are two kinds of prophecy—the natural and the supernatural. The
latter is a spark from the Divine foreknowledge, granted occasionally to
certain privileged persons. That our friends had anything of this I am
not prepared to say; but they were reasonably well furnished with such
foresight as reason and experience can give; and what they foresaw was
very considerable annoyance and even danger if they should remain at
their present quarters. So they determined to remove. This was not valor,
certainly. As certainly it was not cowardice. But it was that good thing
which we call prudence, and which sensible people think to be almost or
quite as good as heroism itself. It was a wise precaution—the tacking of
the ship when breakers are seen ahead, the putting on of armor when the
arrows begin to fly, the striking tent and removing to higher ground when
the morning sky is red and lowering, and there is a sound of abundance of
rain.
Have I said that the strangers were in the habit of asking each morning
for Divine guidance during the day? If not, I ought to have said it.
And the habit was no empty form. When they had risen from their knees
they seemed free from anxiety as to what might happen, though not free
from forethought and a disposition to be very active in pursuit of their
objects. Queer people, were they not? Some would say they were very
absurd as well as queer. However this may be, it is certain that Aleph
and his friend did not stir a step that morning even in the matter of
planning, till they had sought leading from a wisdom above their own. And
what they did that morning they may be counted on to do every morning
while we follow their fortunes. Will it be of any service to them?
Perhaps they have found in their Septuagint several passages like this,
“Commit thy way unto the Lord and he shall direct thy paths.”
Perhaps Cimon found more difficulty than his young companion in
keeping free from anxiety on account of what had occurred. He felt a
responsibility for both.
“It seems unfortunate,” said he, after their devotions, “not only that we
should have been brought again into collision with the Romans, who can
do so much to hinder at least one of our objects, but that it has come
about in such a way as to attract to us the notice of the whole Jewish
community. For, of course, yesterday’s events will be public talk to-day,
and everybody will be inquiring and surmising about the strangers. And
I am very much afraid that Malus has already caught a spark that in
such a gale will set all his suspicions and craft on fire. But as these
seemingly untoward things could not well have been avoided by us, I
cannot but hope that the untowardness is only in seeming. I have lived
long enough to know that a Divine leading can brighten seeming perils
and disasters into blessings. But it seems a reasonable condition of
Divine guidance that we try to act as prudently as we can, from the human
stand-point. And prudence seems to require that we at once remove to the
Egyptian quarter; that you matriculate in the University, and thus secure
its immunities for yourself, as well as meet the wishes of your father
that you hear for yourself the scholars of the west; and that I proceed
without delay to make the inquiries we need to make in regard to Malus.
These inquiries will have to be made as quietly and rapidly as possible;
for if he should take the alarm his craft and influence are evidently
such that he might seriously embarrass our movements—if not baffle them.”
And so it came to pass that the early morning found them established in a
quiet khan almost under the shadow of the Serapeum.
This does not localize them very definitely; for the Serapeum cast a
very great shadow. The temple, or rather collection of temples, was, by
all odds, the most imposing structure in Alexandria. It was built on an
elevation, partly artificial, the ascent to which on three sides was by
broad flights of steps and successive platforms; while on the north side
the ascent began at the harbor and advanced by a grade easy for vehicles
to the great Propylon. This was purely Egyptian. To the right and left of
it rose walls of red syenite, high and massive enough to be the walls
of a city, decorated with many towers, and inclosing the whole levelled
summit of the hill with their somewhat irregular lines. Within these, at
a little distance, and built of the same, though much finer and carefully
wrought, stone, rose the complicate structures of the temple proper. It
was a little city by itself. And, towering above all other structures, it
seemed to protect Alexandria and defy the seas beyond.
Like most Egyptian structures it was most successful in giving to
beholders the ideas of massiveness and vastness. Yet the airiness of the
situation, combined with a mingling of the various Hellenic architectures
with the Egyptian, seemed to relieve the ponderous pile of any air of
heaviness. For Pharaohs and Ptolemies, Mother Isis and her vagrant
daughters Doris and Ione and Cora, were all represented in the confused
mass of templed structures designed to welcome all the classical creeds.
The most striking features of the temple, to one looking up to it from
the street, were, perhaps, an enormous canopy that seemed to overhang
the whole pile of buildings and a tower by its side that rose still
higher. This tower was the famous observatory where Eratosthenes and
Hipparchus had made their observations; and in the spacious halls at its
base was deposited the greater part of the then existing Alexandrian
library—consisting of some 200,000 works collected by the Ptolemies,
together with 300,000 parchments brought from Pergamos by Mark Antony for
Cleopatra.