 | XVI. Julian, or Scenes in Judea |  |
16. XVI.
The day following that on which I last
wrote, I sought the streets of Beth-Harem,
both that I might learn what more there was
to be known concerning Jesus, and that I might
visit again the leper and his daughter, whom I
had seen before my journey to Machærus, but
whom since that period I had committed to the
care of Judith. Of their welfare she has often
assured me; for though she herself, partaking
of the common feelings of the people concerning
the disease, has seen them but once, yet
has she bestowed upon them many gifts and
kindnesses through her servants.
It was not difficult to perceive on the way to
the city, but especially in the streets whichever
way one turned, that some events had
occurred, by which the minds of the people
were much disturbed. They were everywhere
gathered together conversing with earnestness,
and either inquiring for news or imparting it.
At the market place I found not only those,
who are accustomed to pass there the greater
how to rid themselves of, but many others
of the chief persons of the city and neighboring
country. John and Jesus were the names upon
the lips of all. I approached one who sold
fruits, with whom several were conversing.
As I tasted his grapes, some of which I desired
to purchase for the leper and his daughter,
and listened to those who were talking, the
countryman addressed me, saying, “what think
you, Sir; shall we hear anything more of this
Jesus of Bethabara?”
I said that I could have no opinion worth repeating,
as I had heard so little; nor indeed
could any, as so little had been seen or was
known of him.
“Not much, in truth,” he replied, “is known
of Jesus; but of John much is known, and he
has borne his testimony to Jesus; and if any
one should be believed, surely it is John, whom
all who know, know to be honest.”
I said I had never heard John nor seen him;
but the reports, that had been brought to me,
were in his favor. But how should he know
anything of Jesus?”
“How,” said one who stood by, “should a
prophet know anything, but by the power of
God?”
“But how,” I asked, willing to know their
he has wrought no miracle that I have heard.”
“That is very true,” replied the countryman,
“but did he not constantly prophesy of the coming
of one after him, whom the people knew
nothing of, but who would one day reveal himself;
and has he not now come? He is surely
shown to be a prophet, for his prophecy has
come to pass.”
“If, as you judge, he prophesied the coming
of the Messiah,” I replied, “is it not too early
to say that the prophecy is fulfilled? since we
know not as yet, that Jesus is he, and surely
the manner of his appearing makes not much
for him.”
“I do not know,” replied the other, “why
we should look for everything at once. He
indeed appears as other men, so we are told,
but what say you to the voice, and the heavens
opened? Are not these somewhat?”
“If those things,” I answered, “indeed happened
as has been related, they do truly declare
that God is with Jesus or John, whichever was
pointed out by the voice, but surely they make
neither to be the Messiah.”
“That, indeed, is true as you say,” rejoined
the other, “but then to one who is ready to
believe, it makes it so likely, that it seems to be
almost or quite enough of itself.”
“Ah! you foolish people,” cried Zadok's
voice from behind me, “stand ready to believe
everything. If one were to hearken to you,
Christ comes every day. For no sooner doth a
man look or speak differently from others, than
behold you cry out, Here is Christ! Verily
ye will yet be the cause, that the Romans will
suck us dry as the Jordan in the month Ab,
and grind us to powder, fine as dust of Arabia.
It is a pity that for the sake of Judea your
mouth could not be stopped and your hands
tied.”
“That they would be, I am sure,” rejoined
the other nothing daunted, “if you scribes had
the power you wish you had. But happily you
have it not. Had you dared, John had long
ago been put out of the way; but while the
people are for him, it is more than you dare
attempt, even with Herod on your side.”
“Whether we dare or not,” cried Zadok,
already inflamed with passion, “you shall see
betimes. John's days, mark me, my young rustic,
John's days are already numbered! and so
would I say are those of Jesus, but that he has
already betaken himself back again to his master.
What can you look for from such as these?
Idiots, fools, asses, that ye all are.” And he
turned away in a rage.
