Читать книгу Aleph, the Chaldean; or, the Messiah as Seen from Alexandria - E. F. Burr - Страница 14

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If the reader is curious to know how the two friends passed the long Sabbath morning, before it was time to go to the synagogue, I can inform him. They prayed apart, they prayed together; they produced a copy of the Septuagint and read what the prophets had written about the Messiah. They found many mysteries, and much material for conversation, until the dial in the centre of the court told them that it was time to be moving.

On their way up Emporium Street they kept to the right side for two reasons—because the right was first reached, and because on that side the current of people was in their own direction. And a strong current it was. Men, women, and children, with Jewish faces and apparently dressed in their best, in great numbers were leisurely moving northward. Aleph was tall enough to look over the heads of most of the people before him and noticed in the distance the living stream turning into a building. It occurred to him that this building was probably the synagogue of Malus, of which the Alabarch had spoken. He was confirmed in this idea by the light behavior of most about him. The principle of reverence was neither in their feet nor in their faces. And as to their tongues—these seemed to have the freedom of all the days of the week. They were talking shop, talking ships, talking fashions, talking gossip—talking everything but politics and religion. These last topics they prudently left to the Romans and “whom it might concern.”

When they came to the synagogue they saw that it was large; though by no means as large and imposing as the Diapleuston. They lingered a little among the many standing on the street in order to get a better view. Just then came up a group of persons more richly dressed than the rest, and for whom the rest made way with special deference as they mounted the steps. One of these, whose dress was particularly showy, turned when he had reached the last platform, and looked down among the people as if seeking some one. His eye rested on Aleph. Both Cimon and Aleph noticed an involuntary start. It could hardly have been greater if the man had received an unexpected blow.

He was a man of middle stature, somewhat past middle life, and more than middlingly obese. His face was a curiosity. It was as round as a full moon, and as pocked: but the great peculiarity of it was its characterless or wooden expression. It neither laughed nor cried, it neither promised nor threatened, it was neither happy nor miserable, it was neither saint nor sinner. Yet one hesitates a little over this last statement. There was a certain thin, very thin, something about the face that asked to be considered religious. But to the eyes of our friends it seemed sanctimoniousness instead of sanctity, a gauze white veil which, however well worn, is no part of the person and can be put off at pleasure. Perhaps they were mistaken. Sudden judgments sometimes shoot wide of the mark. And it was but a moment they had in which to study his face before he disappeared within the synagogue.

Cimon turned to a by-stander, and asked: “The ruler of the synagogue?” The man bowed assent.

“I wonder,” said Cimon, musingly, as they passed on, “whether Malus recognized your father in you. You resemble him strongly—as he was, thirty years ago.”

As they came up to the Diapleuston there burst from the summit of the side tower a chorus of trumpets—rich, soft, yet far-sounding. Looking up they saw seventy men standing behind a circular balustrade and chanting through silver trumpets toward all points of the compass.

“How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of Hosts,” went sounding broadly forth over the city.

They were met just within the doors by Alexander himself—to whom Aleph presented his “preceptor and friend” Cimon. The Alabarch received them with great courtesy, and thanked the young man for the service rendered to his daughter the day before; and when Aleph expressed the hope that she had quite recovered from her indisposition, he said:

“Quite so, she tells me; and so I have brought her with me to give thanks for the good news this morning received that her nurse continues to mend.”

And he led the way toward a distant canopy not far from the centre, near which his daughter was sitting. She was simply dressed and closely veiled; but Aleph had no difficulty in recognizing the exquisite shape and bearing of the Gem of Alexandria.

Alexander then said that he had asked them to come somewhat in advance of the congregation, partly in order that they might have time to look about them, and to get familiar with the building before the services should begin.

“Walk about freely,” he continued, “until the trumpets cease summoning; then return and occupy the seats yonder (he pointed). They are reserved for visitors in accord with us. Meanwhile I have to meet the elders.”

