Story of the Other Wise Man — Part 2

FOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD

There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was listening to the story of the other wise man.

And through this silence I saw, but very dimly, his figure passing over the dreary undulations of the desert, high upon the back of his camel, rocking steadily onward like a ship over the waves.

The land of death spread its cruel net around him.

The stony wastes bore no fruit but briers and thorns.

The dark ledges of rock thrust themselves above the surface here and there, like the bones of perished monsters.

Arid and inhospitable mountain ranges rose before him, furrowed with dry channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly as scars on the face of nature.

Shifting hills of treacherous sand were heaped like tombs along the horizon.

By day, the fierce heat pressed its intolerable burden on the quivering air; and no living creature moved, on the dumb, swooning earth, but tiny jerboas scuttling through the parched bushes, or lizards vanishing in the clefts of the rock.

By night the jackals prowled and barked in the distance, and the lion made the black ravines echo with his hollow roaring, while a bitter, blighting chill followed the fever of the day.

Through heat and cold, the Magian moved steadily onward.

Then I saw the gardens and orchards of Damascus, watered by the streams of Abana and Pharpar, with their sloping swards inlaid with bloom, and their thickets of myrrh and roses.

I saw also the long, snowy ridge of Hermon, and the dark groves of cedars, and the valley of the Jordan, and the blue waters of the Lake of Galilee, and the fertile plain of Esdraelon, and the hills of Ephraim, and the highlands of Judah.

Through all these I followed the figure of Artaban moving steadily onward, until he arrived at Bethlehem.

And it was the third day after the three wise men had come to that place and had found Mary and Joseph, with the young child, Jesus, and had laid their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh at his feet.

Then the other wise man drew near, weary, but full of hope, bearing his ruby and his pearl to offer to the King.

"For now at last," he said, "I shall surely find him, though it be alone, and later than my brethren.

This is the place of which the Hebrew exile told me that the prophets had spoken, and here I shall behold the rising of the great light.

But I must inquire about the visit of my brethren, and to what house the star directed them, and to whom they presented their tribute."

The streets of the village seemed to be deserted, and Artaban wondered whether the men had all gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their sheep.

From the open door of a low stone cottage he heard the sound of a woman's voice singing softly.

He entered and found a young mother hushing her baby to rest.

She told him of the strangers from the far East who had appeared in the village three days ago, and how they said that a star had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging with his wife and her new-born child, and how they had paid reverence to the child and given him many rich gifts.

"But the travellers disappeared again," she continued, "as suddenly as they had come.

We were afraid at the strangeness of their visit.

We could not understand it.

The man of Nazareth took the babe and his mother and fled away that same night secretly, and it was whispered that they were going far away to Egypt.

Ever since, there has been a spell upon the village; something evil hangs over it.

They say that the Roman soldiers are coming from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and the men have driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills, and hidden themselves to escape it."

Artaban listened to her gentle, timid speech, and the child in her arms looked up in his face and smiled, stretching out its rosy hands to grasp at the winged circle of gold on his breast.

His heart warmed to the touch.

It seemed like a greeting of love and trust to one who had journeyed long in loneliness and perplexity, fighting with his own doubts and fears, and following a light that was veiled in clouds.

"Might not this child have been the promised Prince?"

he asked within himself, as he touched its soft cheek.

"Kings have been born ere now in lowlier houses than this, and the favourite of the stars may rise even from a cottage.

But it has not seemed good to the God of wisdom to reward my search so soon and so easily.

The one whom I seek has gone before me; and now I must follow the King to Egypt."

The young mother laid the babe in its cradle, and rose to minister to the wants of the strange guest that fate had brought into her house.

She set food before him, the plain fare of peasants, but willingly offered, and therefore full of refreshment for the soul as well as for the body.

Artaban accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child fell into a happy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a great peace filled the quiet room.

But suddenly there came the noise of a wild confusion and uproar in the streets of the village, a shrieking and wailing of women's voices, a clangor of brazen trumpets and a clashing of swords, and a desperate cry: "The soldiers!

the soldiers of Herod!

They are killing our children."

The young mother's face grew white with terror.

She clasped her child to her bosom, and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the room, covering him with the folds of her robe, lest he should wake and cry.

But Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house.

His broad shoulders filled the portal from side to side, and the peak of his white cap all but touched the lintel.

[Illustration: "THERE IS NONE HERE SAVE ME"] The soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and dripping swords.

At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress they hesitated with surprise.

The captain of the band approached the threshold to thrust him aside.

But Artaban did not stir.

His face was as calm as though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned that steady radiance before which even the half-tamed hunting leopard shrinks, and the fierce bloodhound pauses in his leap.

He held the soldier silently for an instant, and then said in a low voice: "There is no one in this place but me, and I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace."

He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a great drop of blood.

The captain was amazed at the splendour of the gem.

The pupils of his eyes expanded with desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around his lips.

He stretched out his hand and took the ruby.

"March on!"

he cried to his men, "there is no child here.

The house is still."

