{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_10679/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_10679","id":"gutenberg_10679","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10679","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","Christmas stories","Jesus Christ -- Fiction","Magi -- Fiction"],"text":"THE STORY OF THE OTHER WISE MAN\n\nBY\n\nHENRY VAN DYKE\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"IT IS THE SIGN\" HE SAID]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nTHE SIGN IN THE SKY\n\nBY THE WATERS OF BABYLON\n\nFOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD\n\nIN THE HIDDEN WAY OF SORROW\n\nA PEARL OF GREAT PRICE\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"'IT IS THE SIGN,' HE SAID\"\n\n\"HE CAUGHT IT UP AND READ\"\n\n\"'THERE IS NONE HERE SAVE ME\"'\n\n\"HE HEALED THE SICK\"\n\n\"THE OLD MAN FOLLOWED THE MULTITUDE\"\n\n\"THE OTHER WISE MAN HAD FOUND THE KING\"\n\n\n\n\n\n  _Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul,\n  May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;\n  While he who walks in love may wander far,\n  Yet God will bring him where the blessed are._\n\n\n\nYou know the story of the Three Wise Men of the East, and how they\ntravelled from far away to offer their gifts at the manger-cradle in\nBethlehem. But have you ever heard the story of the Other Wise Man, who\nalso saw the star in its rising, and set out to follow it, yet did not\narrive with his brethren in the presence of the young child Jesus? Of\nthe great desire of this fourth pilgrim, and how it was denied, yet\naccomplished in the denial; of his many wanderings and the probations of\nhis soul; of the long way of his seeking, and the strange way of his\nfinding, the One whom he sought--I would tell the tale as I have heard\nfragments of it in the Hall of Dreams, in the palace of the Heart of\nMan.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIGN IN THE SKY\n\n\nIn the days when Augustus Caesar was master of many kings and Herod\nreigned in Jerusalem, there lived in the city of Ecbatana, among the\nmountains of Persia, a certain man named Artaban, the Median. His house\nstood close to the outermost of the seven walls which encircled the\nroyal treasury. From his roof he could look over the rising battlements\nof black and white and crimson and blue and red and silver and gold, to\nthe hill where the summer palace of the Parthian emperors glittered like\na jewel in a sevenfold crown.\n\nAround the dwelling of Artaban spread a fair garden, a tangle of flowers\nand fruit-trees, watered by a score of streams descending from the\nslopes of Mount Orontes, and made musical by innumerable birds. But all\ncolour was lost in the soft and odorous darkness of the late September\nnight, and all sounds were hushed in the deep charm of its silence, save\nthe plashing of the water, like a voice half sobbing and half laughing\nunder the shadows. High above the trees a dim glow of light shone\nthrough the curtained arches of the upper chamber, where the master of\nthe house was holding council with his friends.\n\nHe stood by the doorway to greet his guests--a tall, dark man of about\nforty years, with brilliant eyes set near together under his broad brow,\nand firm lines graven around his fine, thin lips; the brow of a dreamer\nand the mouth of a soldier, a man of sensitive feeling but inflexible\nwill--one of those who, in whatever age they may live, are born for\ninward conflict and a life of quest.\n\nHis robe was of pure white wool, thrown over a tunic of silk; and a\nwhite, pointed cap, with long lapels at the sides, rested on his flowing\nblack hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood of the Magi,\ncalled the fire-worshippers.\n\n\"Welcome!\" he said, in his low, pleasant voice, as one after another\nentered the room--\"welcome, Abdus; peace be with you, Rhodaspes and\nTigranes, and with you my father, Abgarus. You are all welcome, and this\nhouse grows bright with the joy of your presence.\"\n\nThere were nine of the men, differing widely in age, but alike in the\nrichness of their dress of many-coloured silks, and in the massive\ngolden collars around their necks, marking them as Parthian nobles, and\nin the winged circles of gold resting upon their breasts, the sign of\nthe followers of Zoroaster.\n\nThey took their places around a small black altar at the end of the\nroom, where a tiny flame was burning. Artaban, standing beside it, and\nwaving a barsom of thin tamarisk branches above the fire, fed it with\ndry sticks of pine and fragrant oils. Then he began the ancient chant of\nthe Yasna, and the voices of his companions joined in the beautiful hymn\nto Ahura-Mazda:\n\nWe worship the Spirit Divine,\n   all wisdom and goodness possessing,\nSurrounded by Holy Immortals,\n   the givers of bounty and blessing.\nWe joy in the works of His hands,\n   His truth and His power confessing.\n\nWe praise all the things that are pure,\n    for these are His only Creation;\nThe thoughts that are true, and the words\n    and deeds that have won approbation;\nThese are supported by Him,\n    and for these we make adoration.\n\nHear us, O Mazda! Thou livest\n    in truth and in heavenly gladness;\nCleanse us from falsehood, and keep us\n    from evil and bondage to badness;\nPour out the light and the joy of Thy life\n    on our darkness and sadness.\n\nShine on our gardens and fields,\n    Shine on our working and weaving;\nShine on the whole race of man,\n    Believing and unbelieving;\n    Shine on us now through the night,\n    Shine on us now in Thy might,\nThe flame of our holy love\n    and the song of our worship receiving.\n\nThe fire rose with the chant, throbbing as if it were made of musical\nflame, until it cast a bright illumination through the whole apartment,\nrevealing its simplicity and splendour.\n\nThe floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined with white; pilasters\nof twisted silver stood out against the blue walls; the clearstory of\nround-arched windows above them was hung with azure silk; the vaulted\nceiling was a pavement of sapphires, like the body of heaven in its\nclearness, sown with silver stars. From the four corners of the roof\nhung four golden magic-wheels, called the tongues of the gods. At the\neastern end, behind the altar, there were two dark-red pillars of\nporphyry; above them a lintel of the same stone, on which was carved the\nfigure of a winged archer, with his arrow set to the string and his bow\ndrawn.