group of men. Mary darted forward and threw herself at the feet of one
of them. Then I understood it all. Jesus and his disciples had at last
come. I did not need to hear her say, ‘Lord, if thou hadst been here my
brother had not died;’ for, as I looked with all my eyes of both body
and mind, on the face that was looking down so compassionately on the
weeping woman, I saw at once the original of the picture that his mother
had made for me. I never had seen such a face. I do not expect ever to
see another like it. I do not speak of its beauty, though beauty was not
wanting; nor of its majesty, though majesty was not wanting; but of a
mysterious something that seemed to lie back of and shine dimly through
the comeliness and the kingliness—a power behind the throne greater than
the throne itself; more beautiful than the beauty, more majestic than
the majesty; a certain something so pure, so wise, so mighty, and yet
so loving and pitiful, that Divinity himself seemed looking through the
windows of flesh. This was how he seemed to me. It may be that he does
not make the same impression on all; indeed, I know that he does not.
And even to me, while I looked, there was a sensible coming and going
of the Divine expression—like a rapid flowing and ebbing on the strand
of a boundless sea of mingled fire and foam. Nay, while I was absorbed
in watching him the Infinite seemed to sweep back and back, and at last
disappeared altogether—leaving nothing but the purely human. But oh, what
a human! The sands laid bare were pure gold. So gentle, so tender, so
sympathetic as his tearful eyes rested on the tearful people—a frightened
dove or hind would have taken refuge in his bosom. Mary evidently took
refuge there.
“‘Where have you laid him?’ said the most sympathetic voice in the world.
“‘Come and see,’ said the sisters; and led the way to one of the tombs
close by. The cave was wrought into the brow of a hill, and was closed by
a door against which rested a large stone.
“‘Take away the stone,’ said Jesus; and as he spake I seemed to see the
Infinite coming back into his face with a mighty rush and completely
covering the merely human out of sight.
“We were breathless with expectation.
“He stood for a moment with eyes uplifted and lips that moved—as if
communing with the sky. Then, in a voice that had in it such a commanding
quality, such a tone of unquestioned and unquestionable supremacy as I
had never before noticed in any voice, and which seemed able to speak a
world out of nothing, he cried:
“‘LAZARUS, COME FORTH!’
“Would the dead hear? I _knew_ he would hear. The voice itself predicted
a resurrection; and I felt in every fibre of my being that almightiness
was present and failure impossible. And yet how intently I gazed on the
door of that tomb—how intently I listened for some sound from within! He
scarcely had done speaking, when, sure enough, there was within the cave
a stir, a rustle, a _step_. Another moment and the heavy door swung open,
as of itself, and a man in grave-clothes appeared. The swathing bands
were still about his hands and feet—the napkin was still about his face.
“‘Loose him and let him go!’ bade Jesus.
“The people obeyed, and lo, our friend Lazarus of old! Not the
fever-stricken, delirium-haunted, emaciated Lazarus of a few days ago,
who could not have stood on his feet without being wholly supported;
but the Lazarus of his best days, able to go and come and do with the
best. Also, looking as he did then, but with a difference. The mystery
of the unseen was in his face. He seemed in possession of vast secrets.
With this was a look, first of bewilderment and surprise, then of
recognition—recognition of him whose potential word had brought him back
to the world. He knelt at the feet of Jesus, and kissed his hand—as men
do homage to their king. _His_ King had come.
“Any doubt whether the death was real? Not to those who, like myself, had
seen the sick man decline from day to day until the last feeble breath
was drawn and the body grew cold and stiff. Not to those who prepared the
body for burial and carried it forth to the tomb. Not to those who stood
by the cave-mouth when the door swung back, four days after; nor to those
who took off from the living man the cerements of the dead. The smell of
death could not be mistaken. No, there is no doubt.
“Since then I have seen Jesus several times, and have talked with him.
And I _know_ that he is our Messiah. Would that you and your grandfather
and all the dear family could see and hear him too! I feel that you all
would, and must, judge as I do. Both my eyes and my heart recognize him.
I seem to know him by a new internal sense.
“Not so, however, our chief men. He does not impress them as he does
me. They are getting exceedingly bitter against him. Every new wonder
increases their exasperation. I am ashamed to say it—but I have no
doubt that they would gladly take his life. It must be that they are
judicially blinded; or, if not, that an evil mood of the heart and will
wonderfully hinders perception in religious matters.