He bowed himself away; and they began to look about them. But few people had yet come in. It was the largest and finest synagogue in the world. Just before them, abutting on the east side of the building, was a low platform surrounded by a delicate silver railing and surmounted in part by a canopy of cloth of gold. Under this was an ornate seat curiously wrought in various precious woods. Near the front of the platform stood an equally elaborate reading desk, with several rolls upon it. By the side of the platform was a door by which Alexander had disappeared; and in front of the platform, arranged in several semicircles, were the famous seventy gilded chairs for the seventy elders of the synagogue. Back of these were the seats for the families of the elders with a narrow aisle separating the males from the females. On the first seat to the left of this passage sat Rachel. Behind these seats, and skirted by immense columns on either hand, ran a broad aisle from end to end of the synagogue. The building was so long that the signal for the responses had to be given by a flag to the more remote worshippers; for all were expected to join vocally in the prayers as read at the centre, though addresses to the people were made simultaneously at several other platforms placed at convenient intervals. The walls were covered with Scripture verses in both Hebrew and Greek, beautifully done in mosaic—one wall with prayers, another with praises, a third with the Ten Commandments, a fourth with the leading Messianic prophecies. One mystery of the building was the pleasant illumination without any sign of windows or sources of artificial light.

While they were lingering over the Messianic inscriptions they suddenly awoke to the fact that the synagogue was becoming thronged and that the summoning trumpets were about concluding their sonorous chant. So they made their way back, as rapidly as the incoming stream of belated worshippers (not wholly unknown in any age) would allow, to the seats which had been shown them.

Amen, sang the trumpets in long-drawn note from their tower. Amen, answered the packed multitudes on their knees. The door at the side of the platform opened; and the seventy elders, with Alexander and another younger man, who strongly resembled him, at their head, entered in long flowing robes elaborately fringed and decorated on the breast with phylacteries lettered in gold. The leaders ascended the platform: the others passed on to the gilded chairs. The Alabarch seated himself under the canopy: his companion advanced to the lecturn, bowed his head upon it for a moment, then placed the tulith on his head—and at once the service began.

Began with a doxology—spontaneous, universal, mighty; flooding the whole temple with rhythmic billows of uplifting sound. As the last note died away, the man at the desk began to read from a roll that vivid picture of the consequences to Israel of both obedience and disobedience contained in Deut. 28th—read them sonorously and with great distinctness, but not without something of the artificial and professional in his tone—read them with here and there a word of comment which did not always content itself with the literal sense instead of an allegorical and mystical one. This reading concluded, he waved a small flag; and all the people broke out again into a doxology—this time the entire psalm, beginning with, “Praise ye the Lord; praise the Lord, O my soul; while I live will I praise the Lord,” in a rapid and triumphant march of unified sound. He then proceeded to read on his knees, the people all kneeling, the prayer contained in the psalm that begins with “Give ear, O shepherd of Israel, thou that leadest Joseph like a flock, thou that dwellest between the cherubims shine forth;” at the conclusion of which he waved the flag again and a universal Amen arose. This was followed by readings from the prophets of selections commonly understood to point to the Messiah. Again the flag waved, and the people exclaimed as with one voice, but in a plaintive tone:

“Though he tarry long he will surely come.”

The reader then became a preacher. His theme was the Messiah. He spoke of the certainty of His coming, of the time and other circumstances of it, of the character and functions that would belong to Him, of the way in which He would prove Himself, and of the universal current expectation of Him among their own people. He showed that from the beginning of the race hints of Him had been given—hints that gradually enlarged and brightened as the ages rolled on, until, in the later prophets, all veils were removed and the dimmest eye could see the King that cometh in the name of the Lord. As to the time—he shared the common belief of the present and the last generation that the time was near, if not already arrived. How could the dates of Daniel be reconciled with any other view? To be sure, some allowance should be made for round numbers: it would not do to say that this or the next year is the time for the Coming; but after all it is safe to say in a general way that we are living in the times of the Christ. It ought not to surprise them if He should come to-morrow. As to the family from which He is to spring, the place of His birth, the forerunner Elias He is to have, there is and can be but one opinion. Exactly how He will prove himself to the people it were hard to say: perhaps by a supernatural beauty and glory of person, perhaps by a mysterious inward voice speaking to the whole nation as it spoke to individual prophets, perhaps only by His wonderful success over all obstacles in becoming our Redeemer and King.

