now glowing in her face and adding to it new charms, but was silent.
“The lady has expressed my thought,” said Cimon. “It used to be a part
of the Roman law, and I presume is so still, that when a man is accused
of doing what would neither suit his passions nor his interests, the
accusation may be dismissed at once. It is incredible. Neither men nor
devils act against all motive.”
“Now, great teacher,” cried Rachel, “it is time to sum up, as you do
sometimes in your lectures; and (she brightly shook her finger at Seti)
be careful to sum up on the right side.”
“Which of course means _your_ side,” said the Egyptian, with a slight
lifting of his eyebrows.... Well, how will this please you?
“Jesus, it is universally conceded, has done many things far beyond mere
human power: he claims for them a divine origin: they are worthy of such
an origin in the grandeur and beneficence of their character: such an
origin agrees with certain ancient predictions apparently relating to
these times: unless they have such an origin, neither had the miracles of
Moses and the other prophets; and indeed it seems impossible for God to
furnish reliable credentials to any messenger; for, so far as we can see,
his credentials must be miracles and could not well be greater miracles
than Jesus has wrought: unless they have a divine origin they are
demoniacal—which is wholly inconsistent with the apparent (say certain)
character of Jesus and also with his teachings, which are such as no
evil spirit could reasonably be supposed willing to promote.... Is this
satisfactory?”—turning to Rachel.
“I think you could do better; but that will do—will do very well for the
present,” she returned smiling; “especially as you have gratuitously
supplied some missing links to the chain. Go on, O illustrious house of
Seti and heir of all the Pharaohs, I have great hopes of you yet.”
“You see, gentlemen,” said Seti, “what comes of teaching our daughters to
know and argue like other people. As soon as we furnish them with arms
they turn them against us. And this they call gratitude!”
“But,” he added gravely, seeing Cimon rising to take leave, “if your
affairs now call you away I wish to make an inquiry of you—if you will
step this way.”
Cimon followed him to a distant part of the room.
After a little hesitation, Aleph said to Rachel, “Your grandfather has
surprised me very much in this conversation. From the position he holds I
should have thought such views on his part impossible.”
“There is a mystery about the matter, I confess,” replied the maiden;
“but then this is not the only righteous mystery in Alexandria
to-day”—and her eyes laughed into his in a very wonderful way.
“Let us hope,” said he with an answering gleam from eyes quite as
wonderful though mysteriously different, “that they both will clear up
satisfactorily in due time, as the mystery of Jesus seems to be doing. I
am grateful to you for what I have heard to-day. But I would be glad to
speak with Miriam myself. Do you think she will be strong enough to bear
another talk to-day?”
“Perhaps so. I return to her as soon as my sedan comes; and if you will
accompany me we will see what she is equal to. If you do not object, I
wish to be present when you question her.”
“That would be delightful to me (and a new light sprang to his eyes as he
said it)—especially since I have come to know that you have mind as well
as beauty, and can inquire and reason with the best.”
He said this as if half soliloquizing, and with such an air of glad
heartiness that she at once felt that the words had in them nothing of
the emptiness of mere compliment.
She hastened to say timidly, “If we find that she is not able to talk
with us to-day, we can arrange to see her to-morrow when she is fresh.
Perhaps, too, she will then be able to bear removal to our house
and—could I count on your aid in transferring her, for my brothers are
away and my father has gone to Rome?”
“How gladly I agree to this the lady Rachel, I trust, already knows. At
the same time, I must confess, I have some doubt as to what the morrow
may bring to me; and so I would fain do as much as I can to-day.”
“You do not mean—I trust you do not mean _danger_?” and she looked
anxiously at him.
Before he could answer a knock was heard at the door and a servant
entered to say that the sedan of the lady was waiting at the gate. Rachel
hastily prepared for the street. Going to Seti, who now stood by the
door, she kissed him and—stood embarrassed.
“Well, what is it, my Gem of Alexandria?” said Seti. “What can we do for
you? Do you want the old man to send you off with a formal blessing? The
blessing of a heathen is not worth very much.”
“You are no heathen,” rejoined the maiden; “and I have already a great
store of your blessings carefully laid up at home among my treasures.