“I would like to say more; but I hope to see you soon, and to make you
a joyful sharer of my faith by a fuller account of what I have seen and
heard.
“But what is this that I hear? Hints come to me almost daily about you
and the great alliance. And yet you said nothing about it in your last.
Just before he left for Rome, your father wrote me that the emperor had
made proposals for you in behalf of his nephew and heir; and that this
was partly the occasion of his going to Rome. I hope that you will speak
freely in your next. I can see what great advantage to our people, not
to say to all peoples, might come from such an alliance; especially as I
hear the best things said of the young Cæsar. He is said to be like his
excellent father. Is it possible that a daughter of mine will become more
than a second Esther?”
Such was the letter—omitting the usual formalities of beginning and
ending. While Seti was reading it, Rachel kept her eyes fastened
anxiously on his face—especially as he approached the end. When at last
he looked up, she came and stood before him and put a hand on each
shoulder and looked beseechingly into his eyes.
“Grandfather, had you known of this before?”
Seti slowly bowed his head.
“Why did not my father tell me?”
“Perhaps he did not want to agitate you unnecessarily—perhaps he wanted
to see the young man and make inquiries about him, and learn more fully
from the emperor himself all that was implied in the proposals before
allowing you to be troubled with the matter. You see it was possible that
such inquiries might show it best to decline the offer without its coming
before you at all.”
“Grandfather, let it _never_ come before me. In advance, I put it away
from me with both hands.” And then suddenly: “Do you think father would
be willing to sacrifice me, I do not say to ambition, for I know him
incapable of that, but to what he thinks to be the interests of his
people?”
“I think,” said Seti slowly, “that he might be willing to sacrifice
himself for such an object, but would feel that he has no right to
sacrifice you. Sacrifices of this sort must be voluntary.”
“Then I am safe,” she exclaimed, “for my will is all another way, and it
has passed beyond my control. If a victim is needed for our people, let
father lay me on an altar of stone or earth, as did our father Abraham
his son Isaac, and I will die by his hand gladly; but to die all my life
long on such an altar as Tiberius—this is beyond my power, even for the
good of Israel. It seems to me an awful wickedness. I abhor the very
thought of it.”
“And so do I,” said Seti. “I do not believe in doing evil that good may
come, pagan though I——” (she put her hand over his mouth). “But they say
that Germanicus is not a Tiberius, but is like his father, who was among
the very best of the Romans, both in character and accomplishments; and
is it not just possible that if the young man should come here in person
to plead his own cause you would——”
“I would _not_, grandfather; if he should come to me with his head
weighted with all the diadems that ever were worn, and with all the
personal accomplishments that ever managed to flourish on a heathen, I
would turn my back upon him. There, now! Bear witness, ye heavens!”
“I think I understand you,” replied Seti, after a moment. “I feel very
much as you do about this matter, heathen though——” (she again hurried
her hand to his mouth). “But do not speak in this way to others. I see
that the matter is getting abroad, and you will be likely to get hints,
inquiries, counsels, congratulations from many quarters. Take refuge in
silence. By all means do not look like an empress, and an angry one, as
you did just now. You shall not be crowded into the imperial throne for
the sake of Israel, or for any other sake.”
She kissed him for answer; laid her head on his bosom; and, exhausted,
went to sleep as he softly stroked her shapely head. So he sat and held
her in his arms till the day was spent, and the old moon in the arms of
the new looked in at the casement, and saw the new moon in the arms of
the old. And those moons aloft that are never weary, and worried, and
worn, shed tears over the sublunary ones whose lot is so different—tears
which the very early risers in Alexandria, the next morning, mistook for
dew. They were plain people; and, like most in University towns, were not
much wiser for the University.
XII.
THE VANISHING.
Καιρὸς πρὸς άνθρώπων βραχύ μέτρον έχει.
—PINDAR, _Pyth._ iv. 509.
_Opportunity for men has a brief measure._
1. Where are they?
2. Call on the governor.
3. Invoice the University.
4. Let Piso do his best.
5. Where is God?
XII.
THE VANISHING.
Early the next morning Seti knocked at the door of our friends. Getting
no answer, he repeated the knock. Still hearing nothing, he opened the
door and went in. The room was vacant; as was also the sleeping-room
adjoining. Plainly the latter had not been occupied during the night. He
was alarmed.