“There 's a Pharisee, for you! There 's a
Law for you,” cried the countryman. “It is
much more likely such as he, thick enough
here, but thicker yet as we hear in Jerusalem,
will themselves bring the country to nought.
If Christ came in the very form of God, would
they not believe him, if in their conceit he
ought not so to have come. Though the heart
were soft as a ripe fig, it were better than to be
as hard as a mill-stone. — These, Sir, not those,
are my best grapes. Try these. — But we
spoke just now of John. I have seen him and
heard him many a time in the villages just
above here, and to see him and to hear him is
to believe him trustworthy. The marks of
honesty are in his face and voice.”
“But,” said I, “so strange in his appearance,
that many scruple not to say that he is possessed.”
“It is said,” rejoined the other, “by those
who wish him ill. He is but like other country
folks — save in his wisdom which is that of a
Prophet. They will say some just such thing
of Jesus, I warrant you, should he prove what
we hope. But they will truly both fare ill, if
Zadok and such as he become inflamed against
them. They say already, that he has done
much to set Herod against John, reporting carefully
whatever he says against either him, or
cannot prevail. God will coufound them.”
“All the Pharisees,” I said, “are not like
Zadok.”
“Most are,” interrupted the other.
“It may be so,” I answered, “for I am but
lately come into Judea; but all are not like
him. Onias, whom doubtless thou knowest is
willing to wait and see. Shammai” —
“Shammai,” responded the other, “is a Sadducee.”
“I do not think so,” I answered, “though
many so report him.”
“It matters little what he is,” replied the
seller of fruit, whether Sadducee or Pharisee,
he is something better than either, a good and
a just and a kind-hearted man. He would let
every man have his way, provided he would
injure no one. But for these others, if you so
much as choke a little at swallowing down
whole all they swallow with throats they have
spent their lives in stretching, you are out of
the synagogue, or up before the council ere your
eye can wink.”
I would willingly have talked longer with
this man, but that purchasers, happily for him,
thickened about him, so that I was compelled
to turn away. In all parts of the Market Place
and in the neighborhood of the synagogue from
us — had been present at the morning prayers,
I found the same topics in the mouths of all.
None, so far as I could learn, save a few violent
as Zadok, were disposed to deny the reality of
the voice and the heavenly light at the Baptism
of Jesus; and few, putting together with
that, what was now generally received, that
Jesus is the same whose birth was marked by
the like prodigies many years ago, hesitate to believe
that he is indeed the promised and expected
Deliverer. Many are so wrought upon, that
language does not suffice to convey their confident
belief, but they give expression to it
by loud and passionate cries, by gestures, and
by a countenance which in every feature utters
the sentiments of the heart. The children in
the streets have also caught the joy from the
elders, and cry out in their shrill voices, “Christ
is come! Christ is come!” His concealment
since the baptism they explain some one way
and some another, but it hinders not the current
of their joy. They doubt not he will soon reappear
and show himself more fully. The
news having been carried already not only into
all the country round about Bethabara and the
Jordan, but even to Jerusalem, great numbers
have flocked together to learn the tidings in the
very neighborhood of the places, that have become
many may be met, who have seen or
conversed at least with some who were present
at the baptism, and witnessed the wonder.
Every eye seemed to glisten with joy, every
mouth was full and overflowing with words of
congratulation and hope. “Christ is come!
Christ is come!” fell upon the ear at every
turn.
As I parted from these crowds and was passing
by the great gates of the citadel, I encountered
Saturninus. Saluting each other, at his
invitation I entered his quarters. As the gates
unfolded and I passed beneath the arched way,
leading to the inner square, the clash of arms
fell upon my ear, and the voices of those who
issued commands.
“It is but the soldiers at their exercise,” said
the Centurion, “a sight and sounds that must
be familiar to you as a Roman.”
I said that “often, even from my youth, had I
taken delight in witnessing at the Prætorian
Camp the exercises of the soldiers, and then
used to lament that nature had made me not a
Roman, but a Jew, whereby I was shut out
from what seemed to me the chief avenue to
glory.”