The preacher evidently did not deem it wise to be at all specific on this last point—the conquering and kingly character of the Messiah—in a city held by the Romans for the Cæsars. He contented himself with glittering generalities. He spoke ornately and enthusiastically of the prosperity and felicity of Israel in the golden age that was sure to come. What the Gentiles call by that name was a poor thing compared with that which was knocking at the doors of the Chosen People.

He, however, cautioned his hearers not to allow themselves to be impatient in their waiting for this good time. Their faith might be tried. They must be on their guard against pretenders. It would not be strange if the current expectation should itself produce false Christs. It would seem indeed as if this had already happened. At this moment, as most of them knew, there was a man in Judea who was making much noise with his claims, but whom the principal men of the nation did not feel able to accept. When the true Messiah comes he doubtless will commend Himself to the natural leaders of the people. Meanwhile the people should rest quietly in their various places and occupations.

When the orator had finished, the Alabarch rose and gave the usual invitation to approved persons to speak—immediately adding, however, that he saw that one of their own elders, Simeon the son of Simeon, had returned from Jerusalem, and that whatever account he could give of religious matters there would be acceptable.

A venerable looking man rose from among the Seventy. He brought salutations from the Sanhedrin at Jerusalem. They had been much disturbed over the case of Jesus of Nazareth to whom the preacher had just referred. The multitude were disposed to listen to him; attributing to him many signs and wonders, and asking whether he is not the Messiah. It was not clear, however, that he himself had put forward any such claim. His Messiahship seemed to be merely an inference of the multitude from his wonderful works at a time when all are on the lookout for the Shiloh. As to the reality of these wonderful works, the brethren of the Great Council and the principal men generally do not seem to call it in question. They concede that Jesus has, with a word or a touch, cured all sorts of incurable diseases; given sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, wholeness to the maimed, reason to the insane, and even life to the dead. Two of them, Joseph of Arimathea, and Nicodemus, a cousin of the great teacher Gamaliel, go further than this, and affirm that no man could do such mighty works unless God were with him. “If such deeds could not prove a Divine mission, they were at a loss to see how such a mission could ever be proved. How was Moses authenticated?” But the rest agree in ascribing the marvels to magic and evil spirits; especially as there never has been known a time when so many people seemed possessed with demons. They say that they are compelled to resort to this explanation, not merely by the fact that Jesus speaks so unfavorably of the ecclesiastical authorities and of their oral traditions, but still more by the fact that he does not answer in origin, appearance, or aims to the Messiah. The Messiah comes from Bethlehem, Jesus from Nazareth: the Messiah comes from the royal family of David, Jesus from a peasant family of no property or social standing; the Messiah is a mighty King and Deliverer, Jesus is plain in his appearance, associates even with publicans and sinners, and has nothing of the warrior and statesman about him—in fact, says that his kingdom is not of this world. He has even been understood to give out that his mission here is to teach and suffer rather than to conquer and reign. Such a person differs so widely from what they have been accustomed to expect and from what the Sacred Books have been supposed to promise, that the leading brethren in Judea, with the exceptions mentioned, are unanimous in ascribing the miracles of Jesus to the Evil One, and in trying to break his influence with the people. Whether they will succeed seems doubtful. But their determination to do so is very strong and will probably lead to severe measures. He was sorry not to be able to judge of the man from personal observation; but Jesus at the time was in Galilee, and could not be reached in the time at command. Besides, it was evident that a visit of Simeon to Jesus would be looked upon as a discourtesy by the chief men—so decided have their views become, and so high runs the tide of feeling.

Such in a few words was the purport of what Simeon said in more.