\n\nThe doorway between the pillars, which opened upon the terrace of the\nroof, was covered with a heavy curtain of the colour of a ripe\npomegranate, embroidered with innumerable golden rays shooting upward\nfrom the floor. In effect the room was like a quiet, starry night, all\nazure and silver, flushed in the East with rosy promise of the dawn. It\nwas, as the house of a man should be, an expression of the character and\nspirit of the master.\n\nHe turned to his friends when the song was ended, and invited them to be\nseated on the divan at the western end of the room.\n\n\"You have come to-night,\" said he, looking around the circle, \"at my\ncall, as the faithful scholars of Zoroaster, to renew your worship and\nrekindle your faith in the God of Purity, even as this fire has been\nrekindled on the altar. We worship not the fire, but Him of whom it is\nthe chosen symbol, because it is the purest of all created things. It\nspeaks to us of one who is Light and Truth. Is it not so, my father?\"\n\n\"It is well said, my son,\" answered the venerable Abgarus. \"The\nenlightened are never idolaters. They lift the veil of the form and go\nin to the shrine of the reality, and new light and truth are coming to\nthem continually through the old symbols.\" \"Hear me, then, my father\nand my friends,\" said Artaban, very quietly, \"while I tell you of the\nnew light and truth that have come to me through the most ancient of all\nsigns. We have searched the secrets of nature together, and studied the\nhealing virtues of water and fire and the plants. We have read also the\nbooks of prophecy in which the future is dimly foretold in words that\nare hard to understand. But the highest of all learning is the knowledge\nof the stars. To trace their courses is to untangle the threads of the\nmystery of life from the beginning to the end. If we could follow them\nperfectly, nothing would be hidden from us. But is not our knowledge of\nthem still incomplete? Are there not many stars still beyond our\nhorizon--lights that are known only to the dwellers in the far\nsouth-land, among the spice-trees of Punt and the gold mines of Ophir?\"\n\nThere was a murmur of assent among the listeners.\n\n\"The stars,\" said Tigranes, \"are the thoughts of the Eternal. They are\nnumberless. But the thoughts of man can be counted, like the years\nof his life. The wisdom of the Magi is the greatest of all wisdoms on\nearth, because it knows its own ignorance. And that is the secret of\npower. We keep men always looking and waiting for a new sunrise. But we\nourselves know that the darkness is equal to the light, and that the\nconflict between them will never be ended.\"\n\n\"That does not satisfy me,\" answered Artaban, \"for, if the waiting must\nbe endless, if there could be no fulfilment of it, then it would not be\nwisdom to look and wait. We should become like those new teachers of the\nGreeks, who say that there is no truth, and that the only wise men are\nthose who spend their lives in discovering and exposing the lies that\nhave been believed in the world. But the new sunrise will certainly dawn\nin the appointed time. Do not our own books tell us that this will come\nto pass, and that men will see the brightness of a great light?\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the voice of Abgarus; \"every faithful disciple of\nZoroaster knows the prophecy of the Avesta and carries the word in his\nheart. 'In that day Sosiosh the Victorious shall arise out of the number\nof the prophets in the east country. Around him shall shine a mighty\nbrightness, and he shall make life everlasting, incorruptible, and\nimmortal, and the dead shall rise again.'\"\n\n\"This is a dark saying,\" said Tigranes, \"and it may be that we shall\nnever understand it. It is better to consider the things that are near\nat hand, and to increase the influence of the Magi in their own country,\nrather than to look for one who may be a stranger, and to whom we must\nresign our power.\"\n\nThe others seemed to approve these words. There was a silent feeling of\nagreement manifest among them; their looks responded with that\nindefinable expression which always follows when a speaker has uttered\nthe thought that has been slumbering in the hearts of his listeners. But\nArtaban turned to Abgarus with a glow on his face, and said:\n\n\"My father, I have kept this prophecy in the secret place of my soul.\nReligion without a great hope would be like an altar without a living\nfire. And now the flame has burned more brightly, and by the light of it\nI have read other words which also have come from the fountain of Truth,\nand speak yet more clearly of the rising of the Victorious One in his\nbrightness.\"\n\nHe drew from the breast of his tunic two small rolls of fine linen, with\nwriting upon them, and unfolded them carefully upon his knee.\n\n\"In the years that are lost in the past, long before our fathers came\ninto the land of Babylon, there were wise men in Chaldea, from whom the\nfirst of the Magi learned the secret of the heavens. And of these Balaam\nthe son of Beor was one of the mightiest. Hear the words of his\nprophecy: 'There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a sceptre shall\narise out of Israel.'\"\n\nThe lips of Tigranes drew downward with contempt, as he said:\n\n\"Judah was a captive by the waters of Babylon, and the sons of Jacob\nwere in bondage to our kings. The tribes of Israel are scattered through\nthe mountains like lost sheep, and from the remnant that dwells in Judea\nunder the yoke of Rome neither star nor sceptre shall arise.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" answered Artaban, \"it was the Hebrew Daniel, the mighty\nsearcher of dreams, the counsellor of kings, the wise Belteshazzar, who\nwas most honored and beloved of our great King Cyrus. A prophet of sure\nthings and a reader of the thoughts of God, Daniel proved himself to our\npeople. And these are the words that he wrote.\" (Artaban read from the\nsecond roll:) \"'Know, therefore, and understand that from the going\nforth of the commandment to restore Jerusalem, unto the Anointed One,\nthe Prince, the time shall be seven and threescore and two weeks.'