themselves experienced. For the mother told them of angels who came to
predict the Messiah and his forerunner: and many people of Bethlehem,
attracted by the star and the stately caravan, came hastening up and told
how their shepherds had seen and heard on the night of the Birth a glory
of angels that shone and sang above them like a descending heaven, and
sent them to a manger to find their long expected King.
The youngest of the three chiefs was so much impressed by the story
of the shepherds that he put it into a song which some in the caravan
learned and often chanted.
“Did you hear it?” interrupted Cimon.
“Yes: and our father would have us commit it to memory. I think that even
now I can recite it word for word.”
“Please do so.”
The Jew, after a few moments of recollection, proceeded to recite as
follows:
“No tongue can tell the sacred pomp,
That swept from Heaven one day,
And trailed its glory past the spheres,
To where the Infant lay—
Lift up your eyes in vast surprise,
Ye shepherds, on the scene,
And see the flaming forms that hang,
The heavens and earth between!
Upon their heads are golden crowns,
Their robes are white as snow,
Soft lightnings from their faces flash
Upon the vale below;
Before the glory of the Lord
The stars turn pale and flee—
Oh, what a sight that gracious night
For shepherd swains to see!
Through all the still and scented air
There comes a deeper calm,
As if from fear lest it should hear
Naught of the coming psalm:
And now the air grows sweeter still;
Slow beat the balmy wings;
Clear o’er the mute and raptured earth
The choir of angels sings.
Sings praises in the highest song
That highest Heaven can raise;
Sings praises to the highest king
That hears the voice of praise;
To Him who to the earth descends
In pity and in love,
And o’er its warring tribes extends
The white wings of the dove.
And far across Judean hills,
Swell out the storms of praise—
I would that tempests such as this
Might gladden all my days!
For lo, ’tis Paradise to hear
The glory of that sound,
That swells so grandly to the skies,
So humbly seeks the ground.
Full many an age will vanish,
Full many songs be given,
But ne’er again such wondrous strain
Will shake the arch of Heaven;
And yet each year our hearts will see
A glory on the wing,
And still each year our hearts will hear
That winged glory sing.
And ever as we give our gifts,
And deck our homes with green,
Our souls will kindle in the blaze
Of that strange midnight scene,
And sing His praise in joyful lays,
By whom the Child was given,
Whose advent here sent mighty cheer
Through all the choirs of Heaven.”
There were tremblings on the tongue of the Jew as he closed his low
chant, and tears in the eyes of the Greek; but the latter said nothing
for a few moments, and then merely asked that the narrative might
proceed. So the Jew resumed.
The chiefs would willingly have lingered long in Bethlehem; but the same
Divine Word that had brought them almost immediately sent them away. The
next night the message came, “Let them return—and return by another way.”
So they returned by way of Egypt and the Red Sea.
Shortly after the pilgrims had left Alexandria, news came that Herod,
in a fit of jealousy, had massacred all the male children in Bethlehem
under two years of age. It was like him. Everybody believed the story.
But could it be that the Messiah of whose triumphs and reign so many
prophets, in so many ways, had spoken, had perished in his infancy? Could
the promises of God be broken by the cruelty of man? Was Herod strong
enough to defeat the Almighty?
The khan had hardly begun to ask these questions before there appeared
at its gate a man leading an ass, on which was seated a young woman who
carried in her arms a little boy. The mother was interesting—the boy was
wonderful. Never had the landlord seen such a child. It was not merely
that he was comely in the highest degree—it was the mystery of expression
in his face. As one looked on it nothing seemed too good or great to be
believed of him. His body seemed a thin veil through which flashes of
inexhaustible treasures of wisdom and goodness and power were continually
struggling. You who have seen a light shining through thin alabaster—you
who have seen a gem in whose heart rainbows seemed imprisoned—you who
have seen a soft, white cloud around whose edges have crept suggestions
of an intolerable glory within and behind, can have some idea of how that
wonderful Child impressed the people of the khan. By degrees they learned
that the family had come from Bethlehem, that fear of Herod was the cause
of their leaving, that the eastern princes had been under their roof—at
last, when confidence was full-grown and all reserve thrown away, that
they had among them the very Star-Child to which the journeying East had
brought its loyal homage and tribute.