The reading of the psalm beginning, “Give the king thy judgments O God, and thy righteousness to the king’s son;” the waving of the flag; Amen and Amen by the people, as with one voice, concluded the service.

The congregation rapidly disappeared through the many doors that suddenly revealed themselves; for the architect had thought it possible that occasion might arise for a hasty evacuation of the premises—had also thought it possible to have the means of egress as unnoticeable by a stranger as were the means of light. But a few of the elders, among whom were Alexander and the preacher, gathered about Simeon, whose chair stood near the daughter of Alexander. Cimon and Aleph had also lingered; it may be with the idea of making some inquiry of Simeon or the preacher. Seeing this, the Alabarch beckoned them near, and, simply introducing them as co-religionists, proceeded to say to Simeon:

“I am sorry that you were not able to see and hear Jesus for yourself.”

“My desire was strong to do so: and I did my best to get as near as possible to personal observation. I sought reliable information from all quarters. There seemed to be no difference of opinion, even among his greatest enemies, as to the reality of his miracles.”

“What do you understand,” inquired another elder, “to be the general character of his teaching? How does he treat our Sacred Writings?”

“With the highest honor. It is agreed on all hands that no word has fallen from him that savors of irreverence toward the Law and the Prophets: on the contrary, he makes them final authorities on all matters of which they speak; and when he rebukes the leaders of the people it is in their name. He does not belong to the synagogue of Malus.”

“That is a great point in his favor,” said another. “But are his own manners and morals blameless in the view of the Law?”

“I must confess that I heard nothing to the contrary—not being able myself to see wrong in a religious teacher eating and drinking like other people, or in his being accessible to the lowly and sinful.”

“Have not I heard you say, brother Philo,” said Alexander to the preacher, “that the chiefs of the people charge Jesus with blasphemy? Blasphemy can hardly be considered a point of good behavior.”

“I spake as I heard,” said Philo. “Perhaps Simeon can tell us whether I heard correctly.”

“It seems,” said Simeon, “that Jesus has sometimes spoken of himself as the Son of God; and, in a mysterious way, of a certain unity between himself and his heavenly Father; and, probably, it is this lofty way of speaking of himself which has given occasion for the charge of which you speak.”

“Do not the prophets sometimes use language equally strong about the Christ?” asked Cimon deferentially.

“For example,” said Aleph: “His name shall be called Wonderful, counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father.”

“Such passages, I believe, have always been understood by many among us as declaring that the Christ will not be a mere man, but will have something of a Divine quality about him,” said Alexander reflectively.

“Perhaps, then,” added Cimon, “it is not so much the magnificence of the claims of Jesus that has led the fathers at Jerusalem to view him as a blasphemer, but rather the striking contrast between such claims and the humble appearance and circumstances of him who makes them, and which have already led them to decide against him. Of course, if he is not the Christ, such lofty pretensions are blasphemous—not otherwise.”

“But it appears to me,” said another elder, Ben Abner, whose dress was specially showy, phylacteries specially many, and air specially haughty, “that the humble condition of the man is itself decisive against him. Our wise men, for generations, have understood from the Scriptures that the Messiah would appear in great splendor as a conqueror and king. For my part I expect no other Messiah, want no other, will have no other. I hope they of Jerusalem will away with the impostor.” He spoke with flashing eyes.

“So I think,” said half a dozen voices with emphasis and gesture.

“Possibly the friends of Jesus would say,” returned Simeon coolly, “that great endings sometimes have small beginnings, and that there is time enough yet for the outward splendor. Indeed, I happen to know that this is what some of his friends do say. But others claim, and I must confess that this is what Jesus himself seems to teach, that the prophets have been misunderstood; that the kingdom and the glory and the conquests of which they speak are spiritual and so perfectly consistent with a lowly and even suffering Messiah. And for evidence they appeal to the prophecies of Isaiah, and other Scriptures. Perhaps our friend Philo, who believes so thoroughly in the allegoric and spiritual meanings of our Sacred Books, will not blame this interpretation as severely as some do.”

