{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16291/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16291","id":"gutenberg_16291","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16291","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Christian fiction","Christmas stories","Jesus Christ -- Fiction","Magi -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Michael Gray (Lost_Gamer@comcast.net)\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration - The Other Wise Man Had Found the King]\n\n_THE STORY\n   OF THE\nOTHER WISE MAN_\n\n\n      By\n_Henry Van Dyke_\n\n\n_NEW YORK AND LONDON\nHARPER & BROTHERS_\n\n\nCopyright 1895, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS\n                   ---\n          _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n_Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul,\nMay keep the path, but will not reach the goal;\nWhile he who walks in love may wander far,\nYet God will bring him where the blessed are._\n\n\n\n        Contents\n\nPREFACE\nTHE SIGN IN THE SKY\nBY THE WATERS OF BABYLON\nFOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD\nIN THE HIDDEN WAY OF SORROW\nA PEARL OF GREAT PRICE\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIt is now some years since this little story was set afloat on the sea\nof books. It is not a man-of-war, nor even a high-sided merchantman;\nonly a small, peaceful sailing-vessel. Yet it has had rather an\nadventurous voyage. Twice it has fallen into the hands of pirates. The\ntides have carried it to far countries. It has been passed through the\ntranslator's port of entry into German, French, Armenian, Turkish, and\nperhaps some other foreign regions. Once I caught sight of it flying\nthe outlandish flag of a brand-new phonetic language along the coasts\nof France; and once it was claimed by a dealer in antiquities as a\nlong-lost legend of the Orient. Best of all, it has slipped quietly\ninto many a far-away harbor that I have never seen, and found a kindly\nwelcome, and brought back messages of good cheer from unknown friends.\n\nNow it has turned home to be new-rigged and fitted for further\nvoyaging. Before it is sent out again I have been asked to tell where\nthe story came from and what it means.\n\nI do not know where it came from--out of the air, perhaps. One thing is\ncertain, it is not written in any other book, nor is it to be found\namong the ancient lore of the East. And yet I have never felt as if it\nwere my own. It was a gift. It was sent to me; and it seemed as if I\nknew the Giver, though His name was not spoken.\n\nThe year had been full of sickness and sorrow. Every day brought\ntrouble. Every night was tormented with pain. They are very long--those\nnights when one lies awake, and hears the laboring heart pumping\nwearily at its task, and watches for the morning, not knowing whether\nit will ever dawn. They are not nights of fear; for the thought of\ndeath grows strangely familiar when you have lived with it for a year.\nBesides, after a time you come to feel like a soldier who has been long\nstanding still under fire; any change would be a relief. But they are\nlonely nights; they are very heavy nights. And their heaviest burden is\nthis:\n\nYou must face the thought that your work in the world may be almost\nended, but you know that it is not nearly finished.\n\nYou have not solved the problems that perplexed you. You have not\nreached the goal that you aimed at. You have not accomplished the great\ntask that you set for yourself. You are still on the way; and perhaps\nyour journey must end now,--nowhere,--in the dark.\n\nWell, it was in one of these long, lonely nights that this story came\nto me. I had studied and loved the curious tales of the Three Wise Men\nof the East as they are told in the \"Golden Legend\" of Jacobus de\nVoragine and other mediaeval books. But of the Fourth Wise Man I had\nnever heard until that night. Then I saw him distinctly, moving through\nthe shadows in a little circle of light. His countenance was as clear\nas the memory of my father's face as I saw it for the last time a few\nmonths before. The narrative of his journeyings and trials and\ndisappointments ran without a break. Even certain sentences came to me\ncomplete and unforgettable, clear-cut like a cameo. All that I had to\ndo was to follow Artaban, step by step, as the tale went on, from the\nbeginning to the end of his pilgrimage.\n\nPerhaps this may explain some things in the story. I have been asked\nmany times why I made the Fourth Wise Man tell a lie, in the cottage at\nBethlehem, to save the little child's life.\n\nI did not make him tell a lie.\n\nWhat Artaban said to the soldiers he said for himself, because he could\nnot help it.\n\nIs a lie ever justifiable? Perhaps not. But may it not sometimes seem\ninevitable?\n\nAnd if it were a sin, might not a man confess it, and be pardoned for\nit more easily than for the greater sin of spiritual selfishness, or\nindifference, or the betrayal of innocent blood? That is what I saw\nArtaban do. That is what I heard him say. All through his life he was\ntrying to do the best that he could. It was not perfect. But there are\nsome kinds of failure that are better than success.