7. CHAPTER VII.
TYPICAL CHARACTERS AT THE JOPPA GATE.
LET us take our stand by the gate, just out of the edge of the
currents-one flowing in, the other out-and use our eyes and ears
awhile.
In good time! Here come two men of a most noteworthy class.
"Gods! How cold it is!" says one of them, a powerful figure in
armour; on his head a brazen helmet, on his body a shining breastplate
and skirts of mail. "How cold it is! Dost thou remember, my Caius,
that vault in the Comitium at home which the flamens say is the
entrance to the lower world? By Pluto, I could stand there this
morning long enough at least to get warm again!"
The party addressed drops the hood of his military cloak, leaving
bare his head and face, and replies, with an ironic smile, "The
helmets of the legions which conquered Mark Antony were full of Gallic
snow; but thou-ah, my poor friend!-thou has just come from Egypt,
bringing its summer in thy blood."
And with the last word they disappear through the entrance. Though
they had been silent, the armour and the sturdy step would have
published them Roman soldiers.
From the throng a Jew comes next, meagre of frame, round-shouldered,
and wearing a coarse brown robe; over his eyes and face, and down
his back, hangs a mat of long, uncombed hair. He is alone. Those who
meet him laugh, if they do not worse; for he is a Nazarite, one of a
despised sect which rejects the books of Moses, devotes itself to
abhorred vows, and goes unshorn while the vows endure.
As we watch his retiring figure, suddenly there is a commotion in
the crowd, a parting quickly to the right and left, with
exclamations sharp and decisive. Then the cause comes-a man, Hebrew
in feature and dress. The mantle of snow-white linen, held to his head
by cords of yellow silk, flows free over his shoulders; his robe is
richly embroidered; a red sash with fringes of gold wraps his waist
several times. His demeanour is calm; he even smiles upon those who,
with such rude haste, make room for him. A leper? No; he is only a
Samaritan. The shrinking crowd, if asked, would say he is a mongrel-an Assyrian-whose touch of the robe is pollution; from whom,
consequently, an Israelite, though dying, might not accept life. In
fact, the feud is not of blood. When David set his throne here on
Mount Zion, with only Judah to support him, the ten tribes betook
themselves to Shechem, a city much older, and, at that date,
infinitely richer in holy memories. The final union of the tribes
did not settle the dispute thus begun. The Samaritans clung to their
tabernacle on Gerizim, and, while maintaining its superior sanctity,
laughed at the irate doctors in Jerusalem. Time brought no assuagement
of the hate. Under Herod, conversion to the faith was open to all
the world except the Samaritans; they alone were absolutely and
forever shut out from communion with Jews.
As the Samaritan goes in under the arch of the gate, out come
three men so unlike all whom we have yet seen that they fix our
gaze, whether we will or not. They are of unusual stature and
immense brawn; their eyes are blue, and so fair is their complexion
that the blood shines through the skin like blue pencilling; their
hair is light and short; their heads, small and round, rest squarely
upon necks columnar as the trunks of trees. Woollen tunics, open at
the breast, sleeveless and loosely girt, drape their bodies, leaving
bare arms and legs of such development that they at once suggest the
arena; and when thereto we add their careless, confident, insolent
manner, we cease to wonder that the people give them way, and stop
after they have passed to look at them again. They are gladiators-wrestlers, runners, boxers, swordsmen; professionals unknown in
Judea before the coming of the Roman; fellows who, what time they
are not in training, may be seen strolling through the king's
gardens or sitting with the guards at the palace gates; or possibly
they are visitors from Caesarea, Sebaste, or Jericho; in which
Herod, more Greek than Jew, and with all a Roman's love of games and
bloody spectacles, has built vast theatres, and now keeps schools of
fighting-men, drawn, as is the custom, from the Gallic provinces, or
the Slavic tribes on the Danube.
"By Bacchus!" says one of them, drawing his clenched hand to his
shoulder, "their skulls are not thicker than egg-shells."
The brutal look which goes with the gesture disgusts us, and we turn
happily to something more pleasant.
Opposite us is a fruit-stand. The proprietor has a bald head, a long
face, and a nose like the beak of a hawk. He sits upon a carpet spread
upon the dust; the wall is at his back; overhead hangs a scant
curtain; around him, within hand's reach and arranged upon little
stools, lie osier boxes full of almonds, grapes, figs, and
pomegranates. To him now comes one at whom we cannot help looking,
though for another reason than that which fixed our eyes upon the
gladiators: he is really beautiful-a beautiful Greek. Around his
temples, holding the waving hair, is a crown of myrtle, to which still
cling the pale flowers and half-ripe berries. His tunic, scarlet in
colour, is of the softest woollen fabric; below the girdle of buff
leather, which is clasped in front by a fantastic device of shining
gold, the skirt drops to the knee in folds heavy with embroidery of
the same royal metal; a scarf, also woollen, and of mixed white and
yellow, crosses his throat and falls trailing at his back; his arms
and legs, where exposed, are white as ivory, and of the polish
impossible except by perfect treatment with bath, oil, brushes, and
pincers.