Philo smiled at this, and said that he never intended to spiritualize away the Scriptures. It would be very hard for him to give up the brilliant hopes that had so long been entertained as to the times of the Messiah and what he would do for his Israel.

“I should not have so much difficulty,” said Alexander, “with the present humble condition of Jesus, and the spiritual character of his claims, as with the apparent fact that he was not born in Bethlehem and is not a son of David—as the Messiah must be.”

“That has been my great difficulty,” said Simeon. “It is everywhere claimed in Judea that Jesus is a Galilean, a Nazarene, and of parentage so humble that he is on that account in disfavor with even the people of Nazareth.”

Aleph ventured to inquire whether some branches of David’s line had not, in the course of centuries, sunk into a humble condition; and whether it was not possible that Jesus belonged to some such decayed branch—also, whether he might not have been born in Bethlehem, though brought up elsewhere?

“I think,” said Simeon, “that we are hardly entitled to say No to either of these questions of the young man. I myself was born in Jerusalem, though brought up in this city. The family of David is now lost among the common people; and, though it can be recovered in our genealogies, I never could learn that the enemies of Jesus have taken the pains to examine them with reference to his claims. Having settled in their minds that such a Messiah as Jesus is neither what they expected nor wanted, they easily accepted without examination such rumors in regard to him as agreed with their wishes and foregone conclusion. So, at least, it seems to me.”

“Can you tell us about what the age of Jesus is?” asked Cimon.

“He appears, I am told, somewhat less than forty; perhaps he is not much more than thirty years. I took special pains to inquire about this; partly because of an experience of my father’s some thirty years ago, and partly because of wide-spread rumors at that time of a remarkable birth which had just taken place in connection with celestial phenomena. However, the matter was kept as close as possible from fear of Herod. My father at that time was living in Jerusalem—a very old man and as saintly as old. For a long while he had expressed to his family an assurance that he should live to see the Christ. One day he came home from the temple with a radiant face, saying that he was now ready to depart, for he had just seen and held in his arms an infant which an inward Divine voice told him was the Messiah. He then lay down, calmly closed his eyes, and departed in a peaceful sleep. This I had from my sister, for I was in Alexandria at the time. All this was widely known at the time, but was spoken of by the people under their breath on account of the jealousy and cruelty of the rulers. Now at that time Jesus must have been an infant.”

“And we happen to know,” said Aleph, looking at Cimon, “that the name of the infant concerning whom such remarkable things were told was Jesus—though we may not at present tell how we came by the knowledge.”

As Aleph said these words he could not well help noticing three things—the cordial look that Simeon gave him, the look of exasperation on the face of Ben Abner, and the start made by Rachel, whose attitude of earnest attention throughout the conversation would have been evident enough even if her veil had not been gradually drawn somewhat aside as she watched the speakers. Alexander also noticed the start. Perhaps he feared a return of yesterday’s faintness. He bent over her, and spoke in a low tone. She shook her head.

“However, we will go home,” said he, “as soon as I have put off these vestments.”

He retired to the vestry, followed by the other elders.

Aleph approached the maiden and said that he had been glad to hear from her father that her nurse continued to mend, and expressed the hope that she herself was none the worse for her indisposition of yesterday.

“Not at all,” said she promptly; “but I was absorbingly interested in the subject of the conversation, and was, I confess, startled by what you said of your knowledge of the infant Jesus. You were not then born.”

“No, lady; my knowledge is altogether second-hand, but is none the less certain for that. My friend here has some original knowledge in the case; but both of us have, in addition to this, sources of information that are beyond all question.”

“I very much fear,” said she with a sigh, “when I hear Ben Abner and others, that our people will be found treating a new prophet as they have ever treated prophets. What do you think?”

“I also have my fears.”

“But you also have knowledge; and if at any time it becomes consistent for you to share your knowledge with others none will welcome it more gladly than I. Till then I believe in it and—in you”—and her eyes, which till then had been unconsciously and half-wonderingly perusing his face as she spoke, sank before his, and the lovely color deepened on the loveliest features that the Chaldean, or even the more experienced Greek, had ever seen.