“Thy birth did not hinder thee from serving,”
— said Saturninus. “The camp opens
its arms to all who will swear fealty to Rome.”
“That,” I answered, “neither my mother —
nor in truth, my father, would suffer me to do;
and when early youth was past — that, I would
not do myself. I loved Rome and Roman ways,
but still I remembered I was a Jew. Now I
think every way differently. — But for thyself,
Saturninus, having so many times rioted in the
field of battle, this must be a wearisome task,
set here in the heart of Asia to watch mutinous
Jews. Time must move with leaden wings.”
“Many things prevent that,” he replied. “I
no longer love war for its own sake, as I am
obliged to say I once did. I willingly greet the
quietness and repose I find here. And to speak
the honest truth I love your people. Of late
years I have studied philosophy more than the
science and art of war; I oftener when liberty
is mine take up a book, than the sword; I converse
with those who give proof that they
have souls and desires, rather than with those
who only seem as if they were a clod of
earth, a little more animated than what lies
wholly dead, and the ploughshare turns over.
I find among this people curious subjects of
inquiry, singular specimens of our race, and a
deeper love of thoughts which go beyond the
confines of the senses, higher or deeper, than
among any other I have known. Especially
have I been instructed by reading your sacred
altogether, or almost, of both the great God and
of man his creature. So that with such tastes,
and inclinations, Julian, thou seest I am not
likely to pass the time heavily. Beside these
things I need not to thee speak of the house of
Onias.”
“Thou needest not. The sun ever shines in
the dwelling of Onias. And to dwell in sunlight
is all we can ask. — But say, how long
doth Pilate continue your guard in Beth-Harem?
Is he still apprehensive that the Jew Julian will
raise new disturbances?”
Saturninus laughed. “It is little, I believe,
that he fears,” said he, “either from thee or
Onias. But I need not, or ought not to say,
why he occupies Beth-Harem.”
“Let me,” I said, “draw no secret from an
enemy.”
“Whatever brought me here however,” resumed
the Centurion, “there seems of late to be
growing up reasons enough for my remaining;
and so, I suppose, must I report to Pilate.”
“And what are these new reasons?” I asked,
“if they be not also of a secret nature.”
“Oh no;” he answered, “these I may communicate.
They have existed but for a few
days. — It seems from all I can learn that some
long-expected person, whom they call Christ,
whom great actions are looked for, such as the
rescue of Judea from Rome, and the like. So
I hear at least on every side. Ominous and
threatening words are thrown out as I pass along,
or as the people look on the soldiers at their exercises.
The young urchins, who are thickest
about our tents, have caught the song and cry
out, `Take care, Romans, Christ is come.'
`Now for Israel, down with the Romans.'
What the true sense is I know not. I take no
other note of it than to hear the words, and
ponder them.”
I only said in reply, that I knew well whereof
he spoke, but that truth in the matter was
difficult of access on account of the contradictory
nature of the rumors which were abroad, as
well as many groundless superstitions cherished
by the lower orders of the people.
Saturninus now led me from where we had
sat into the midst of the soldiers whom I beheld,
some shooting with the arrow at a mark,
others throwing the lance, others attacking and
defending with shield and sword, and others
exercising with the gloves of the gladiator, so
bringing into the most complete and violent
action every part of the body. When I had
sufficiently surveyed these, and had enjoyed
further conversation with the centurion, I left
of the leper.