The dealer, keeping his seat, bends forward, and throws his hands up
until they meet in front of him, palm downwards and fingers extended.
"What hast thou, this morning, O son of Paphos?" says the young
Greek, looking at the boxes rather than at the Cypriote. "I am hungry.
What hast thou for breakfast?"
"Fruits from the Pedius-genuine-such as the singers of Antioch
take of mornings to restore the waste of their voices," the dealer
answers, in a querulous nasal tone.
"A fig, but not one of thy best, for the singers of Antioch!" says
the Greek. "Thou art a worshipper of Aphrodite, and so am I, as the
myrtle I wear proves; therefore I tell thee their voices have the
chill of a Caspian wind. Seest thou this girdle?-a gift of the mighty
Salome-"
"The king's sister!" exclaims the Cypriote, with another salaam.
"And of royal taste and divine judgment. And why not? She is more
Greek than the king. But-my breakfast! Here is thy money-red coppers
of Cyprus. Give me grapes, and-"
"Wilt thou not take the dates also?"
"No, I am not an Arab."
"Nor figs?"
"That would make me a Jew. No, nothing but the grapes. Never
waters mixed so sweetly as the blood of the Greek and the blood of the
grape."
The singer in the grimed and seething market, with all his airs of
the court, is a vision not easily shut out of mind by such as see him;
as if for the purpose, however, a person follows him challenging all
our wonder. He comes up the road slowly, his face towards the
ground; at intervals he stops, crosses his hands upon his breast,
lengthens his countenance, and turns his eyes towards heaven, as if
about to break into prayer. Nowhere, except in Jerusalem, can such a
character be found. On his forehead, attached to the band which
keeps the mantle in place, projects a leathern case, square in form;
another similar case is tied by a thong to the left arm; the borders
of his robe are decorated with deep fringe; and by such signs-the
phylacteries, the enlarged borders of the garment, and the savour of
intense holiness pervading the whole man-we know him to be a
Pharisee, one of an organization (in religion a sect, in politics a
party) whose bigotry and power will shortly bring the world to grief.
The densest of the throng outside the gate covers the road leading
off to Joppa. Turning from the Pharisee, we are attracted by some
parties who, as subjects of study, opportunely separate themselves
from the motley crowd. First among them a man of very noble
appearance-clear, healthful complexion; bright black eyes; beard long
and flowing, and rich with unguents; apparel well-fitting, costly, and
suitable for the season. He carries a staff, and wears, suspended by a
cord from his neck, a large golden seal. Several servants attend
him, some of them with short swords stuck through their sashes; when
they address him, it is with the utmost deference. The rest of the
party consists of two Arabs of the pure desert stock; thin, wiry
men, deeply bronzed, and with hollow cheeks, and eyes of almost evil
brightness; on their heads red tarbooshes; over their abas, and
wrapping the left shoulder and the body so as to leave the right arm
free, brown woollen haicks, or blankets. There is loud chaffering; for
the Arabs are leading horses and trying to sell them; and, in their
eagerness, they speak in high, shrill voices. The courtly person
leaves the talking mostly to his servants; occasionally he answers
with much dignity; directly, seeing the Cypriote, he stops and buys
some figs. And when the whole party has passed the portal, close after
the Pharisee, if we betake ourselves to the dealer in fruits, he
will tell, with a wonderful salaam, that the stranger is a Jew, one of
the princes of the city, who has travelled, and learned the difference
between the common grapes of Syria and those of Cyprus, so
surpassingly rich with the dews of the sea.
And so, till towards noon, sometimes later, the steady currents of
business habitually flow in and out of the Joppa Gate, carrying with
them every variety of character; including representatives of all
the tribes of Israel, all the sects among whom the ancient faith has
been parcelled and refined away, all the religious and social
divisions, all the adventurous rabble who, as children of art and
ministers of pleasure, riot in the prodigalities of Herod, and all the
peoples of note at any time compassed by the Caesars and their
predecessors, especially those dwelling within the circuit of the
Mediterranean.
In other words, Jerusalem, rich in sacred history, richer in
connection with sacred prophecies-the Jerusalem of Solomon, in
which silver was as stones, and cedars as the sycamores of the vale-had come to be but a copy of Rome, a centre of unholy practices, a
seat of pagan power. A Jewish king one day put on priestly garments,
and went into the Holy of Holies of the first temple to offer incense,
and he came out a leper; but in the time of which we are reading,
Pompey entered Herod's temple and the same Holy of Holies, and came
out without harm, finding but an empty chamber, and of God not a sign.