\"\n\n\"But, my son,\" said Abgarus, doubtfully, \"these are mystical numbers.\nWho can interpret them, or who can find the key that shall unlock their\nmeaning?\"\n\nArtaban answered: \"It has been shown to me and to my three companions\namong the Magi--Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. We have searched the\nancient tablets of Chaldea and computed the time. It falls in this year.\nWe have studied the sky, and in the spring of the year we saw two of the\ngreatest stars draw near together in the sign of the Fish, which is the\nhouse of the Hebrews. We also saw a new star there, which shone for one\nnight and then vanished. Now again the two great planets are meeting.\nThis night is their conjunction. My three brothers are watching at the\nancient temple of the Seven Spheres, at Borsippa, in Babylonia, and I am\nwatching here. If the star shines again, they will wait ten days for me\nat the temple, and then we will set out together for Jerusalem, to see\nand worship the promised one who shall be born King of Israel. I believe\nthe sign will come. I have made ready for the journey. I have sold my\nhouse and my possessions, and bought these three jewels--a sapphire, a\nruby, and a pearl--to carry them as tribute to the King. And I ask you\nto go with me on the pilgrimage, that we may have joy together in\nfinding the Prince who is worthy to be served.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking he thrust his hand into the inmost fold of his\ngirdle and drew out three great gems--one blue as a fragment of the\nnight sky, one redder than a ray of sunrise, and one as pure as the peak\nof a snow mountain at twilight--and laid them on the outspread linen\nscrolls before him.\n\nBut his friends looked on with strange and alien eyes. A veil of doubt\nand mistrust came over their faces, like a fog creeping up from the\nmarshes to hide the hills. They glanced at each other with looks of\nwonder and pity, as those who have listened to incredible sayings, the\nstory of a wild vision, or the proposal of an impossible enterprise.\n\nAt last Tigranes said: \"Artaban, this is a vain dream. It comes from too\nmuch looking upon the stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts. It\nwould be wiser to spend the time in gathering money for the new\nfire-temple at Chala. No king will ever rise from the broken race of\nIsrael, and no end will ever come to the eternal strife of light and\ndarkness. He who looks for it is a chaser of shadows. Farewell.\"\n\nAnd another said: \"Artaban, I have no knowledge of these things, and my\noffice as guardian of the royal treasure binds me here. The quest is not\nfor me. But if thou must follow it, fare thee well.\"\n\nAnd another said: \"In my house there sleeps a new bride, and I cannot\nleave her nor take her with me on this strange journey. This quest is\nnot for me. But may thy steps be prospered wherever thou goest. So,\nfarewell.\"\n\nAnd another said: \"I am ill and unfit for hardship, but there is a man\namong my servants whom I will send with thee when thou goest, to bring\nme word how thou farest.\"\n\nBut Abgarus, the oldest and the one who loved Artaban the best, lingered\nafter the others had gone, and said, gravely: \"My son, it may be that\nthe light of truth is in this sign that has appeared in the skies, and\nthen it will surely lead to the Prince and the mighty brightness. Or\nit may be that it is only a shadow of the light, as Tigranes has said,\nand then he who follows it will have only a long pilgrimage and an empty\nsearch. But it is better to follow even the shadow of the best than to\nremain content with the worst. And those who would see wonderful things\nmust often be ready to travel alone. I am too old for this journey, but\nmy heart shall be a companion of the pilgrimage day and night, and I\nshall know the end of thy quest. Go in peace.\"\n\nSo one by one they went out of the azure chamber with its silver stars,\nand Artaban was left in solitude.\n\nHe gathered up the jewels and replaced them in his girdle. For a long\ntime he stood and watched the flame that flickered and sank upon the\naltar. Then he crossed the hall, lifted the heavy curtain, and passed\nout between the dull red pillars of porphyry to the terrace on the roof.\n\nThe shiver that thrills through the earth ere she rouses from her\nnight sleep had already begun, and the cool wind that heralds the\ndaybreak was drawing downward from the lofty snow-traced ravines of\nMount Orontes. Birds, half awakened, crept and chirped among the\nrustling leaves, and the smell of ripened grapes came in brief wafts\nfrom the arbours.\n\nFar over the eastern plain a white mist stretched like a lake. But where\nthe distant peak of Zagros serrated the western horizon the sky was\nclear. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of lambent flame\nabout to blend in one.\n\nAs Artaban watched them, behold, an azure spark was born out of the\ndarkness beneath, rounding itself with purple splendours to a crimson\nsphere, and spiring upward through rays of saffron and orange into a\npoint of white radiance. Tiny and infinitely remote, yet perfect in\nevery part, it pulsated in the enormous vault as if the three jewels in\nthe Magian's breast had mingled and been transformed into a living heart\nof light. He bowed his head. He covered his brow with his hands.\n\n\"It is the sign,\" he said. \"The King is coming, and I will go to meet\nhim.\"\n\n\n\n\nBY THE WATERS OF BABYLON\n\n\nAll night long Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban's horses, had been\nwaiting, saddled and bridled, in her stall, pawing the ground\nimpatiently, and shaking her bit as if she shared the eagerness of her\nmaster's purpose, though she knew not its meaning.\n\nBefore the birds had fully roused to their strong, high, joyful chant of\nmorning song, before the white mist had begun to lift lazily from the\nplain, the other wise man was in the saddle, riding swiftly along the\nhigh-road, which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, westward.