Summoning two servants to follow him, he proceeded to the khan with rapid
steps. What was his dismay to learn from the landlord that, shortly after
Cimon and Aleph came in, the evening before, a body of the city police
appeared and demanded to search their room for jewelry stolen from the
warehouse of Malus. Permission being readily given, the Cretan agent of
Malus, well known in the city, who accompanied the party and conducted
the search, went fumbling about on his hands and knees in the darker
parts of the room; and finally held up, with an exclamation of delight,
a small casket which he declared was the missing article, and had been
missing ever since Cimon’s visit to the warehouse. Whereupon the chief of
the police showed a warrant for arresting Cimon. The young man protested,
and declared that he saw the Cretan slyly whip the casket out of the
bosom of his own tunic. But the older man thought that the police were
right in claiming that they had no option in the case—he would go with
them without resistance, and his friend could take such measures on the
morrow for his relief as he might find best. So he went off with the
party, leaving the young man standing at the gate.
But this party had scarcely disappeared, when a band of Roman soldiers
came up and surrounded Aleph. “Are you Aleph, the Chaldean?” demanded the
leader.
“So I am called,” said the young man.
“Then we have been sent to arrest you.”
“For what?” demanded Aleph.
“For assault and battery here last night; and as a suspected enemy of the
emperor.”
“Show me your warrant,” demanded the young man.
The leader produced a document bearing what purported to be the seal and
signature of the governor. “Is this document genuine?” said Aleph to
the landlord, who was standing by. The landlord looked at the paper and
nodded.
“Then I will go with you,” said the young man calmly. “But may I not
first communicate my situation to my friends, that they may have an
opportunity to set me right with the authorities?”
“We were not authorized to allow delay for any purpose.”
“You will have to delay,” said Aleph, “for the purpose of hearing and
allowing these by-standers” (several of the guests of the khan had by
this time come up) “to hear me declare that I am innocent of the charges
brought against me, and can prove as much, opportunity being given me.”
A soldier approached to bind him. Aleph motioned him away with his cane.
“I have said that I will go with you. I now say that I will go with you
without attempting to escape while going, provided you leave me free and
in possession of this cane. Otherwise the man who approaches me does so
at his peril.”
After some consultation his demand was granted; and he went off quietly
with the party, saying to the landlord as he went, “You can at least tell
what you have seen and heard.”
Such was the account given to Seti. He remained merely to ask a simple
question: “Could there be any doubt as to the party being real Roman
soldiers?” The landlord thought not: they had the equipment of Roman
soldiers; and, besides, their bearing and step together were professional.
The high-priest hastened back to the Serapeum, assumed his pontifical
robes, summoned a large train of servants, and proceeded in his official
chariot, drawn by four white mules, to the Roman headquarters in
Bruchium. Arrived at the palace of the governor, a herald stepped before
the gate, blew a trumpet, and cried: “Seti of the Serapeum, high-priest
of Egypt and metropolitan, desires audience of Avilleus Flaccus,
Proprætor and Legate of Cæsar and Governor of Egypt.”
In a few moments the gates were thrown open, and the whole party entered
a large court, where, at the foot of a flight of marble steps, Seti
alighted and was conducted by an obsequious usher into the audience-room
and presence of the Roman governor.
Seti was dignified and formal; coolly saluting his excellency with all
the usual formalities, but not a jot beyond. On the other hand, Flaccus,
an ordinary man to look at but wearing the extraordinary toga permitted
to the imperial representative, was exceedingly demonstrative and
deferential in welcoming his illustrious visitor. He seemed to feel that,
belonging only to the Equestrian Order and with no ancestors save those
whose names had been written with water and in water, he was socially
far from being equal to the freezingly cold and stately Egyptian pontiff
whose sires had reigned in palaces and temples before Rome was founded.
Seti cut short the ceremonial. Would the governor be good enough to say
whether he had given an order for the arrest of a regularly enrolled
member of the University, an inmate of the Serapeum, and a particular
friend of himself and the Alabarch Alexander?
Flaccus appeared to consult his memory. He did not remember to have given
any such order.
“An order to arrest one Aleph, the Chaldean, as a disturber of the public
peace and a suspected enemy of the emperor?” suggested Seti.