What was that? A confused sound as of struggle and disputing voices came from the direction of the great door on the street of Canopus. This was soon followed by the noisy tramp on the marble pavement of what seemed in the distance a body of soldiers. As they came nearer they were seen to be indeed some twelve Roman soldiers in full armor, carrying at their head a standard—the legionary standard, consisting of a pike surmounted by a silver eagle, on whose spread wings stood an effigy of the emperor, with this superscription in large capitals—Deus Tiberius Cæsar.

The soldiers were followed at a short distance by a weeping, groaning, threatening crowd of Jews who had tried, it would seem, to prevent the entrance of the party with their desecrating symbol, and were now following them with lamentations and execrations.

As the band came near, Aleph easily recognized in the leader of it the drunken officer whom he had disarmed on the Nile. Almost as soon the two friends were recognized by the Roman; and, with an oath, he at once led the way to where they stood (they had planted themselves in front of Rachel), although at that moment Alexander and his elders were hastily coming forward from the vestry.

“I have found you at last,” the man cried, as he disposed his soldiers in a semicircle, “and you will not easily escape me.”

Alexander had now come up.

“As the head of the community worshipping here, I demand to know for what purpose you have come into their sanctuary with standard and arms?”

“To give you and your friends,” the officer replied with mock solemnity, “an opportunity, which no doubt you will gratefully accept, to pay an act of religious worship to the great god Tiberius Cæsar—after this manner,” and he kneeled before the standard, and, with both hands lifted, cried, Great God, I worship thee.

Rising, he exclaimed, “Now I have set you an example—copy it, every one of you!”

The crowd behind groaned and hissed.

The officer shook his fist at them and shouted, “Be still, you snakes and swine; your turn will come shortly. Let your betters lead off. It is their privilege. Come, begin, Pontifex Maximus!”—turning to Alexander.

“I demand of you by what authority you make this demand on us,” demanded the Alabarch.

The Roman pointed to the image of the emperor.

“Do you mean to say that an order has come from Rome for violating the sanctuaries of the Jews, and revoking the edicts which from the founding of the city have guaranteed to us our own religious views and usages?”

“The Roman senate has decreed Divine honors to the emperor; and his image has been received and worshipped in every place of worship in the city, saving the synagogues of the Jews. Now you shall have your turn.”

“That is no answer to my question. The Jews have always had special privileges in this city, and one of them is to refuse worship to every god but their own. Again I ask, has this privilege been recalled by the emperor since yesterday: for yesterday I received a personal letter from him in which he promised to abate nothing from our privileges.”

The Roman made no answer, but conferred with one of his men in a low voice. After a moment’s delay, Alexander continued:

“It is plain that you have no authority from the emperor for this outrage. Have you for it the authority of the governor, or of the prefect of the city? I await your careful reply.”

“We are carrying out the wishes of the representatives of Rome in Alexandria,” said the fellow sullenly.

“And that is no answer to my question. Are we to understand that Avilleus Flaccus, or Urbanus Civicus, undertakes on his own responsibility to set aside the decrees of kings and emperors for four hundred years, those of the reigning emperor included, and has expressly sent you here to-day for this purpose?”

“We did not come here,” said the officer with a face that was fast becoming purple, “to be catechised.”

“You came here,” said Alexander sternly, “to commit an outrage—came as a private venture of yourself and a few mischievous companions, and without authority from your superiors. You deserve heavy punishment, and I hope will get it. Now begone from the sanctuary which you have profaned.”

“Begone!” echoed the elders. “Begone!” shouted and screamed the mob from behind.

“Whatever privileges you cursed Jews may have, they certainly do not belong to these men”—pointing at Cimon and Aleph. “These are no more Jews than I am. And for aught I know the same is true of this woman. We will see”—and he stepped toward Rachel to lift her veil.

“Stand back,” said Aleph sternly, as he placed his hand on the breast of the man and sent him staggering back on his men.