The clamour and the clang of arms passed down the street as the headlong fury of the chase sweeps by the secret covert where the trembling deer is hidden.

Artaban re-entered the cottage.

He turned his face to the east and prayed: "God of truth, forgive my sin!

I have said the thing that is not, to save the life of a child.

And two of my gifts are gone.

I have spent for man that which was meant for God.

Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of the King?"

But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadow behind him, said very gently: "Because thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."

IN THE HIDDEN WAY OF SORROW

Then again there was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, deeper and more mysterious than the first interval, and I understood that the years of Artaban were flowing very swiftly under the stillness of that clinging fog, and I caught only a glimpse, here and there, of the river of his life shining through the shadows that concealed its course.

I saw him moving among the throngs of men in populous Egypt, seeking everywhere for traces of the household that had come down from Bethlehem, and finding them under the spreading sycamore-trees of Heliopolis, and beneath the walls of the Roman fortress of New Babylon beside the Nile--traces so faint and dim that they vanished before him continually, as footprints on the hard river-sand glisten for a moment with moisture and then disappear.

I saw him again at the foot of the pyramids, which lifted their sharp points into the intense saffron glow of the sunset sky, changeless monuments of the perishable glory and the imperishable hope of man.

He looked up into the vast countenance of the crouching Sphinx and vainly tried to read the meaning of her calm eyes and smiling mouth.

Was it, indeed, the mockery of all effort and all aspiration, as Tigranes had said--the cruel jest of a riddle that has no answer, a search that never can succeed?

Or was there a touch of pity and encouragement in that inscrutable smile--a promise that even the defeated should attain a victory, and the disappointed should discover a prize, and the ignorant should be made wise, and the blind should see, and the wandering should come into the haven at last?

I saw him again in an obscure house of Alexandria, taking counsel with a Hebrew rabbi.

The venerable man, bending over the rolls of parchment on which the prophecies of Israel were written, read aloud the pathetic words which foretold the sufferings of the promised Messiah--the despised and rejected of men, the man of sorrows and the acquaintance of grief.

"And remember, my son," said he, fixing his deep-set eyes upon the face of Artaban, "the King whom you are seeking is not to be found in a palace, nor among the rich and powerful.

If the light of the world and the glory of Israel had been appointed to come with the greatness of earthly splendour, it must have appeared long ago.

For no son of Abraham will ever again rival the power which Joseph had in the palaces of Egypt, or the magnificence of Solomon throned between the lions in Jerusalem.

But the light for which the world is waiting is a new light, the glory that shall rise out of patient and triumphant suffering.

And the kingdom which is to be established forever is a new kingdom, the royalty of perfect and unconquerable love.

I do not know how this shall come to pass, nor how the turbulent kings and peoples of earth shall be brought to acknowledge the Messiah and pay homage to him.

But this I know.

Those who seek Him will do well to look among the poor and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed."

[Illustration: "HE HEALED THE SICK"] So I saw the other wise man again and again, travelling from place to place, and searching among the people of the dispersion, with whom the little family from Bethlehem might, perhaps, have found a refuge.

He passed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land, and the poor were crying for bread.

He made his dwelling in plague-stricken cities where the sick were languishing in the bitter companionship of helpless misery.

He visited the oppressed and the afflicted in the gloom of subterranean prisons, and the crowded wretchedness of slave-markets, and the weary toil of galley-ships.

In all this populous and intricate world of anguish, though he found none to worship, he found many to help.

He fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and healed the sick, and comforted the captive; and his years went by more swiftly than the weaver's shuttle that flashes back and forth through the loom while the web grows and the invisible pattern is completed.

It seemed almost as if he had forgotten his quest.

But once I saw him for a moment as he stood alone at sunrise, waiting at the gate of a Roman prison.

He had taken from a secret resting-place in his bosom the pearl, the last of his jewels.

As he looked at it, a mellower lustre, a soft and iridescent light, full of shifting gleams of azure and rose, trembled upon its surface.

It seemed to have absorbed some reflection of the colours of the lost sapphire and ruby.

So the profound, secret purpose of a noble life draws into itself the memories of past joy and past sorrow.

All that has helped it, all that has hindered it, is transfused by a subtle magic into its very essence.

It becomes more luminous and precious the longer it is carried close to the warmth of the beating heart.

Then, at last, while I was thinking of this pearl, and of its meaning, I heard the end of the story of the other wise man.

A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

Three-and-thirty years of the life of Artaban had passed away, and he was still a pilgrim and a seeker after light.

His hair, once darker than the cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that covered them.

His eyes, that once flashed like flames of fire, were dull as embers smouldering among the ashes.

Worn and weary and ready to die, but still looking for the King, he had come for the last time to Jerusalem.

He had often visited the holy city before, and had searched through all its lanes and crowded hovels and black prisons without finding any trace of the family of Nazarenes who had fled from Bethlehem long ago.

But now it seemed as if he must make one more effort, and something whispered in his heart that, at last, he might succeed.

It was the season of the Passover.

The city was thronged with strangers.