\n\nThough the story of the Fourth Wise Man came to me suddenly and without\nlabor, there was a great deal of study and toil to be done before it\ncould be written down. An idea arrives without effort; a form can only\nbe wrought out by patient labor. If your story is worth telling, you\nought to love it enough to be willing to work over it until it is\ntrue,--true not only to the ideal, but true also to the real. The light\nis a gift; but the local color can only be seen by one who looks for it\nlong and steadily. Artaban went with me while I toiled through a score\nof volumes of ancient history and travel. I saw his figure while I\njourneyed on the motionless sea of the desert and in the strange cities\nof the East.\n\nAnd now that his story is told, what does it mean?\n\nHow can I tell? What does life mean? If the meaning could be put into a\nsentence there would be no need of telling the story.\n\n                              HENRY VAN DYKE.\n\n\nYou know the story of the Three Wise Men of the East, and how they\ntraveled 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\nof his 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\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\nlike a jewel in a sevenfold crown.\n\nAround the dwelling of Artaban spread a fair garden, a tangle of\nflowers and fruit trees, watered by a score of streams descending from\nthe slopes of Mount Orontes, and made musical by innumerable birds. But\nall color was lost in the soft and odorous darkness of the late\nSeptember night, and all sounds were hushed in the deep charm of its\nsilence, save the plashing of the water, like a voice half sobbing and\nhalf laughing under the shadows. High above the trees a dim glow of\nlight shone through the curtained arches of the upper chamber, where\nthe master of the 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\nbrow, and firm lines graven around his fine, thin lips; the brow of a\ndreamer and the mouth of soldier, a man of sensitive feeling but\ninflexible will--one of those who, in whatever age they may live, are\nborn for inward 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\nflowing black hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood of the\nMagi, called 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\nthis house 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-colored 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\nof the Yasna, and the voices of his companions joined in the beautiful\nhymn to 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,\n     and the words 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 splendor.\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\nthe figure of a winged archer, with his arrow set to the string and his\nbow drawn.\n\nThe doorway between the pillars, which opened upon the terrace of the\nroof, was covered with a heavy curtain of the color 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\nand spirit of the master.\n\nHe turned to his friends when the song was ended, and invited them to\nbe seated 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.\"\n\n\"Hear me, then, my father and my friends,\" said Artaban, very quietly,\n\"while I tell you of the new light and truth that have come to me\nthrough the most ancient of all signs. We have searched the secrets of\nnature together, and studied the healing virtues of water and fire and\nthe plants. We have read also the books of prophecy in which the future\nis dimly foretold in words that are hard to understand. But the highest\nof all learning is the knowledge of the stars. To trace their courses\nis to untangle the threads of the mystery of life from the beginning to\nthe end. If we could follow them perfectly, nothing would be hidden\nfrom us. But is not our knowledge of them still incomplete? Are there\nnot many stars still beyond our horizon--lights that are known only to\nthe dwellers in the far south-land, among the spice-trees of Punt and\nthe 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 of\nhis 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\nthe Greeks, who say that there is no truth, and that the only wise men\nare those who spend their lives in discovering and exposing the lies\nthat have been believed in the world. But the new sunrise will\ncertainly dawn in the appointed time. Do not our own books tell us that\nthis will come to pass, and that men will see the brightness of a great\nlight?\"\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\nnumber of the prophets in the east country. Around him shall shine a\nmighty brightness, and he shall make life everlasting, incorruptible,\nand immortal, 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\ncountry, rather than to look for one who may be a stranger, and to whom\nwe must resign 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.\nBut Artaban 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\nit I have read other words which also have come from the fountain of\nTruth, and speak yet more clearly of the rising of the Victorious One\nin his brightness.\"\n\nHe drew from the breast of his tunic two small rolls of fine linen,\nwith writing 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\nBalaam the 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\nthrough the mountains like lost sheep, and from the remnant that dwells\nin Judea under 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 honoured and beloved of our great King Cyrus. A prophet of\nsure things and a reader of the thoughts of God, Daniel proved himself\nto our people. And these are the words that he wrote.\" (Artaban read\nfrom the second roll:) \"'Know, therefore, and understand that from the\ngoing forth of the commandment to restore Jerusalem, unto the Anointed\nOne, the Prince, the time shall be seven and threescore and two\nweeks.'