Before the man could recover himself, Alexander interfered: “This lady is my daughter; and as for these men, they are of our faith, and as co-religionists are entitled to our immunities.”

“And if it were not so,” said Aleph, “it may be well for this man to know that under no conceivable circumstances would we pay religious worship to the emperor, though quite ready to pay the magistrates all due observance.”

“We will see,” cried the Roman in a transport of fury, as he rushed on the young man with his drawn sword. “Down on your knees to the standard this instant, you renegade, or by Jupiter, I will put you on your knees for the rest of your life,” and he struck at his knees.

Aleph caught the blow with his cane. Whereupon the officer lost all self-restraint and made a rapid succession of strokes and thrusts that sought life. But Aleph had evidently learned the art of fence: his cane was as good as a shield and met the sword at every point. At last, after a desperate lunge, the sword went flying aloft; and both Cimon and Aleph had seized its master.

“Expel Them!” shouted Alexander to the crowd of Jews that was now surging and roaring like a maddened sea, “Expel them with your canes and your hands! They have forced an entrance into our sanctuary, they have profaned it with an idol, and now they have sought to stain it with the blood of unarmed men. Expel them, I say!”

The mob needed no spur. They threw themselves on the soldiers, already cowed by what had passed, and in a moment were dragging them, disarmed and unresisting, behind Cimon and Aleph with their prisoner. Had it not been for the example of coolness and forbearance set by our friends and an occasional moderating word from them, the people might have torn their prisoners limb from limb. As it was, the soldiers had no gentle handling. They had little armor left on them when they reached the great doors. They had gotten many an accidental elbowing and tripping. Somehow people had stumbled heavily and found it hard to recover themselves. There were few parts of those Roman bodies which had not become intimately acquainted with both the point and broadside of a cane. Their captain suffered least—in fact, suffered nothing beyond the shame and uneasiness of being held fast in iron hands.

When those hands were taken off, just outside the great door, he suddenly drew a knife from a fold in his sash and made a pass at Aleph. But both friends were vigilant; and Cimon, while beating off the knife with one hand, with the other dealt the rascal such a blow on the head that his helmet flew off and went clattering down the steps into the street. He followed staggering. The people behind, seeing only the cuff and the result, cheered, and very cheerfully followed the example supposed to be set them. Each soldier received such a hearty cuff and push as he went down the steps as made his descent little less than a fall.

Once down, they were not allowed to linger. The blood of the people was up; and they followed the soldiers in their precipitate flight a long distance with menacing cries and gestures, and with such missiles as they happened to find in the street.

Meanwhile the friends had been called within the synagogue by Alexander, and the great doors fastened. What consultations took place it is not necessary to record. There were consultations; and that too of a very political and secular sort. The situation of the Jews was always delicate. There was much reason to fear that the morning’s disturbance would seriously embroil them with the authorities at both Alexandria and Rome. What should be done? If any one has light let him speak out at once—though it be Sabbath.

But none had scruples. The ideas of the Alexandrian Jews of the first century were not exactly like those of some of their ancestors in the time of the Maccabees who refused to defend themselves against their enemies on the Sabbath because self-defense was work, and that too of the severest sort. The children had become wiser if not better. They had come to believe that self-preservation is a work of necessity, not to say of mercy; and were ready to fight the idolaters seven days in the week if necessary for even a less matter than self-preservation—as we have seen. They would not consent to be martyrs till they had tried hard to be victors. They would not be idolaters, and they did not want to be rebels. They wanted to preserve their religion, and also wanted to preserve themselves. Was it possible? Let us see, said the Seventy, as they resumed their gilded chairs. So the men who did not hesitate to fight a battle on the Sabbath did not scruple to consult on that day how to prevent the battle from souring into a defeat. Were they wrong in this?

Cimon and Aleph answered in the negative. I am not sure but that I agree with them. Doubtless a council of war may be as holy as a prayer-meeting. I once knew of one that was holier, but that began with a prayer.

But a narrative is like a star—it perishes if it stops moving. So let us proceed.