The children of Israel, scattered in far lands all over the world, had returned to the Temple for the great feast, and there had been a confusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many days.

But on this day there was a singular agitation visible in the multitude.

The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom, and currents of excitement seemed to flash through the crowd like the thrill which shakes the forest on the eve of a storm.

A secret tide was sweeping them all one way.

The clatter of sandals, and the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along the street that leads to the Damascus gate.

Artaban joined company with a group of people from his own country, Parthian Jews who had come up to keep the Passover, and inquired of them the cause of the tumult, and where they were going.

"We are going," they answered, "to the place called Golgotha, outside the city walls, where there is to be an execution.

Have you not heard what has happened?

Two famous robbers are to be crucified, and with them another, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works among the people, so that they love him greatly.

But the priests and elders have said that he must die, because he gave himself out to be the Son of God.

And Pilate has sent him to the cross because he said that he was the 'King of the Jews.'

" How strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired heart of Artaban!

They had led him for a lifetime over land and sea.

And now they came to him darkly and mysteriously like a message of despair.

The King had arisen, but he had been denied and cast out.

He was about to perish.

Perhaps he was already dying.

Could it be the same who had been born in Bethlehem, thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had appeared in heaven, and of whose coming the prophets had spoken?

Artaban's heart beat unsteadily with that troubled, doubtful apprehension which is the excitement of old age.

But he said within himself, "The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts of men, and it may be that I shall find the King, at last, in the hands of His enemies, and shall come in time to offer my pearl for His ransom before He dies."

So the old man followed the multitude with slow and painful steps towards the Damascus gate of the city.

Just beyond the entrance of the guard-house a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl with torn dress and dishevelled hair.

As the Magian paused to look at her with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of her tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him around the knees.

She had seen his white cap and the winged circle on his breast.

[Illustration: "THE OLD MAN FOLLOWED THE MULTITUDE"] "Have pity on me," she cried, "and save me, for the sake of the God of Purity!

I also am a daughter of the true religion which is taught by the Magi.

My father was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am seized for his debts to be sold as a slave.

Save me from worse than death!"

Artaban trembled.

It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the palm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage at Bethlehem--the conflict between the expectation of faith and the impulse of love.

Twice the gift which he had consecrated to the worship of religion had been drawn from his hand to the service of humanity.

This was the third trial, the ultimate probation, the final and irrevocable choice.

Was it his great opportunity, or his last temptation?

He could not tell.

One thing only was clear in the darkness of his mind--it was inevitable.

And does not the inevitable come from God?

One thing only was sure to his divided heart--to rescue this helpless girl would be a true deed of love.

And is not love the light of the soul?

He took the pearl from his bosom.

Never had it seemed so luminous, so radiant, so full of tender, living lustre.

He laid it in the hand of the slave.

"This is thy ransom, daughter!

It is the last of my treasures which I kept for the King."

While he spoke the darkness of the sky thickened, and shuddering tremors ran through the earth, heaving convulsively like the breast of one who struggles with mighty grief.

The walls of the houses rocked to and fro.

Stones were loosened and crashed into the street.

Dust clouds filled the air.

The soldiers fled in terror, reeling like drunken men.

But Artaban and the girl whom he had ransomed crouched helpless beneath the wall of the Praetorium.

What had he to fear?

What had he to live for?

He had given away the last remnant of his tribute for the King.

He had parted with the last hope of finding Him.

The quest was over, and it had failed.

But, even in that thought, accepted and embraced, there was peace.

It was not resignation.

It was not submission.

It was something more profound and searching.

He knew that all was well, because he had done the best that he could, from day to day.

He had been true to the light that had been given to him.

He had looked for more.

And if he had not found it, if a failure was all that came out of his life, doubtless that was the best that was possible.

He had not seen the revelation of "life everlasting, incorruptible and immortal."

But he knew that even if he could live his earthly life over again, it could not be otherwise than it had been.

One more lingering pulsation of the earthquake quivered through the ground.

A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man on the temple.

He lay breathless and pale, with his gray head resting on the young girl's shoulder, and the blood trickling from the wound.

As she bent over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice through the twilight, very small and still, like music sounding from a distance, in which the notes are clear but the words are lost.

The girl turned to see if some one had spoken from the window above them, but she saw no one.

Then the old man's lips began to move, as if in answer, and she heard him say in the Parthian tongue: "Not so, my Lord!

For when saw I thee an hungered, and fed thee?

Or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee in?

Or naked, and clothed thee?

When saw I thee sick or in prison, and came unto thee?

Three-and-thirty years have I looked for thee; but I have never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King."

He ceased, and the sweet voice came again.

And again the maid heard it, very faintly and far away.

But now it seemed as though she understood the words: "_Verily I say unto thee, inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me_."

[Illustration: "THE OTHER WISE MAN HAD FOUND THE KING"] A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban like the first ray of dawn on a snowy mountain-peak.

One long, last breath of relief exhaled gently from his lips.

His journey was ended.

His treasures were accepted.

The other Wise Man had found the King.

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