I soon reached the place, which seemed to
me even more desolate and wretched than when
I first saw it. It had the appearance of the
ruins of extensive prisons, which had been
destroyed by assault or by fire; the remains
of which were permitted to stand as they had
been left by the fiery element or by war, serving
as a shelter for domestic animals of every
kind, from the occasional violence of the weather,
and in its better apartments, as a home for
some poor outcasts, such as the leper and his
daughter. As I stood at the entrance a moment,
considering the hard fate of those who
were compelled to seek the protection of so
gloomy and comfortless a dwelling, one joined
me, who seemed from his wretched garments
and neglected aspect, as if he too was of its
inhabitants. He bore the marks of extreme
poverty, but not of the misery that commonly
accompanies it; nor was he afflicted by disease,
unless that may be called disease which follows
the use of such drinks as cause drunkenness,
and leaves its marks in the eye, and on the
skin. But save this he was of a cheerful look,
and seemed from his gait and manner as if he
were rather a prince, or a princely merchant,
than a beggar. He saluted me with great
he said, “that I was a stranger to this
part of Beth-Harem, he would give me such
information as I appeared to be ignorant of concerning
the ruins.”
I said that I was truly a stranger and should
value all he could tell me.
He then went on to relate the fortunes of
the building from its origin, down to the wars
of Antiochus and the Maccabees, when it was
destroyed by the soldiers of the king, and from
that time had been suffered to stand as we now
beheld it; and so strongly had it been built at
first, that the elements passed over it without
removing so much as a stone. “It now,” he
ended with saying, “has become the happy
residence of some such as himself raised by
fortune above the wants of life.”
I said that on the contrary he seemed to me
to be a person subject to some of its sharpest
wants.
“The eye,” said he, “is a great deceiver; it
sees not far. There are those who seem as Princes
in Beth-Harem, who are nevertheless slaves;
and those who shine in gold who are beggars,
while I am free of all men, and have, seeming
to possess nothing, more than I can use. Having
no possessions and few wants or none, I
have no cares. The day is mine from the first
the demand of any upon either my time or my
labor. In truth I know not labor, and of time
I take no account, but as it brings about the
seasons of eating, drinking, and sleeping. Who
then in Beth-Harem so happy as I? I have
but to speak a word, and my wants, such as they
are, are supplied. God watcheth over the earth,
and the people of Beth-Harem over me.”
“Yet your dwelling is miserable,” said I,
“and your garments are but filthy rags; a little
labor would provide better things than
these.”
“My garments,” he replied, “are indeed but
rags; but then they cover me, and they cost
me no care. Why should I be anxious for
more? And for my dwelling, come and see
it.”
I said that I would trust to his word. I had
come to see the leper and his daughter. I would
now enter and seek for them.
“Ah,” said he, “you speak of the merchant
of Tyre; he is not now in his apartment. He
is abroad enjoying the city. He will return at
the sixth hour. Meanwhile come and see how
the better sort of the inhabitants of Beth-Harem
dwell.”
So saying he led the way into the buildings,
I following. He passed through dark and ruined
out of which, as their den, half-famished
dogs fled howling at our approach. Into
these arched ways and rooms light sometimes
came through the broken roof, or narrow chinks
in the walls defended and half obscured by
bars of iron. We soon stopped at the door of
a room, like others we had passed through, and
then entered.
“This,” said my guide, “is my home. This
straw is my bed, and, as you see, it is all I
have. I need no more. The High-Priest at
Jerusalem tastes not such sleep as I. The
world is troubled about Pilate and Herod, Jesus
and John; but it all passes by me as the air
which I cannot hear or see.”
As he spoke, I heard not far from us the
clank of chains, and the voice, low and wailing,
as of one who sang, or wept and complained.
I asked its meaning. He said it is one
who is beside himself, and held in bondage for
both his own and others' safety. Let us go to
him. Devils possess him wholly.”
We went in the direction of the sound.
We found the room of the possessed person
much like the others I had seen, of solid stone,
dropping with moisture. A little light streamed
in from a small opening, and fell upon the spot
where he sat. It showed him to us bound hand
which he leaned. He was naked, but as if
revisited suddenly by a dim recollection of former
days, he drew together the straw about
him as he beheld us approaching, and held
down his head. The long matted hair fell
over it, and wholly concealed him from our
view. Presently he raised his head by stealth
and gazed upon us, and then spoke in a low
tone and as if afraid, saying, “who are you and
why do you come here?”