\n\nHow close, how intimate is the comradeship between a man and his\nfavourite horse on a long journey. It is a silent, comprehensive\nfriendship, an intercourse beyond the need of words. They drink at the\nsame way-side springs, and sleep under the same guardian stars. They are\nconscious together of the subduing spell of nightfall and the quickening\njoy of daybreak. The master shares his evening meal with his hungry\ncompanion, and feels the soft, moist lips caressing the palm of his hand\nas they close over the morsel of bread. In the gray dawn he is roused\nfrom his bivouac by the gentle stir of a warm, sweet breath over his\nsleeping face, and looks up into the eyes of his faithful\nfellow-traveller, ready and waiting for the toil of the day. Surely,\nunless he is a pagan and an unbeliever, by whatever name he calls upon\nhis God, he will thank Him for this voiceless sympathy, this dumb\naffection, and his morning prayer will embrace a double blessing--God\nbless us both, and keep our feet from falling and our souls from death!\n\nAnd then, through the keen morning air, the swift hoofs beat their\nspirited music along the road, keeping time to the pulsing of two hearts\nthat are moved with the same eager desire--to conquer space, to devour\nthe distance, to attain the goal of the journey.\n\nArtaban must indeed ride wisely and well if he would keep the appointed\nhour with the other Magi; for the route was a hundred and fifty\nparasangs, and fifteen was the utmost that he could travel in a day. But\nhe knew Vasda's strength, and pushed forward without anxiety, making the\nfixed distance every day, though he must travel late into the night, and\nin the morning long before sunrise.\n\nHe passed along the brown slopes of Mt. Orontes, furrowed by the rocky\ncourses of a hundred torrents.\n\nHe crossed the level plains of the Nisaeans, where the famous herds of\nhorses, feeding in the wide pastures, tossed their heads at Vasda's\napproach, and galloped away with a thunder of many hoofs, and flocks of\nwild birds rose suddenly from the swampy meadows, wheeling in great\ncircles with a shining flutter of innumerable wings and shrill cries of\nsurprise.\n\nHe traversed the fertile fields of Concabar, where the dust from the\nthreshing-floors filled the air with a golden mist, half hiding the\nhuge temple of Astarte with its four hundred pillars.\n\nAt Baghistan, among the rich gardens watered by fountains from the rock,\nhe looked up at the mountain thrusting its immense rugged brow out over\nthe road, and saw the figure of King Darius trampling upon his fallen\nfoes, and the proud list of his wars and conquests graven high upon the\nface of the eternal cliff.\n\nOver many a cold and desolate pass, crawling painfully across the\nwind-swept shoulders of the hills; down many a black mountain-gorge,\nwhere the river roared and raced before him like a savage guide; across\nmany a smiling vale, with terraces of yellow limestone full of vines and\nfruit-trees; through the oak-groves of Carine and the dark Gates of\nZagros, walled in by precipices; into the ancient city of Chala, where\nthe people of Samaria had been kept in captivity long ago; and out again\nby the mighty portal, riven through the encircling hills, where he saw\nthe image of the High Priest of the Magi sculptured on the wall of\nrock, with hand uplifted as if to bless the centuries of pilgrims; past\nthe entrance of the narrow defile, filled from end to end with orchards\nof peaches and figs, through which the river Gyndes foamed down to meet\nhim; over the broad rice-fields, where the autumnal vapours spread their\ndeathly mists; following along the course of the river, under tremulous\nshadows of poplar and tamarind, among the lower hills; and out upon the\nflat plain, where the road ran straight as an arrow through the\nstubble-fields and parched meadows; past the city of Ctesiphon, where\nthe Parthian emperors reigned, and the vast metropolis of Seleucia which\nAlexander built; across the swirling floods of Tigris and the many\nchannels of Euphrates, flowing yellow through the corn-lands--Artaban\npressed onward until he arrived, at nightfall of the tenth day, beneath\nthe shattered walls of populous Babylon.\n\nVasda was almost spent, and he would gladly have turned into the city to\nfind rest and refreshment for himself and for her. But he knew that it\nwas three hours' journey yet to the Temple of the Seven Spheres, and\nhe must reach the place by midnight if he would find his comrades\nwaiting. So he did not halt, but rode steadily across the\nstubble-fields.\n\nA grove of date-palms made an island of gloom in the pale yellow sea. As\nshe passed into the shadow Vasda slackened her pace, and began to pick\nher way more carefully.\n\nNear the farther end of the darkness an access of caution seemed to fall\nupon her. She scented some danger or difficulty; it was not in her heart\nto fly from it--only to be prepared for it, and to meet it wisely, as a\ngood horse should do. The grove was close and silent as the tomb; not a\nleaf rustled, not a bird sang.\n\nShe felt her steps before her delicately, carrying her head low, and\nsighing now and then with apprehension. At last she gave a quick breath\nof anxiety and dismay, and stood stock-still, quivering in every muscle,\nbefore a dark object in the shadow of the last palm-tree.\n\nArtaban dismounted. The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying\nacross the road. His humble dress and the outline of his haggard face\nshowed that he was probably one of the poor Hebrew exiles who still\ndwelt in great numbers in the vicinity. His pallid skin, dry and yellow\nas parchment, bore the mark of the deadly fever which ravaged the\nmarsh-lands in autumn. The chill of death was in his lean hand, and, as\nArtaban released it, the arm fell back inertly upon the motionless\nbreast.\n\nHe turned away with a thought of pity, consigning the body to that\nstrange burial which the Magians deem most fitting--the funeral of the\ndesert, from which the kites and vultures rise on dark wings, and the\nbeasts of prey slink furtively away, leaving only a heap of white bones\nin the sand.\n\nBut, as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man's lips.\nThe brown, bony fingers closed convulsively on the hem of the Magian's\nrobe and held him fast.\n\nArtaban's heart leaped to his throat, not with fear, but with a dumb\nresentment at the importunity of this blind delay. How could he stay\nhere in the darkness to minister to a dying stranger? What claim had\nthis unknown fragment of human life upon his compassion or his service?\nIf he lingered but for an hour he could hardly reach Borsippa at the\nappointed time. His companions would think he had given up the journey.