Give your blessing to-day to these friends of ours who, I fear, are
in danger, and who have deserved well at our hands. You are wise and
powerful—protect them, or you and I will have to part company. I hate
ingratitude”—and she shook her finger at him.
“By the way,” she added, “do you think that so valuable a jewel as the
Gem of Alexandria ought to pass along the street without an escort?”
“I was about to offer the lady my escort on her way as far as Miriam,
whom I wished to question: but it seems that I am a person who himself
needs protection,” said Aleph with a smile.
“Judging from what we have seen, Aleph the Chaldean is remarkably well
qualified to protect himself, to say nothing of others,” said Seti with
great composure.
“Yes, against a fair enemy,” protested the maiden; “but against others
one needs all the help he can get from both earth and heaven. What I want
of you, grandfather, is to see that earth does its part. If you do not,
I promise you that you shall see how a woman can bestir herself.”
“Just as if Seti needed all this eloquence, child!” he said reproachfully.
“Mother-father, I am ashamed of myself. I know that you mean nobly.
But then you men are so manly that you are not so quick as a woman
at divining the presence of danger, though far better at meeting it
when discovered. At least, so I am told; and I shall not deny it till
necessary. So forgive me, and—do as I say.”
“I am not sure,” said the Egyptian thoughtfully, “but that both of you
are right. If Rachel must return by way of Miriam an escort may be a
protection to her, as Antis is capable of the worst; and to be seen in
the streets with the daughter of Alexander may in the end be a protection
to Aleph the Chaldean, for it will show whom it may concern that he is
not without friends. So go, you two—but I will ask our friend Cimon to
remain a while longer.”
VIII.
THE ESCORT.
Ουδ’ αλλο δυσφύλακτον ούδὲν ώς γυνή.
—_Anon._
_Nothing is so hard to guard as a woman._
1. Twin serpents from Tenedos.
2. News from Galilee.
3. An escort dealing with escorts.
4. Home at last.
VIII.
THE ESCORT.
In going to the Serapeum, our friends had noticed near the gate of the
khan the Cretan who, as agent for Malus, had dealt with the Phenician
dealer in dyes. They recognized him readily, though he turned hastily
away as they approached him. The _catspaw of Malus!_ they both thought;
and would perhaps have thought no more of it had not——
But, on going a little farther, whom should they see but Malus himself
coming toward them! They could not be mistaken—the same obese figure,
the same waddling gait, the same wooden face and gimlet eyes. He stopped
almost immediately at a fruiterer’s stall, and seemed busy in selecting
some fruit as they passed. After they had passed he turned and watched
them. They did not turn to notice the fact, but they knew it all the
same—knew that Malus had tracked them to their quarters and made sure of
a close connection between them.
When Aleph came out with Rachel to her sedan, he very naturally looked
about to see if he was still under surveillance. But he saw only the
porters of the rich conveyance that waited for the daughter of Alexander.
Nor did he, on the way to Miriam’s, as he walked by the side of the chair
and occasionally exchanged a word with its inmate, observe anything but
that courteous general observation which a very distinguished looking man
in honorable attendance on a great lady might be expected to draw.
There was one interruption on the way—a pleasant one. Rachel, through
her curtains, happening to descry Shaphan at a distance, stopped her
bearers and begged Aleph to beckon the Jew to them. He promptly crossed
the street. The lady gave him her hand and said that she had been hearing
with great interest the story of his visit to Judea, but wished to hear
it again at first hand. Could he not go with them a short distance to
where her nurse lived and there gratify her? He could: in fact, his
brother, who had just returned from Judea, and himself were even now
returning from the Egyptian khan near the Serapeum, whither they had gone
for the purpose of seeing the young Chaldean (he bowed to Aleph) and his
friend, and communicating some new information about the Messiah.
Aleph expressed his gratification at the meeting, and warmly seconded the
lady’s request. So Shaphan beckoned to his brother, and the two followed
the chair to the house of Miriam.
They found the door guarded by a stout servant of Alexander, and by bars
still stouter. It appeared that Antis had lately been there, demanded
admittance, and, on being refused, had become violent, tried to break
open the door, and finally had gone away threatening to return shortly
with authority and force that could not be resisted.