“That,” said my companion, “was himself
that spoke; so his own voice ever is, low and
sorrowful.”
“If you can help me,” said the possessed
again, “help me now, quick, while the keepers
are gone. They will be back anon, and
then you can do nothing. Wonderful it is,
how you stand still, your hands playing with
your robe, and help me not! why do you who
are a Jew wear a Roman dress? but come,
hasten and set me free. Do I not tell you my
masters will soon be back — oh fools and satans
— they are coming — I hear them” — saying
which he trembled and sunk his head again
upon his bosom clasping over it his chained
hands.
In a moment more, and his hands fell from
over his head, he looked fiercely up as if he
voice became shrill and wild, as he laughed
loud and said,
“Art thou Uzzi? Canst thou do more than
Pharez? never believe it. Thou canst never
drive us out. Here we are and here we mean
to dwell; it is a good dwelling and we will
not leave it. Pharez has tried all his art, but
thou seest we are yet here — we are three, he
is one. Our master too is on our side; what
canst thou do? Let us alone and begone.”
“Nay, nay,” said he after a long pause, in his
other voice, and as if afraid of being overheard,
“do not go, stay awhile, and they will all be
gone, and then you can help me; and for all you
do for me I can enrich you more than your
hearts can conceive, for — I tell it to you as a
secret — I know where all the treasures of
Solomon are hid, and you shall share them. In
truth,” he whispered, “I am his son.”
“We cannot help you,” said my companion,
“neither can Pharez or Uzzi, but Christ you know
is come, and it will be his business to overthrow
the kingdom of devils; he will drive them
out.”
“Christ! Christ!” shrieked the possessed,
“he is not come; and if he were we fear him
not. Our master is as strong as he. This body
is our house, and neither John nor Jesus can
as we will” — “Ah help me now,” cried the
miserable man, in his low and alarmed tones,
“they are about to torment me. Now they
thrust their fangs into my vitals and tear
them.” Saying this he cried out as if in
torment, his body was convulsed throughout,
and he fell down among his chains and straw
as one dead.
“Now he is at his ease,” said my conductor,
“therefore let us leave him. He will lie so for
many hours, as if he were indeed dead, save
that his limbs continue thus wrenched and
awry, and that his mouth foams. But when he
awakes he evermore avers that he hath only
slept. So that we are much alike, he and I.
He eats, drinks, and sleeps, and so do I. We
differ but in this, that his food is brought to him,
while I must needs seek mine over Beth-Harem.
We are alike in life; and death is the same to
all. — Now I hear the merchant in his apartment.
Let us seek him.”
I found the merchant, as my new companion
chose to call him, in the same place as before,
but made a greatly more comfortable residence
by the kind offices of Judith. The leper and
his daughter were rejoiced to see me again, and
were loud in their expression of thanks for
what through me had been bestowed upon
them.
“My little Ruth,” said the leper, “has not
ceased to speak your praises and those of the
good daughter of Onias. The poor child will
never hear her own praises, I fear, save from
me alone.” Ruth seemed troubled that her
father had spoken thus, and turned away her
face. I said that, “they who were conscious
of doing what God enjoins can spare the praises
of man.”
The girl looked again towards me, and expressed
pleasure in her beaming eyes.
I then said to the leper that I had, on my late
journey to Machærus, seen those whom I supposed
to be his brother and his family, and gave
an account of what had happened.
He said, he supposed that I “had indeed seen
them, for the place agreed with what he had
been told. But for him, alas! but for him my
Ruth would have been as a princess of Tyre.
Who among her thousand merchants could
count so many ships as I? Who was so observed
in the streets and in the market and in
the synagogue? Whose wealth poured in in
so many streams with channels so deep? All
men honored me, and the foundations of my
prosperity seemed deep as the roots of Lebanon.
In one night it all vanished as a dream, and my
Ruth is all that is left; yet she is worth more
than all.”