\nThey would go without him. He would lose his quest.\n\nBut if he went on now, the man would surely die. If he stayed, life\nmight be restored. His spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency of\nthe crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his divine faith for the\nsake of a single deed of human love? Should he turn aside, if only for a\nmoment, from the following of the star, to give a cup of cold water to a\npoor, perishing Hebrew?\n\n\"God of truth and purity,\" he prayed, \"direct me in the holy path, the\nway of wisdom which Thou only knowest.\"\n\nThen he turned back to the sick man. Loosening the grasp of his hand, he\ncarried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm-tree. He unbound\nthe thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above the sunken\nbreast. He brought water from one of the small canals near by, and\nmoistened the sufferer's brow and mouth. He mingled a draught of one of\nthose simple but potent remedies which he carried always in his\ngirdle--for the Magians were physicians as well as astrologers--and\npoured it slowly between the colourless lips. Hour after hour he labored\nas only a skilful healer of disease can do; and, at last, the man's\nstrength returned; he sat up and looked about him.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" he said, in the rude dialect of the country, \"and why\nhast thou sought me here to bring back my life?\"\n\n\"I am Artaban the Magian, of the city of Ecbatana, and I am going to\nJerusalem in search of one who is to be born King of the Jews, a great\nPrince and Deliverer for all men. I dare not delay any longer upon my\njourney, for the caravan that has waited for me may depart without me.\nBut see, here is all that I have left of bread and wine, and here is a\npotion of healing herbs. When thy strength is restored thou can'st\nfind the dwellings of the Hebrews among the houses of Babylon.\"\n\nThe Jew raised his trembling hands solemnly to heaven.\n\n\"Now may the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob bless and prosper the\njourney of the merciful, and bring him in peace to his desired haven.\nBut stay; I have nothing to give thee in return--only this: that I can\ntell thee where the Messiah must be sought. For our prophets have said\nthat he should be born not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem of Judah. May\nthe Lord bring thee in safety to that place, because thou hast had pity\nupon the sick.\"\n\nIt was already long past midnight. Artaban rode in haste, and Vasda,\nrestored by the brief rest, ran eagerly through the silent plain and\nswam the channels of the river. She put forth the remnant of her\nstrength, and fled over the ground like a gazelle.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE CAUGHT IT UP AND READ\"]\n\nBut the first beam of the sun sent her shadow before her as she entered\nupon the final stadium of the journey, and the eyes of Artaban\nanxiously scanning the great mound of Nimrod and the Temple of the Seven\nSpheres, could discern no trace of his friends.\n\nThe many-coloured terraces of black and orange and red and yellow and\ngreen and blue and white, shattered by the convulsions of nature, and\ncrumbling under the repeated blows of human violence, still glittered\nlike a ruined rainbow in the morning light.\n\nArtaban rode swiftly around the hill. He dismounted and climbed to the\nhighest terrace, looking out towards the west.\n\nThe huge desolation of the marshes stretched away to the horizon and the\nborder of the desert. Bitterns stood by the stagnant pools and jackals\nskulked through the low bushes; but there was no sign of the caravan of\nthe wise men, far or near.\n\nAt the edge of the terrace he saw a little cairn of broken bricks, and\nunder them a piece of parchment. He caught it up and read: \"We have\nwaited past the midnight, and can delay no longer. We go to find the\nKing. Follow us across the desert.\" Artaban sat down upon the ground\nand covered his head in despair.\n\n\"How can I cross the desert,\" said he, \"with no food and with a spent\nhorse? I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire, and buy a train of\ncamels, and provision for the journey. I may never overtake my friends.\nOnly God the merciful knows whether I shall not lose the sight of the\nKing because I tarried to show mercy.\"\n\n\n\n\nFOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD\n\n\nThere was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was\nlistening to the story of the other wise man. And through this silence I\nsaw, but very dimly, his figure passing over the dreary undulations of\nthe desert, high upon the back of his camel, rocking steadily onward\nlike a ship over the waves.\n\nThe land of death spread its cruel net around him. The stony wastes bore\nno fruit but briers and thorns. The dark ledges of rock thrust\nthemselves above the surface here and there, like the bones of perished\nmonsters. Arid and inhospitable mountain ranges rose before him,\nfurrowed with dry channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly as\nscars on the face of nature. Shifting hills of treacherous sand were\nheaped like tombs along the horizon. By day, the fierce heat pressed\nits intolerable burden on the quivering air; and no living creature\nmoved, on the dumb, swooning earth, but tiny jerboas scuttling through\nthe parched bushes, or lizards vanishing in the clefts of the rock. By\nnight the jackals prowled and barked in the distance, and the lion made\nthe black ravines echo with his hollow roaring, while a bitter,\nblighting chill followed the fever of the day. Through heat and cold,\nthe Magian moved steadily onward.\n\nThen I saw the gardens and orchards of Damascus, watered by the streams\nof Abana and Pharpar, with their sloping swards inlaid with bloom, and\ntheir thickets of myrrh and roses. I saw also the long, snowy ridge of\nHermon, and the dark groves of cedars, and the valley of the Jordan, and\nthe blue waters of the Lake of Galilee, and the fertile plain of\nEsdraelon, and the hills of Ephraim, and the highlands of Judah. Through\nall these I followed the figure of Artaban moving steadily onward, until\nhe arrived at Bethlehem. And it was the third day after the three wise\nmen had come to that place and had found Mary and Joseph, with the\nyoung child, Jesus, and had laid their gifts of gold and frankincense\nand myrrh at his feet.