Aleph suggested that the sedan be brought within the house. Should
violence be used it might be well to add the porters to the resisting
force.
They found that Miriam had been so agitated by the attempt of her husband
that she was unfit for the further conversation that Aleph desired. But
with so many friends now about her she was in a restful state; and when
Rachel proposed that, if it would not tire her too much, Shaphan and his
brother should give an account of their visit to Palestine and Jesus, she
declared that she could well endure it. Indeed, it would strengthen her.
To hear of Jesus again would be as cool water to a thirsty soul.
So Shaphan told again the story with which we are already familiar—told
it, however, with omission of the part relating to Malus; for Aleph had
suggested that all the servants, excepting the door-keeper, should be
present at the recital. “This was a matter that concerned everybody.”
When Shaphan had finished, his brother Nathan added substantially the
following account:
After the departure of his brother, he had remained a few days longer
with Jesus, listening to his teaching and seeing further examples of his
wonderful power. Two of these examples were specially impressive.
One day, as the night drew on, Jesus, who had been teaching the people
from a boat belonging to his disciples, was overheard saying to them,
_Let us go over to the other side_. Whereupon they put out into the lake
and headed for Gadara. Some of his hearers, of whom Nathan was one,
hating to part company with him for even a short time, immediately sprang
into another boat and followed. Soon the night shut down—one of the
blackest nights ever known. Jesus’ boat could no longer be seen. Suddenly
the wind rose into a gale. It wrestled with the sea like a giant; and
the sea rose in its wrath and wrestled back again with a mighty outcry.
For a moment they would lie breathless in each other’s arms; and then,
reviving, fling themselves madly at each other in mortal duel. It was
an awful scene. It seemed as if all the demons were abroad. The waters
which, when they embarked, were almost without discernible wrinkle, were
now furrowed into mighty chasms by the plow of the storm king. Up went
the little boat to heaven on the thundering billow; down it went into
a hell of waters as thunderous. The watery monsters shook their white
manes and lashed their black sides and leaped at and over their prey with
open jaws. They laughed to scorn oar and rudder and seamanship. They
shouted, and howled and shrieked, and seemed to swear by the Eternal to
the helpless crew, “We have you now; nothing can save you; to-morrow your
corpses will be drifting silently about; no, nothing can save you, not
even the mighty Christ.” Such blaspheming, frantic, frightful madhouse
of the elements—who ever saw the like! Not Nathan and his companions.
It seemed to them as if hell had emptied itself on the sea of Galilee;
and that all the fiends, astride of whirlwinds and crested billows, were
fiercely battling together for the privilege of drowning every living
thing. They struggled. They prayed. They were in despair. Drenched,
rudderless, oarless, they clung to the sides of the fast filling boat
in a paroxysm of horror and helplessness. In a few moments all would be
over. They commended their souls to God.
What noise was that? Off at their right, hidden in the darkness,
evidently was another crew of affrighted and sinking men, crying out in
their extremity. Can they be Jesus and his disciples? Are they too in
the very jaws of death? Cannot he who has done such great things manage
to save his own, to save himself? Or are these raging, howling elements a
field to which his power does not extend? Such thoughts flashed through
the mind of Nathan even as he seemed on the point of being swallowed up.
But just then he distinctly heard (for the boats had neared each other)
a distressful voice which he recognized as that of one of the disciples,
exclaiming, _Lord, save us, we perish!_
“Can he do it? If so, why has he not interfered before? Why permit
such a horrible fright to his friends? No, he cannot do it. Jesus has
at last found his master. There seems the exultation of conscious
omnipotence and universal mastery in the leapings and thunderings of this
hurricane-tossed sea!”
Such thoughts rushed upon Nathan as fiercely as the tempest itself—as if
Satan himself were riding the storm and dashing them into his face with
the spray and foam.
Still he was all ear for what might follow that cry for help. Clinging to
the side of the boat with both hands, he kept his face set toward where
the other boat seemed to be, and almost stilled his heart-beat as he
listened. It seemed as if his soul had gone to his ears, and was leaning
forth, as men sometimes do from a casement, to catch the faintest word
that might come from the Master in answer to the despairing cry of his
followers. And there came—a faint ripple of speech, a shadow or ghost of
articulate sound almost lost amid the deafening and majestic outcries
of the storm? No. A wailing prayer for help to One above the clouds?