No, he did not think that he could have given such an order.
“An order executed last evening by a company of Roman soldiers?”
continued the priest in the same icy tone.
“Certainly not.”
“I am glad to hear it, and to have your authority for denying the report
that is getting abroad. It may also be for your interest to deny it
personally as you have opportunity; for the young man in question is a
great favorite, not only with the Alabarch and myself, but also with the
young men in the University, who represent the noblest Roman families and
a great interest with the emperor and the Cæsar.”
“I think,” said Flaccus, with a not very successful attempt at an arch
look, “that I know of somebody who is likely to have more interest with
Germanicus than any of them.”
“However that may be,” said Seti emphatically, “it is certain that the
young man will have such justice as our best efforts can secure.”
“What can I do?” said the Roman uneasily.
“I will tell your excellency,” said the Egyptian. “It is understood in
the city that a party of Roman soldiers, under a written warrant from
you, arrested and carried off, we know not where, a privileged member of
the University, for whom the best vouchers can be found. But, as I now
learn from you, that warrant must have been forged; and what appeared to
be Roman soldiers, were not such, but other parties in disguise. Now I
would respectfully suggest that you give me and the other friends of the
young man written authority to search for and rescue him at whatever cost
to those who have carried him off. This will answer our purpose, and at
the same time serve to defend you from the suspicions of the people.”
Flaccus hesitated, bit his lip, twirled a gold badge that hung from
his neck, looked at every object in the room save Seti. Seti looked at
nothing save him.
The priest rose to go. “Time is of great consequence to me this morning.
Am I to understand that your excellency declines to authorize me in
writing to rescue from robbers and murderers a young man for whom the
Alabarch and myself, as well as the University at large, offer to stand
vouchers?”
“I do not see why you need a written authorization from me,” said
Flaccus, beginning to sharpen a reed.
“I did not say that we need such a document. _You_ need to give it.” He
said this last in a low but a very distinct and measured tone of voice.
“Well, I will give it,” said the governor with sudden decision—“if it
will oblige you and your friends.”
“It _will_ oblige us,” said Seti; and in a few moments he took
punctilious leave with the desired document in his possession.
He returned at once to the Serapeum. Resuming his ordinary dress, he
proceeded to the lecture room, where, as yet, he found only two or
three students, among whom was Publius Cornelius. He beckoned them to
him, and asked such co-operation as they could give in a matter he was
about to bring before the whole class. Shortly they came pouring in,
rather obstreperously, I fear, as college boys have been wont to do
from the beginning; but as soon as they set eyes on their teacher there
was a profound hush; for they saw at once that something unusual had
happened—that the Seti they had hitherto known had given place to quite a
different Seti and a much younger man. All the old dignity and authority
were in his face and bearing; but somehow there had come into the old
look a roused and forceful expression such as a crisis might be expected
to call out in a young man largely endowed both as a man of thought
and action. Calm, watchful, mindful of all that is passing and likely
to pass, prepared to throw his whole force into action at a moment’s
warning. All the students were in a hush of expectation as they saw the
new man sitting on the old bema.
He began with saying that he had no lecture for them that morning. But he
had something better than a lecture—an opportunity for a good action. He
then concisely and simply narrated his morning experiences, and held up
the document he had obtained from Flaccus. Perhaps the young man had been
killed. Perhaps he was only imprisoned in some out-of-the-way place. It
was for his friends to find out the facts as soon as possible. He knew
of none who could do as prompt and good service in the matter as the
generous-minded fellow-students of the extraordinary young man who had so
commended himself to their admiration. Would they undertake it?
The response was instantaneous. Many sprang to their feet, with flushed
faces and hot, indignant words.
“A conspiracy!” cried one.
“An insult to the University,” cried another. Some called out “_Draco_”
interrogatively; and others, of the bolder and more highly connected
of the Romans, among whom was Publius Cornelius, shook their fists
significantly in the direction of the Cæsareum. One thing was evident
to the watchful eye of Seti—that there would be no lack of sympathetic
readiness on the part of the Serapeum to act as he wished. What did he
wish?
This was brought out by Cornelius, who declared that they were all of
one mind to further any plan that their venerable instructor might have
to propose; and moved that a committee be appointed to confer with him
as to what had best be done. He also proposed that this committee should
secure the co-operation of the Museum, which he had no doubt would be
enthusiastically given.