\n\nThen the other wise man drew near, weary, but full of hope, bearing his\nruby and his pearl to offer to the King. \"For now at last,\" he said, \"I\nshall surely find him, though it be alone, and later than my brethren.\nThis is the place of which the Hebrew exile told me that the prophets\nhad spoken, and here I shall behold the rising of the great light. But I\nmust inquire about the visit of my brethren, and to what house the star\ndirected them, and to whom they presented their tribute.\"\n\nThe streets of the village seemed to be deserted, and Artaban wondered\nwhether the men had all gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their\nsheep. From the open door of a low stone cottage he heard the sound of a\nwoman's voice singing softly. He entered and found a young mother\nhushing her baby to rest. She told him of the strangers from the far\nEast who had appeared in the village three days ago, and how they said\nthat a star had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was\nlodging with his wife and her new-born child, and how they had paid\nreverence to the child and given him many rich gifts.\n\n\"But the travellers disappeared again,\" she continued, \"as suddenly as\nthey had come. We were afraid at the strangeness of their visit. We\ncould not understand it. The man of Nazareth took the babe and his\nmother and fled away that same night secretly, and it was whispered that\nthey were going far away to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a spell\nupon the village; something evil hangs over it. They say that the Roman\nsoldiers are coming from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and the\nmen have driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills, and\nhidden themselves to escape it.\"\n\nArtaban listened to her gentle, timid speech, and the child in her arms\nlooked up in his face and smiled, stretching out its rosy hands to grasp\nat the winged circle of gold on his breast. His heart warmed to the\ntouch. It seemed like a greeting of love and trust to one who had\njourneyed long in loneliness and perplexity, fighting with his own\ndoubts and fears, and following a light that was veiled in clouds.\n\n\"Might not this child have been the promised Prince?\" he asked within\nhimself, as he touched its soft cheek. \"Kings have been born ere now in\nlowlier houses than this, and the favourite of the stars may rise even\nfrom a cottage. But it has not seemed good to the God of wisdom to\nreward my search so soon and so easily. The one whom I seek has gone\nbefore me; and now I must follow the King to Egypt.\"\n\nThe young mother laid the babe in its cradle, and rose to minister to\nthe wants of the strange guest that fate had brought into her house. She\nset food before him, the plain fare of peasants, but willingly offered,\nand therefore full of refreshment for the soul as well as for the body.\nArtaban accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child fell into a\nhappy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a great peace\nfilled the quiet room.\n\nBut suddenly there came the noise of a wild confusion and uproar in the\nstreets of the village, a shrieking and wailing of women's voices, a\nclangor of brazen trumpets and a clashing of swords, and a desperate\ncry: \"The soldiers! the soldiers of Herod! They are killing our\nchildren.\"\n\nThe young mother's face grew white with terror. She clasped her child to\nher bosom, and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the room,\ncovering him with the folds of her robe, lest he should wake and cry.\n\nBut Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house. His\nbroad shoulders filled the portal from side to side, and the peak of his\nwhite cap all but touched the lintel.\n\n[Illustration: \"THERE IS NONE HERE SAVE ME\"]\n\nThe soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and\ndripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress they\nhesitated with surprise. The captain of the band approached the\nthreshold to thrust him aside. But Artaban did not stir. His face was as\ncalm as though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned\nthat steady radiance before which even the half-tamed hunting leopard\nshrinks, and the fierce bloodhound pauses in his leap. He held the\nsoldier silently for an instant, and then said in a low voice:\n\n\"There is no one in this place but me, and I am waiting to give this\njewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace.\"\n\nHe showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a great\ndrop of blood.\n\nThe captain was amazed at the splendour of the gem. The pupils of his\neyes expanded with desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around\nhis lips. He stretched out his hand and took the ruby.\n\n\"March on!\" he cried to his men, \"there is no child here. The house is\nstill.\"\n\nThe clamour and the clang of arms passed down the street as the headlong\nfury of the chase sweeps by the secret covert where the trembling deer\nis hidden. Artaban re-entered the cottage. He turned his face to the\neast and prayed:\n\n\"God of truth, forgive my sin! I have said the thing that is not, to\nsave the life of a child. And two of my gifts are gone. I have spent for\nman that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy to see the face\nof the King?\"\n\nBut the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadow behind him,\nsaid very gently:\n\n\"Because thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless\nthee and keep thee; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be\ngracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give\nthee peace.\"\n\n\n\n\nIN THE HIDDEN WAY OF SORROW\n\n\nThen again there was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, deeper and more\nmysterious than the first interval, and I understood that the years of\nArtaban were flowing very swiftly under the stillness of that clinging\nfog, and I caught only a glimpse, here and there, of the river of his\nlife shining through the shadows that concealed its course.