No. A quavering, hesitating voice as of one doubtful of himself and of
the issue? No. The voice that came was so clear, so penetrating, so
dominant among the wild noises of the storm, so full of calm decision
and unquestionable authority and sovereign forces, that one felt sure in
advance of what the result would be.
PEACE—BE STILL!
No sooner had these words gone forth on the wrestling, roaring winds than
they fell dead in full career. No sooner had these words gone forth on
the wrestling, roaring billows that went charging against the sky with
their crested battalions than they sank in their places as sinks the ox
when smitten on the forehead by the axe of some mighty man. And there
was a great calm. Hardly a ripple was left in sea or air. What a sudden
silence! In an instant the demons of the storm had not only taken flight,
but were already beyond hearing and sight. And, looking up, Nathan and
his companions saw that even the clouds had wholly fled, and left the
stars looking down on them as peacefully as if nothing had happened,
or ever would happen again. And off, a little way, the starlight was
softly shimmering on a summer sea, on gently plashing oars, on a boat and
boatmen, and in the stern on the eminent form of Him who had now shown
himself King of Nature as well as King of men.
Nathan and his companions reached the shore very soon after Jesus. They
had scarcely landed and joined him when, from one of the cave-tombs
that skirt the shore, there rushed toward them a figure that seemed
scarcely human. He came as if driven by the tempest that had just
maddened the lake. He was himself a tempest of the most frightful kind—as
appeared when he drew near. He was quite naked. His face and body were
covered with scars and filth and fresh blood. In his hands he carried
sharp stones, with which he beat and cut himself as he shrieked and
ran. His long hair streamed in the wind and seemed like a cluster of
flying serpents biting at his brain. And when he came near—ah, what an
expression in those fiery eyes and tormented features! It was as if hell
itself, with all its fiendishness and misery, had been condensed into
that awful face. Nathan had seen not a few demoniacs before, but never
such a specimen as this. The very recollection made him shudder. The
possibility of such suffering and such wickedness as were pictured in
that face had never before entered his mind.
The man came directly toward Jesus with frantic leaps and cries, as if
to destroy him—as he seemed well able to do; such were the wonderful
activity and strength he displayed. But Jesus, standing a little in
advance of his disciples, calmly awaited the coming. His face was another
wonder to see. It was sublime—it was divine. Such unutterable calm, such
boundless pity, such inexhaustible resources of force and authority and
sovereignty spoke in every feature that Nathan could not but say to
himself, LO, GOD IS HERE.
The monster sank on his knees under the spell of that divine
gaze—uttering a fearful cry as of many voices crushed into one.
“What is thy name?” said Jesus.
And through the parted but unmoving lips of the madman, and as if from
deep within, came a mystery of speech that said:
“My name is Legion, for we are many. What have we to do with thee, thou
Son of God most High? Art thou come hither to torment us before the time?
If thou cast us out, suffer us to go into yonder herd of swine.”
Jesus said, _Go!_
Promptly at the word, the crowd of evil spirits that had captured that
body, bound its inhabitant, and seized the reins of power, fled headlong.
Nathan knew it from the mighty change that at once flashed over the
demoniac. The monster became a man. The face just now terrible with the
lightnings of hellish passions, more terrible than the storm on the Sea
of Galilee or any other sea, suddenly became a new face—transformed
almost beyond recognition into repose, sanity, sweetness, joy. Nathan
was astonished at the transfiguration. He could not help crying out,
_Glory to God!_ and his heart cried louder than his lips. He had seen
dispossessions before; and they were delightful things to see. But he had
never before seen a man delivered from an entire synagogue of devils,
from the Nemesis of a whole army of evil spirits. That was a deliverance
past speech. That was an exodus to bring out the sun in the face of a man.
The man was saved, but the swine were lost. For the whole herd of about
two thousand, just now stolidly feeding along the steep bank, pricked up
their ears, stood snuffing the air, and then, as if possessed by as many
whirlwinds, rushed headlong down the steep into the lake and perished.