“Speak not thus, my father,” said the girl,
“nor ever think of Tyre. God hath smitten
us and afflicted us, but the smiling of prosperity
might have been worse. David saith that
afflictions are good. This I know, that if it be
to them that we owe our present peace, then
are they not evil — not worst. If one might
have prosperity and peace there with, that indeed
were better. But if they must needs be
divided then to us has fallen the better part.”
“True, my child, and what we now have
we cannot, as riches, lose, and so our happiness
is secure.”
“The fear of God may depart from us,” said
Ruth.
“Then, indeed,” said the parent, “all were
lost! But it will not; from thee it cannot depart,
from me it shall not. I may depart, but
while I have my breath I will fear God and
serve him. Yet but for thee my daughter, I
would I were in Abraham's bosom. Why do
I live?”
The girl wept. The father continued,
“Yet who would defend thee from the rude
and the wicked, were I away? I must not die,
Ruth. It is hard either way. I would die and
I would not. I would live and I would not.
While I talk thus, do I not seem to forget the
providence of God? It matters not, it matters
shield thee. None can withstand him. Thou
wilt be safe putting thy trust in him.”
The old man seemed to have forgotten that
any one was present beside themselves; while
therefore the girl continued weeping, I said,
that the providence of God was in truth always
sufficient, and that they who put their trust in
it would never be forsaken, they would have
that peace which surpassed all other blessings.
But his daughter should not want also for earthly
friends. While I lived and the daughter of
Onias, she should be cared for, and defended,
nor should the shadow of an evil fall on her,
which human force could turn aside.
“Now the Lord bless thee,” cried the leper,
“and give thee peace; it was but this I wanted.
Now, O Lord, even now, would I be at rest.
As thy righteous servant Job, by reason of his
sore distresses desired death rather than life, so
too does thy servant before thee; mine eyes are
darkened, my skin is foul and horrid to the
sight, my feet are eaten away; and of him, who
was once as a shaft of polished marble, nothing
now remaineth but a loathsome and dismembered
trunk. When the morning comes, I say
would to God it were evening, and when it is
evening, I say would to God it were morning.
Day and night they are both alike to me, and
both are vanity. Why should I live?”
“Do I love thee less, my father,” cried his
daughter, beautiful in her tears, “that thy skin
is rough and thy eyes and feet are gone. It is
thee I love, not thy limbs; and were it that thy
prayer were answered, where should I go, and
whom on earth should I love? I know, alas,
thy memory goes back to other and better days;
but I have known thee only as now, and only
thee. Pray not for death, or, else that I may
die with thee.”
Again the young girl was overcome by her
grief.
My companion, who had hitherto remained
silent, now spoke.
“Lose not thy courage, my old neighbor,”
said he; “thy lot is not dark as thou thinkest.
I complain not of life, nor of death, of
God, nor of man. Yet how do we greatly
differ? I have eyes, indeed, but I use them
not. I have feet but they serve me not, save
to move me hence to the market place and
thence back again. I have a skin, not beautiful,
not either indeed scaly with leprosy, yet it
profits me not. Who loves me the better for
the things in which I surpass thee? Who
loves Zadok, the Pharisee, though of limbs and
senses he wanteth not one? Would thy young
daughter exchange thee for Zadok? What
profit is there in that which profiteth not?
than another man's motion; thy blindness than
another man's sight, thy ugliness than another's
beauty, thy poverty than another's wealth.
Riches and beauty do but corrupt, and labor
does but weary. I am happier than any man
in Beth-Harem, save mayhap, the wise Shammai.
But thou shouldst be happy as I. Thy
daughter should be to thee as a sun to warm
thee, and a light shining deeper than thine
eyes, even on thy heart.”
With these words he waved his rags with a
majestic movement, and looked toward me for
applause with a countenance in which jest and
seriousness seemed strangely contending. His
speech brought a smile on the faces of the unhappy
leper and his daughter, and though they
might little agree with what he had said, it had
the good effect of changing the current of their
thoughts and lightening their sorrow.