\n\nI saw him moving among the throngs of men in populous Egypt, seeking\neverywhere for traces of the household that had come down from\nBethlehem, and finding them under the spreading sycamore-trees of\nHeliopolis, and beneath the walls of the Roman fortress of New Babylon\nbeside the Nile--traces so faint and dim that they vanished before him\ncontinually, as footprints on the hard river-sand glisten for a\nmoment with moisture and then disappear.\n\nI saw him again at the foot of the pyramids, which lifted their sharp\npoints into the intense saffron glow of the sunset sky, changeless\nmonuments of the perishable glory and the imperishable hope of man. He\nlooked up into the vast countenance of the crouching Sphinx and vainly\ntried to read the meaning of her calm eyes and smiling mouth. Was it,\nindeed, the mockery of all effort and all aspiration, as Tigranes had\nsaid--the cruel jest of a riddle that has no answer, a search that never\ncan succeed? Or was there a touch of pity and encouragement in that\ninscrutable smile--a promise that even the defeated should attain a\nvictory, and the disappointed should discover a prize, and the ignorant\nshould be made wise, and the blind should see, and the wandering should\ncome into the haven at last?\n\nI saw him again in an obscure house of Alexandria, taking counsel with a\nHebrew rabbi. The venerable man, bending over the rolls of parchment\non which the prophecies of Israel were written, read aloud the pathetic\nwords which foretold the sufferings of the promised Messiah--the\ndespised and rejected of men, the man of sorrows and the acquaintance of\ngrief.\n\n\"And remember, my son,\" said he, fixing his deep-set eyes upon the face\nof Artaban, \"the King whom you are seeking is not to be found in a\npalace, nor among the rich and powerful. If the light of the world and\nthe glory of Israel had been appointed to come with the greatness of\nearthly splendour, it must have appeared long ago. For no son of Abraham\nwill ever again rival the power which Joseph had in the palaces of\nEgypt, or the magnificence of Solomon throned between the lions in\nJerusalem. But the light for which the world is waiting is a new light,\nthe glory that shall rise out of patient and triumphant suffering. And\nthe kingdom which is to be established forever is a new kingdom, the\nroyalty of perfect and unconquerable love. I do not know how this\nshall come to pass, nor how the turbulent kings and peoples of earth\nshall be brought to acknowledge the Messiah and pay homage to him. But\nthis I know. Those who seek Him will do well to look among the poor and\nthe lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"HE HEALED THE SICK\"]\n\nSo I saw the other wise man again and again, travelling from place to\nplace, and searching among the people of the dispersion, with whom the\nlittle family from Bethlehem might, perhaps, have found a refuge. He\npassed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land, and the\npoor were crying for bread. He made his dwelling in plague-stricken\ncities where the sick were languishing in the bitter companionship of\nhelpless misery. He visited the oppressed and the afflicted in the gloom\nof subterranean prisons, and the crowded wretchedness of slave-markets,\nand the weary toil of galley-ships. In all this populous and intricate\nworld of anguish, though he found none to worship, he found many to\nhelp. He fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and healed the sick,\nand comforted the captive; and his years went by more swiftly than the\nweaver's shuttle that flashes back and forth through the loom while the\nweb grows and the invisible pattern is completed.\n\nIt seemed almost as if he had forgotten his quest. But once I saw him\nfor a moment as he stood alone at sunrise, waiting at the gate of a\nRoman prison. He had taken from a secret resting-place in his bosom the\npearl, the last of his jewels. As he looked at it, a mellower lustre, a\nsoft and iridescent light, full of shifting gleams of azure and rose,\ntrembled upon its surface. It seemed to have absorbed some reflection of\nthe colours of the lost sapphire and ruby. So the profound, secret\npurpose of a noble life draws into itself the memories of past joy and\npast sorrow. All that has helped it, all that has hindered it, is\ntransfused by a subtle magic into its very essence. It becomes more\nluminous and precious the longer it is carried close to the warmth of\nthe beating heart. Then, at last, while I was thinking of this pearl,\nand of its meaning, I heard the end of the story of the other wise man.\n\n\n\n\nA PEARL OF GREAT PRICE\n\n\nThree-and-thirty years of the life of Artaban had passed away, and he\nwas still a pilgrim and a seeker after light. His hair, once darker than\nthe cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that covered\nthem. His eyes, that once flashed like flames of fire, were dull as\nembers smouldering among the ashes.\n\nWorn and weary and ready to die, but still looking for the King, he had\ncome for the last time to Jerusalem. He had often visited the holy city\nbefore, and had searched through all its lanes and crowded hovels and\nblack prisons without finding any trace of the family of Nazarenes who\nhad fled from Bethlehem long ago. But now it seemed as if he must make\none more effort, and something whispered in his heart that, at last, he\nmight succeed. It was the season of the Passover. The city was\nthronged with strangers. The children of Israel, scattered in far lands\nall over the world, had returned to the Temple for the great feast, and\nthere had been a confusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many\ndays.\n\nBut on this day there was a singular agitation visible in the multitude.\nThe sky was veiled with a portentous gloom, and currents of excitement\nseemed to flash through the crowd like the thrill which shakes the\nforest on the eve of a storm. A secret tide was sweeping them all one\nway. The clatter of sandals, and the soft, thick sound of thousands of\nbare feet shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along the street\nthat leads to the Damascus gate.\n\nArtaban joined company with a group of people from his own country,\nParthian Jews who had come up to keep the Passover, and inquired of them\nthe cause of the tumult, and where they were going.