The disciples understood the judgment as well as the mercy. Those swine,
kept contrary to the law, and serving as a standing defiance of the law
through all that region, were felt to have been justly confiscated.
But the owners were naturally sore at the loss of their property, and
others were afraid of like losses; and so they persuaded the people of
the district to go in a body to Jesus and beg him to leave. The people
did it—though they saw the man who had been the terror of the whole
country-side sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.
Strange infatuation! The people themselves were possessed. The evil
spirits that had forsaken the man, and forsaken the swine, had entered
into _them_—as a legion of fools. Jesus did not refuse their suicidal
request. So the two boats immediately returned to Capernaum.
This ended Nathan’s visit to Jesus. He left the same day for Egypt—left
with stronger faith than ever in Jesus as the Messiah. The absence of all
the usual magical preparations for his wonders, the exceeding magnitude
and variety of them, the magnificent ease with which they were performed,
the fearless manner in which they were exposed to the blaze of public
observation, the universal consent to their reality on the part of even
his worst enemies, the plain antagonism of his whole teaching to the idea
that they were of Satanic origin, together with the sovereign and divine
expression that reigned in his mien while doing them, seemed conclusive.
It seemed impossible for any fair-minded man to look into that face and
watch its expressions without getting the impression of unutterable
genuineness and goodness. He could doubt neither the reality nor the
divine origin of the miracles of Jesus.
But, somehow, the people at large were not impressed as he was. They
were getting used to the wonderful works. And the leaders of the people
were industriously encouraging the idea of a Satanic agency in them—and
with growing success. About the Sea of Galilee, where most of his mighty
works are done, Jesus has very few who believe in him. He does not
conform to the current notion of what the Messiah should be. He gives
no encouragement to political unrest; he makes no attempt to form a
political party, collects no military stores, gathers no army, assumes
no state. He seems to aim at no worldly grandeur for himself or nation.
He has even been understood to say that rejection and suffering and even
death await him—that, in short, his kingdom is not of this world. This is
very unsatisfactory to the people at large. If he would only proclaim a
temporal kingdom, set up the standard of revolt against Rome, and summon
the people to rally about it, no doubt they would rush to him at once.
But as it is, they will go from him. So it seemed to Nathan as he watched
the people; and so it seemed to him it would be as he read the prophets.
The more he studied them the more inclined was he to think that they had
been misunderstood.
“I think very much as you do,” said Aleph, “and shall not be at all
surprised if Jesus the Messiah should prove a Sacrifice as well as a
king. King he certainly is—king of devils, king of diseases, king of the
elements, king of teachers——”
Here he was interrupted by the door-keeper, who came to say that through
the eyelet of the door he could see Antis approaching with what seemed a
police force.
“Oh, do not let him enter,” exclaimed Miriam in great distress; “if he
enters I shall die. You do not know all I know.” And she raised herself
in the bed and wrung her hands in an agony of apprehension.
“Do not disturb yourself,” said Aleph calmly. “Though we do not know all,
we know enough. But Jesus knew it all, and you have his promise. Trust
it and reserve such strength as you have till it is needed. We will not
desert you.”
A violent blow on the street-door was now heard.
“I will go to the door,” said Aleph, “and if I need any help you will
discover it, as I will leave the passage open so that you can hear what
is passing.”
Taking his cane, he proceeded to the door; and, bidding the door-keeper
undo the fastenings, he suddenly set the door widely open and stood in
its place.
This was unexpected. Antis was just in the act of repeating his blow on
the door, but suddenly finding himself confronted by a formidable looking
man instead of a door, he stepped hastily backward.
“What do you seek,” demanded Aleph, fixing on the man a stern eye, “that
you knock in so unbecoming a manner?”
“I seek the possession of my own house,” said the fellow sullenly.
“Are you the owner of this house? I think you will hardly venture to
claim that.”
“I claim that I have purchased the right of an owner, so far as occupying
this house is concerned, for one month, and that it is the will of the
owner that I have possession at once.”
“Show me that such is the will of the owner.”
Antis produced a paper and handed it to Aleph.