It was strange to see the mixture of tenderness and awe with which the
mother dealt with her son—strange to see the mixture of weakness and
power, of humbleness and superiority, of dependence and independence
with which the son dealt with his mother. At one moment it seemed as if
she was acting the part of a Providence to him; at another as if he was
acting the part of a Providence to her.
The house was a different house from the time that Jesus (for such was
his name) entered it. A new element had come into its air; a new light
seemed to rest on every object; never had its inmates found it so easy
to pray and lead a good life. It was as if a new life had silently come
under their own; and, like a broad wave, was lifting it heavenward. The
eyes of Jesus, from their fathomless depths, seemed to invite to all that
was holy and to forbid all that was sinful.
But even Alexandria was too near Herod. So, after the sacred family had
well rested from their journey, they went still farther south. It was a
sad day for the khan when they went away. The host would take nothing
in the way of compensation—save a smile from the young mother and a
touch from the child for each child of his. How that touch thrilled them
through and through as with some mysterious healing! They think they can
feel it to-day.
The khan kept its secret. After a while news came that the Holy Family
went as far as Mantaréëh, and remained there till the death of Herod,
when they returned to their own country. After that, ears were kept
wide-open toward Judea; for it could not be thought that such a beginning
would end in nothing—that man and circumstance would be allowed to defeat
God.
But the waiting was long. Ten years passed, twenty years, almost thirty,
and yet no further news came of Jesus. The khan was sorely puzzled. It
knew not what to think. Yet it still clung to faith and hope. At last
it began to hear vaguely of strange excitements and movements in Judea.
The eyes and ears of the whole family turned in that direction as never
before. And soon they learned that a great reformer had burst suddenly
on the people from the wilderness—austere, fearless, mighty of speech,
smiting the sins of high and low with the sword of his mouth, baptizing,
followed by immense crowds, who inquired, Is not this the Christ?
And this, too, was the question that was asked at the gate of Canopus.
But they reflected that, according to the prophets, Christ must have a
forerunner of just this Elijah-like character; and so they were prepared
to hear, as they soon did, that the reformer’s name was John the son
of Zacharias, and that he distinctly told the people that he was not
the Christ, only his forerunner. Then came rumors of Another; at first
low-voiced and vague, then more distinct and emphatic—that John had
introduced him to the people as the Greater One for whom he had been
preparing the way; then that John himself had been slain by Herod; then
that the new prophet whose name was Jesus was drawing the multitudes
after him by a sublime teaching and a course of miracles such as had not
been seen since the days of Moses, if ever. Of course the Alexandrian
friends then felt sure that they had recovered the long lost Child. The
king of whom they had heard from the Chaldean sages, whose star had
conducted that most memorable of all pilgrimages, and whose sublime
childhood they had been permitted to look in upon, as by a window into
heaven, was now being manifested to the nation at large. And though he
had not come in the way the nation at large was expecting—was appearing
as a king of wisdom and mercies, instead of as a king of battles and
conquests—they felt sure that at last the Messiah had come to his own;
and that, beyond all doubt, Jesus was he. In the joy of this great
conviction the father died.
Such, in substance, though not in words, was the narrative of the Jew.
As he proceeded in it he gradually came to speak with profound emotion.
He ended with a voice that trembled and eyes that wept. Cimon was hardly
less moved. They sat for a few moments in silence. Then Cimon said:
“This has been the fairest of mornings to me. Though a Greek by birth,
I am a Hebrew in faith and expectations; and never did David so long
for the waters of Bethlehem as I have longed for news of that Son of
David and of Bethlehem, your Messiah. I say _your_ Messiah; but I have
reason to think that he is mine also; even to think that he belongs to
all nations. Sometimes, perhaps, when my young friend is with me I will
explain further. But I may now say that, from what you have just told
me, and from what I knew before, I am satisfied that the Christ has at
last come and that Jesus is he. God be praised! Some difficulties still
remain, and perhaps will always remain. Hard questions, questions that I
cannot answer, stare at me out of the night. And yet, God be praised! The
King has at last come.”