“Whatever thanks,” said the leper, “we
may owe to the people of Beth-Harem, who
remember the poor and feed them with bread,
we owe none more than this our friend and
neighbor, who many a time hath not only
divided his loaf with us, but much more always
cheers our sorrows by his merry voice,
and by his sayings, which if they agree not
always with Moses and the Prophets, show
to laugh or weep. Had death” —
“Talk no longer,” cried the beggar, “of
dying. These are the days to live. Who
knows upon whom the honors of the new
kingdom may fall? Under King John or King
Jesus, I may rise to power, and when I do, thou
shalt. I will not forget old friends in my new
glory.”
Being interrupted here by a wild and piercing
shriek from the room of the possessed man, the
beggar hastily withdrew, saying “that he must
look to the wants and welfare of his other
neighbor, for that after his long sleep he needeth
both food and drink.”
I also took leave of the leper and his daughter,
after having again given them every needed
promise, that I would not forsake them, and
that in Judith, Ruth should ever find one who
would protect her. The old man, by such repeated
assurances, was made to forget the evils
of his lot in the benefits which he could still
enumerate, and returned to that contentment of
spirit, which his daughter assures me is the
usual condition of his mind.
Returning again through the midst of the
city, I found the people still anxious and inquisitive
as before concerning the reports from
learn in which trust could be placed, save that
by those who this day had come from thence
had confirmed what was said at first by Onias,
that Jesus had disappeared among the fastnesses
of the wilderness to the east of the Jordan, and
had been seen by none since the baptism.
When I again saw Judith, and had related to
her my conversation with the inhabitants of the
Old Prisons, she said, that a dwelling which
she had caused to be prepared for the leper
was now ready, to which he might soon
be removed. Although the apartment they
now occupied had been made more secure
than before, against the elements, by the
labors of those whom Judith had employed,
and had become a more agreeable residence
than any other part of the ruins, still I was
glad to learn that another and better was procured,
and no time was lost in removing them
from the one to the other. The beggar I hoped
would take possession of the room which
the Tyrian merchant had abandoned, but he
could not be persuaded to do so much as only
to change the direction of his steps to reach it.
It were undergoing, he thought, needless labor.
“Besides,” said he, “why should I change that
with which I am already satisfied, for another
be better pleased, but which has no new charms
for me. I have but three wants, food, drink,
and a place where I may lie and sleep. Food
is food, drink is drink, and sleep is sleep. I see
not why I were better to take my lettuce and
figs from a silver dish, my wine from a golden
cup, my sleep on a silken couch — the nature
of the fig, the wine, and of sleep is still the
same. It asks none of these additions for the
poor man to receive both pleasure and nutriment
from his food and his repose. In this God is
seen to be merciful and equal. Good wine
tastes no better to Herod than to a beggar, and
honey is not sweeter to Pilate than to me. The
life here, moreover, being thus alike to each,
dost thou judge that Herod will find more favor
in the life to come than the Beggar of Beth-Harem?
Verily, I should stand forth boldly
at his side in the day of judgment, nay, betwixt
him and Pilate, nor be afraid.”
So that he cleaves to his straw, his wet
and dripping walls, his wretched den, into
which, through the cavities where doors and
windows once were, dogs enter to sleep by
his side, or to devour the food they have
stolen, causing oftentimes the vacant halls and
winding passages to resound with their frightful
howlings as they pursue each other, and
conquer from death, or griping hunger.