\n\n\"We are going,\" they answered, \"to the place called Golgotha, outside\nthe city walls, where there is to be an execution. Have you not heard\nwhat has happened? Two famous robbers are to be crucified, and with them\nanother, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful\nworks among the people, so that they love him greatly. But the priests\nand elders have said that he must die, because he gave himself out to be\nthe Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the cross because he said\nthat he was the 'King of the Jews.'\"\n\nHow strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired heart of Artaban!\nThey had led him for a lifetime over land and sea. And now they came to\nhim darkly and mysteriously like a message of despair. The King had\narisen, but he had been denied and cast out. He was about to perish.\nPerhaps he was already dying. Could it be the same who had been born in\nBethlehem, thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had appeared\nin heaven, and of whose coming the prophets had spoken?\n\nArtaban's heart beat unsteadily with that troubled, doubtful\napprehension which is the excitement of old age. But he said within\nhimself, \"The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts of men, and it\nmay be that I shall find the King, at last, in the hands of His enemies,\nand shall come in time to offer my pearl for His ransom before He dies.\"\n\nSo the old man followed the multitude with slow and painful steps\ntowards the Damascus gate of the city. Just beyond the entrance of the\nguard-house a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the street,\ndragging a young girl with torn dress and dishevelled hair. As the\nMagian paused to look at her with compassion, she broke suddenly from\nthe hands of her tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him\naround the knees. She had seen his white cap and the winged circle on\nhis breast.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE OLD MAN FOLLOWED THE MULTITUDE\"]\n\n\"Have pity on me,\" she cried, \"and save me, for the sake of the God of\nPurity! I also am a daughter of the true religion which is taught by the\nMagi. My father was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am\nseized for his debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!\"\n\nArtaban trembled.\n\nIt was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the\npalm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage at Bethlehem--the conflict\nbetween the expectation of faith and the impulse of love. Twice the gift\nwhich he had consecrated to the worship of religion had been drawn from\nhis hand to the service of humanity. This was the third trial, the\nultimate probation, the final and irrevocable choice.\n\nWas it his great opportunity, or his last temptation? He could not tell.\nOne thing only was clear in the darkness of his mind--it was inevitable.\nAnd does not the inevitable come from God?\n\nOne thing only was sure to his divided heart--to rescue this helpless\ngirl would be a true deed of love. And is not love the light of the\nsoul?\n\nHe took the pearl from his bosom. Never had it seemed so luminous, so\nradiant, so full of tender, living lustre. He laid it in the hand of\nthe slave.\n\n\"This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last of my treasures which I\nkept for the King.\"\n\nWhile he spoke the darkness of the sky thickened, and shuddering tremors\nran through the earth, heaving convulsively like the breast of one who\nstruggles with mighty grief.\n\nThe walls of the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were loosened and\ncrashed into the street. Dust clouds filled the air. The soldiers fled\nin terror, reeling like drunken men. But Artaban and the girl whom he\nhad ransomed crouched helpless beneath the wall of the Praetorium.\n\nWhat had he to fear? What had he to live for? He had given away the last\nremnant of his tribute for the King. He had parted with the last hope of\nfinding Him. The quest was over, and it had failed. But, even in that\nthought, accepted and embraced, there was peace. It was not resignation.\nIt was not submission. It was something more profound and searching.\nHe knew that all was well, because he had done the best that he could,\nfrom day to day. He had been true to the light that had been given to\nhim. He had looked for more. And if he had not found it, if a failure\nwas all that came out of his life, doubtless that was the best that was\npossible. He had not seen the revelation of \"life everlasting,\nincorruptible and immortal.\" But he knew that even if he could live his\nearthly life over again, it could not be otherwise than it had been.\n\nOne more lingering pulsation of the earthquake quivered through the\nground. A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man\non the temple. He lay breathless and pale, with his gray head resting on\nthe young girl's shoulder, and the blood trickling from the wound. As\nshe bent over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice through\nthe twilight, very small and still, like music sounding from a distance,\nin which the notes are clear but the words are lost. The girl turned to\nsee if some one had spoken from the window above them, but she saw no\none.\n\nThen the old man's lips began to move, as if in answer, and she heard\nhim say in the Parthian tongue:\n\n\"Not so, my Lord! For when saw I thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or\nthirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee\nin? Or naked, and clothed thee? When saw I thee sick or in prison, and\ncame unto thee? Three-and-thirty years have I looked for thee; but I\nhave never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King.\"\n\nHe ceased, and the sweet voice came again. And again the maid heard it,\nvery faintly and far away. But now it seemed as though she understood\nthe words:\n\n\"_Verily I say unto thee, inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the\nleast of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me_.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE OTHER WISE MAN HAD FOUND THE KING\"]\n\nA calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban like\nthe first ray of dawn on a snowy mountain-peak. One long, last breath\nof relief exhaled gently from his lips.\n\nHis journey was ended. His treasures were accepted. The other Wise Man\nhad found the King.","title":"The Story of the Other Wise Man","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":8941}