The Jew grasped the hand of the Greek and murmured _Brother_.
“Let me tell you another thing,” the Jew added, after a moment. “I have
_seen_ him. Yes, I have seen Jesus and recognized in the full-grown man
the unutterable something that spoke so powerfully to us in the child.”
“When and where?” demanded the other.
“Not in dreams, though I scarcely dream of anything else, but with these
bodily eyes. You see that, as news of the wonderful doings in Judea
thickened upon us, I became too restless to remain quietly here while
the world was being shaken only a few days’ journey away. My brother,
who long before the death of our father had taken this khan, felt very
much as I did; and so we agreed to go together and see for ourselves,
instead of having the facts filtered to us through the imaginations and
prejudices, it may be, of other people. Accordingly we went; and not
only recognized him, as I have said, but were at once recognized by him
and called by our names. None of our acquaintances were about him, we
knew not a soul in Capernaum, and yet, as soon as he saw us, he said
‘Shaphan and Nathan, sons of Reuben, welcome.’.... We were with him
several days and heard him teach the people as surely people were never
before taught. _We_ said, as did his other hearers, _Never man spake
like this man_. And then the things that he did! Oh, it was good and yet
awful to be there! How mightily and easily he did things which God alone
can do! We saw lepers white as snow turned into sound men at his simple
word: also one man who had lost a hand had it instantaneously restored in
our presence. In passing through the country we met many who testified
that they had been cured by him of the worst forms of disease in their
last stages—cured in a moment, and without the use of any natural means
whatever. Indeed, the land is full of such cases, so that not even the
worst enemies of Jesus pretend to doubt his miraculous powers.”
“Tell me of the man whose hand was restored,” said Cimon.
“A company of us were passing through a street when some blind men met
us and cried to Jesus for help. We halted just before a butcher’s stall
where a man was dividing some meat with a cleaver. Another man and myself
were pressed by the crowd close to the block where the work was being
done. In his anxiety to see Jesus deal with the blind men, my neighbor
laid his hand on the block suddenly, for the purpose of raising himself
somewhat to get a better view, when the cleaver descended and struck off
his entire hand. The blood spouted. A great outcry was made, and Jesus
came up. He calmly said to the maimed man as he held up the bleeding
stump, _Be whole_: and at once I saw a new hand occupying the place of
the old. The whole crowd, as well as myself, carefully inspected the
substitute and compared it with the original hand that still lay on the
block.”
“Missing limbs are not suddenly reproduced by human art,” said Cimon.
“I am tempted to mention another matter more personal to myself,”
continued Shaphan. “I have already said that Jesus called us by our
names. We found the next day that he knew more about us than our names.
As my brother and myself were sitting by the wayside, Jesus came to us
and said:
“‘You are troubled. When you reach home look again for the missing
document and you will find it.’
“And truly we were in trouble. When we were children our father was in
partnership with a young man. But this young man gradually drew off into
other business, and at length sold his interest in the khan to my father,
who paid him for it in full and took from him a paper acknowledging the
fact. In process of time this paper was lost. Of late this loss has
somehow come to the knowledge of the man, and he now claims that he has
never received payment, and demands both the principal and the interest
on it for more than thirty years. To pay this sum would ruin us. We had
been again and again to our oppressor to ask for mercy. But in vain. So
we _were_ in deep waters when Jesus put out his hand and drew us out. For
since my return I have found the missing paper.”
“Who is this oppressor?”
“Malus.”
“Has he already begun a suit against you?”
“No: but he threatens to do so within a short time, unless payment is
made.”
“Can it be that he is honest, and has merely forgotten?”
“He does not say that he does not _remember_ having received the money.
He absolutely denies having received it—could make oath to that effect;
has a perfect recollection of all the circumstances, and has only been
prevented from pressing his claim during all these years by tenderness of
heart.”
“Have you yet told him of the discovery?”
“Not yet.”
“Would you be willing to withhold the news from him for a while?”
“If you wish.”
“I wish you would: and perhaps we may be of service in helping you bring
this crafty and powerful rogue to justice. But it will be a hard matter.