Judith now often resorts to the dwelling of
the leper, where she beholds its tenants enjoying
greatly every addition that has been
made to their comfort. In Ruth she discovers
one in whom a spirit dwells of so much native
excellence, that none of the base conditions
of extreme poverty and adversity have had
power to bring any stain upon it. Her father's
judgment of her she finds to be true when he
said, that she was too pure for the touch of
leprosy to harm her. On such occasions I often
accompany her, and beneath this roof of poverty
have I passed many of the most agreeable hours,
and most instructive also, since I have dwelt in
these regions. For the leper, now that he is at
rest, sitting beneath a roof which is secured to
him, his daughter rescued from the dangers that
had ever hitherto surrounded her, returns to the
feelings and thoughts of his earlier life, and
shows himself not only a devout lover of the
Law and worshipper of God, but a man who
has known much of the ways of the world,
whose mind has drawn knowledge from many
quarters, and in his adversities has possessed
power to retain what he had gained, if not to
increase its stores. His conversation is that of
one both devout and wise, and his daughter,
than the father, and has received in addition,
all that he could teach, — for all his happiness
these many years has come from the instruction,
which by conversation he could thus impart
— proves also a new source of pleasure,
not to Judith only, but to Onias and myself
also. Happier circumstances, the society of
those who are her equals, comparative plenty,
with friendship, have daily called out new expressions
on her countenance, and shown new
beauties and graces of mind and heart, by
which we have been astonished and delighted.
She has already become more necessary to our
happiness than we are to hers.
Nothing in addition for many days has been
heard of Jesus, and the people grow despondent.
Many will not believe that anything like
what has been asserted has happened. But
while the eyes and ears of men are as they
were made, and devils do not enter us to pervert
what the senses would convey, then doubtless,
they say, that took place which has been
affirmed, whether or not Jesus is heard of
again. Surely, never was there a time when a
whole people were thus waiting to receive with
acclamations of welcome a promised deliverer,
which of itself seems to show, that if God be
or having appeared he will return. All
are ready to bear him up, and on, to every honor.
Every heart is beating with hope, every hand
waits but the word to grasp the sword or the
spear. I cannot doubt that whatsoever may be
the reason of his tarrying, the delay will not be
long. Peace be with thee.
While Jesus, for reasons which then were
not understood, but which have since been
declared, thus withdrew himself from the scene
where he had first made himself known,
and from the great length of the time, during
which he remained hidden from the eyes and
the knowledge of the people, it was believed by
many that he would not return, Herod again
deemed it a favorable time to continue the
preparations he had made, and strengthen his
cause among the people. No letters can I discover
written during this period, but my recollection
of those days is distinct of much intercourse
with Herod by letters, by messengers,
and by visits at Machærus. The Tetrarch was
sure that no more would ever be heard of Jesus;
and although he would not with clearness declare
all that he had done, yet he darkly shadowed
to use, that an emissary from him had sought
and found Jesus during his retreat into the
wilderness, and had become convinced that he
was not what he was at first believed to be, and
that nothing need be feared or hoped from him.
The proffer of honor and wealth and power,
even to that of half the kingdom, nay, the supreme
power, which was freely made if he
would join with Herod, — made in the belief
that he was a prophet and endowed with powers
more than human, — he would not accept;
and doubtless because he did not in truth possess
such powers, for upon being earnestly
pressed to give some proof thereof, he complied
not, but steadfastly refused. Had he in truth
possessed them, Herod was sure that he would
have given some token; for no one who came
to fill the office of Messiah would spurn the
offers which he had made, since they were
those of a strict alliance with him for a prosecution
of the self-same ends and objects, which
he as the deliverer must have had in view.
These reasonings of Herod, however, especially
taken together with the fact, that a messenger
of his had found Jesus and conversed
with him, only served to convince Onias and
the rest of his firmest adherents, that it were
wiser to delay the contemplated movements yet
before all were doubtful about, namely, that
Jesus was still alive and not very remote. It
was clear that none would consent to resume
their undertaking until he had been again seen,
and his character and purposes determined.
The Tetrarch was irritated by such opposition.
He was confident in his own strength,
and impatient of restraint and delay. But by
much persuasion he was made to renounce all
farther purpose of action, till the minds of the
people should be quieted by the confirmation or
defeat of their hopes.
| XVI. Julian, or Scenes in Judea | |