“Besides,” he added, as he repeated his emphatic gesture toward the
north-east, “the Museum is nearer than ourselves to the sources of this
mischief and can explore them better.”
A committee was appointed—including Cornelius. These gathered about Seti.
His plan was that some students should find out whether Draco and the son
of Flaccus were present in the city all the last night—that others should
find out whether any soldiers were then absent from their quarters,
and if so to whose force they belonged—that still others should watch
the gates and harbors for their return and note the time and direction
of it—that still others should rummage the streets, especially in the
neighborhood of the khan Rachotis, for some who had observed the party,
noticed the direction they took, perhaps witnessed an embarkation. The
students interested were so many, they could, by properly distributing
themselves, make all these inquiries at once. No time should be lost. Let
them report to him.
Feeling sure that the young men would need no further impulse, the priest
left them, and, stopping at his room for the parcel which Cimon had put
in his hands, proceeded to the office of Alexander’s legal adviser.
This was in a wing of the extensive palace of the great banker whose
affairs furnished the greater part of the business of the lawyer. The
man was both a Roman and a Greek—his father being from Tusculum, and
his mother from Athens. He possessed in a remarkable degree the mental
characteristics of both nations—the practical and resolute character
of the one, and the acuteness and subtlety of the other. To a profound
knowledge of Roman law, especially as applied in the provinces, he added
a familiar acquaintance with the usages of Alexandria as a business
community—having lived in the city from childhood. Alexander early
discovered his abilities, and by degrees made him a confidential adviser
in legal matters, especially after he became a proselyte and attached
himself to the Diapleuston.
Marcus Piso was not much of a man to look at—at the first look. Small,
slender, somewhat stooping, no longer young—it was necessary to be
with him for a time and watch his face and manner—his keen eye and
protuberant brow—as he dispatched business with one and another. Then he
inspired confidence both as to his ability and integrity. Then one said,
“Alexander is not mistaken in his man.”
The little man did _not_ show to advantage as he rose to receive his
imposing visitor. But, what was better under the circumstances, he at
once conducted Seti to an inner office and listened with all his ears,
and eyes too, to a brief account of our friends, of what had just
transpired, and of the measures taken for the discovery of Aleph.
“I tell you these facts,” said Seti, “to interest you as much as possible
in these men whom the Alabarch and myself intend to support and befriend
to the utmost of our power.”
“I have been strongly interested in them ever since the affair at the
Diapleuston, which I happened to witness; and my thoughts were running on
them when you came in; for news of the arrest of Cimon for theft had just
reached me.”
“As if a man having credit with Alexander to the amount of 200,000 gold
staters was likely to pilfer! No, the charge and the arrest were gotten
up to prevent or discredit an impending suit by Cimon against Malus. And
Aleph has been killed, or spirited away, partly to aid the same purpose,
and partly to gratify the malice of certain others whose names you can
guess.”
Seti then produced Cimon’s parcel, and continued: “I am told that you
will find in this parcel all needful particulars in regard to the
proposed suit against Malus. Please examine it at once and if you find it
warrants legal proceedings institute them without delay. Of course Malus
is strongly intrenched and will fight to the death; but we will back
you with all our forces. I am sure that I speak for Alexander as well
as for myself. Meanwhile, whatever you can do to cancel or relieve the
imprisonment of Cimon, please do. The case of the young man I will look
after myself.”
Seti’s next visit was to Rachel—not by way of the street, but by a
private door in the inner office of the advocate, by which he was
accustomed to communicate with the banker. He found his granddaughter
in Miriam’s room. And he saw at once, in the looks of the two women,
that the evil news had preceded him. Miriam looked totally exhausted,
and lay on her bed feebly moaning, with closed eyes; her hand held by
Rachel. As to Rachel herself, Seti was struck by the change that had
taken place. A touch of mingled amazement and suffering was in her face;
but into the profoundly emotional expression had come “_nescio quod
preclarum et singulare_”—a look of self-control that had been fought for
and taken possession of by fire and sword; such a victory that another
like it would be ruin. A certain new and powerful expression was in every
feature. Lights and shadows of the heroic were hiding in the depths of
her eyes and in the curves of her lips. She came and sat on a stool at
his feet.