My fear is that the officials of the city are themselves in league with
him in some of his practices, and so will be disposed to shelter him in
all.... But this speaking of Malus reminds me of a matter that I must now
attend to.”
Cimon rose. It was time to proceed to the custom house. So, promising
Shaphan to see him again as soon as possible: also informing him more
particularly where they now lodged, in case he should have occasion to
seek them (“and,” said he, “I hope that your brother will soon make
occasion by bringing further particulars about Jesus”), he took leave
cordially.
The lake frontage was, and had long been, all alive with business. The
cry of all nations was in the air. In the lake itself vessels of all
sorts were coming and going; on the wharves boxes, bales, sacks were
being handled with the same dispatch and carelessness that men now show
in handling the goods of other people. Also, the custom house itself (a
long, low building extending almost from the Gate of the Moon to the
canal which joined the lake to the northern harbors) was in full swirl
and roar, and had been for hours. But the chief official, like people
of his sort in more modern times, did not make as early hours as his
subordinates; had loitered over the morning meal and news, though not
newspaper; and so had only just made himself comfortable in his office
when Cimon presented himself—the first visitor.
The Roman looked up from his tablets on which he had been writing; and,
seeing before him a very well dressed and dignified person, laid down his
stylus and took an attitude of attention.
Cimon stated that he had waited on the chief of the customs in behalf
of an eminent trader, to make certain inquiries which could not be so
satisfactorily put to lower officials. Would it suit his convenience to
hear them?
“What are they?” said the chief politely.
“If my principal were to send here a lot of eastern good (silks, shawls,
rugs, jewels), what duties would he have to pay?”
The Roman took down from a shelf a framed schedule and read from it
certain figures. He looked up. The Greek was making a memorandum.
When he had finished, Cimon asked, “Can these rates be relied on for some
time to come?”
“Doubtless: they have not been changed since the times of the Ptolemies.”
Cimon made another entry on his tablets.
“Can you give me some idea what the course of trade has been in these
eastern goods—what its annual amount, whether subject to fluctuations,
whether on the whole increasing or decreasing?”
“I cannot,” said the official. “To do this would require much time and
labor in examining the registers.”
“Then you register all lots of goods that come to you, and preserve the
registers?”
“Certainly. We preserve them till they become too many for preservation.”
“May I ask how long that is?”
“About fifteen years. At all events, we have the registry books for the
last fifteen years.”
Cimon made another entry, and then asked whether one willing to expend
the time and labor would be allowed to examine the books, and if so on
what terms.
After some hesitation the official replied that the theory was that the
books should be open to the inspection of suitable persons, but that
there were practical difficulties in the way.
“For example,” said he, “the books of this year are in constant use for
record and consultation by the officers of the custom house; the books
of previous years are often needed by them for reference; and then, of
course, an examination of the books by outside parties would have to be
made in the presence of an official, and all the officials we now have
are fully occupied with other duties from which they cannot well be
spared; and one specially appointed would be expensive, if permissible.”
Cimon said that he was ready to charge himself with all expenses.
The Roman hastened to say that even in that case an express permit from
the prefect of the city, possibly from the Governor, might be necessary.
He would make inquiry, and, perhaps, would be able to inform him within a
day or two.
The Greek bowed. Meanwhile would the chief look over the memoranda he had
made and see whether they were correct? He passed over the tablets.
The Roman looked them over carefully and pronounced them all right.
“Would the chief oblige him by writing as much on the tablets over his
own signature?”
Yes—the chief would do that; and did it.
Cimon bowed again and withdrew.
On his way out he saw Malus entering. The two men seemed to recognize
each other at the same moment. Instantly there flashed into the look of
each something that told the other that the encounter was not pleasant.
On the part of the Greek the flash was one that gave new erectness to
his form and new gravity to his features: on the part of the Jew it was
a flash of suspicion and alarm that for an instant expanded his eyes and
perceptibly checked his movement. For an instant only. Then came a new
woodenness into his face, and he seemed to retreat still further behind
those small, half-closed eyes which yet lost nothing of their watchful
expression. So on they came toward each other—the Greek unconsciously
increasing the dignity and firmness of his tread, and keeping his eyes
fixed on the approaching face as if bent on improving to the utmost an
unwelcome opportunity for reading on that hard page whatever might be
read. So they met and passed. Cimon never looked behind him. Had he done
so he would have seen Malus standing at the door of the office just left
and looking after him.
But the Greek did not need to see this. That steady look into the face
of Malus, though brief, was enough to assure him that the suspicions of
the man were all ablaze, and that he would not rest till he had found out
whatever the custom-house chief could tell him. And probably he would be
successful in suppressing any further light from that quarter. Cimon was
thankful, however, that he had secured as much as he had. He trusted that
it would be sufficient—perhaps it could be used to compel more.
He was now more than ever impressed with the necessity of hastening
whatever further inquiries he had to make. It was still high day—why not
proceed at once to the dealers in eastern goods whose addresses he had
jotted down at the khan, and try to find out what had been the selling
prices of eastern goods for as many years as possible? Why not even
improve the opportunity of Malus’ absence from his warehouse to go there
and see what would be said by the subordinates when not overlooked by the
master? As soon as the idea suggested itself, he accepted it. He would go
to Nos. 110, 111, 112 Emporium Street first of all.
Accordingly, as soon as he had passed through the Gate of the Moon,
turning leftward into the Greek quarter to lessen the chances of
recognition, he proceeded northward till he thought he might be opposite
to the warehouse of Malus, and then struck eastward into Emporium Street
again. His venture was successful. Before him stood the establishment he
was seeking. As soon as he presented himself at the door he was politely
saluted by a young man and invited to enter. What could he do for my lord?
My lord wished to be conducted to the chief man in charge of the
department of eastern goods.
“Certainly, it would be done with the greatest pleasure. Would my lord be
pleased to follow?”
This following took Cimon through a large part of the establishment. He
could well believe it to be the largest warehouse in Alexandria. It was
really an immense bazaar. One could find there almost anything that was
bought and sold in the Roman world—from the toys of infants up to the
furnishings of a royal palace, and even of a royal person. Messengers
were hurrying about, crowds were coming and going, salesmen were crying
out and displaying their goods from hundreds of stalls. It was a tempest
of assault on the pouches of visitors. And many were evidently being
captured.
The department to which Cimon at last came was specially attractive.
Here, in an air through which stole the sweetness of the Indian nard
and other costly aromatics, were piled or suspended miracles of the
loom and needle, on some of which had been expended the labors of a
life-time—veils like sea-foams, embroideries to which the glowing
oriental fancy and patient fingers had transferred landscape and legend
and history and the starry heavens; gold and silver brocade from beyond
the Ganges; silks, tapestries, housings, rugs, shawls from Persia and
Cashmere: the whole brightened and multiplied wonderfully by polished
steel mirrors judiciously placed. At the centre of the department was the
collection of precious stones. In a compartment whose walls were formed
by suspended tapestries richly hued and pictured, in a case whose beauty
and strength seemed to certify to the great value of its contents, lay
pearls from the Persian Gulf, emeralds from the Caucasus, diamonds from
the Oxus, turquoises from Medea, rubies from Bokhara, and many other
gems—all skillfully arranged into a stony rainbow.
As Cimon passed close to the sparkling collection, and lingered over
it for a moment as he passed, it struck him that the sparkle of some
of the brilliants was not exactly that of genuine stones. But he might
be mistaken. Something more than a passing glance is needed to enable
even an expert to identify paste in its better specimens. But one thing
he was quite sure of by this time, and that was that the light in the
establishment was such as to make an accurate judgment of most of the
goods very difficult to an average customer, while such as to set them
off to the best advantage.
But he was now standing before the desk of the man whom he came to see.
“You have this department in charge, I believe,” said the Greek, as he
courteously saluted a Jew who was no longer young.
Receiving an affirmative bow, Cimon proceeded:
“I am here in behalf of a friend who is not living in this city, to
inquire the prices at which certain goods of the very best quality can be
obtained. If you will furnish me with a large blank bill I will specify
the articled in writing.”
A large blank bill was readily handed to him, on which he wrote a list of
considerable length.