\"\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\nyear. We have studied the sky, and in the spring of the year we saw two\nof the greatest stars draw near together in the sign of the Fish, which\nis the house of the Hebrews. We also saw a new star there, which shone\nfor one night and then vanished. Now again the two great planets are\nmeeting. This night is their conjunction. My three brothers are\nwatching at the ancient Temple of the Seven Spheres, at Borsippa, in\nBabylonia, and I am watching here. If the star shines again, they will\nwait ten days for me at the temple, and then we will set out together\nfor Jerusalem, to see and worship the promised one who shall be born\nKing of Israel. I believe the sign will come. I have made ready for the\njourney. I have sold my house and my possessions, and bought these\nthree jewels--a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl--to carry them as tribute\nto the King. And I ask you to go with me on the pilgrimage, that we may\nhave joy together in finding 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\npeak of a snow mountain at twilight--and laid them on the out-spread\nlinen scrolls 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\ntoo much looking upon the stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts.\nIt would 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\nnot for 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,\nlingered after the others had gone, and said, gravely: \"My son, it may\nbe that the light of truth is in this sign that has appeared in the\nskies, and then it will surely lead to the Prince and the mighty\nbrightness. Or it may be that it is only a shadow of the light, as\nTigranes has said, and then he who follows it will have only a long\npilgrimage and an empty search. But it is better to follow even the\nshadow of the best than to remain content with the worst. And those who\nwould see wonderful things must often be ready to travel alone. I am\ntoo old for this journey, but my heart shall be a companion of the\npilgrimage day and night, and I shall know the end of thy quest. Go in\npeace.\"\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\nroof.\n\nThe shiver that thrills through the earth ere she rouses from her night\nsleep had already begun, and the cool wind that heralds the daybreak\nwas drawing downward from the lofty, snow-traced ravines of Mount\nOrontes. Birds, half awakened, crept and chirped among the rustling\nleaves, and the smell of ripened grapes came in brief wafts from the\narbors.\n\nFar over the eastern plain a white mist stretched like a lake. But\nwhere the distant peak of Zagros serrated the western horizon the sky\nwas clear. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of lambent\nflame about to blend in one.\n\nAs Artaban watched them, behold, an azure spark was born out of the\ndarkness beneath, rounding itself with purple splendors 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\nheart of light.\n\nHe 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\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\nof morning song, before the white mist had begun to lift lazily from\nthe plain, the other wise man was in the saddle, riding swiftly along\nthe high-road, which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, westward.\n\nHow close, how intimate is the comradeship between a man and his\nfavorite horse on a long journey. It is a silent, comprehensive\nfriendship, an intercourse beyond the need of words.\n\nThey drink at the same wayside springs, and sleep under the same\nguardian stars. They are conscious together of the subduing spell of\nnightfall and the quickening joy of daybreak. The master shares his\nevening meal with his hungry companion, and feels the soft, moist lips\ncaressing the palm of his hand as they close over the morsel of bread.\nIn the gray dawn he is roused from his bivouac by the gentle stir of a\nwarm, sweet breath over his sleeping face, and looks up into the eyes\nof his faithful fellow-traveller, ready and waiting for the toil of the\nday. Surely, unless he is a pagan and an unbeliever, by whatever name\nhe calls upon his God, he will thank Him for this voiceless sympathy,\nthis dumb affection, and his morning prayer will embrace a double\nblessing--God bless us both, and keep our feet from falling and our\nsouls 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\nhearts that are moved with the same eager desire--to conquer space, to\ndevour the distance, to attain the goal of the journey.\n\nArtaban must, indeed, ride wisely and well if he would keep the\nappointed hour with the other Magi; for the route was a hundred and\nfifty parasangs, and fifteen was the utmost that he could travel in a\nday. But he knew Vasda's strength, and pushed forward without anxiety,\nmaking the fixed distance every day, though he must travel late into\nthe night, and in the morning long before sunrise.\n\nHe passed along the brown slopes of Mount Orontes, furrowed by the\nrocky courses of a hundred torrents.\n\nHe crossed the level plains of the Nisasans, 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\nrock, he looked up at the mountain thrusting its immense rugged brow\nout over the road, and saw the figure of King Darius trampling upon his\nfallen foes, and the proud list of his wars and conquests graven high\nupon the face 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\nand fruit 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\nagain by the mighty portal, riven through the encircling hills, where\nhe saw the image of the High Priest of the Magi sculptured on the wall\nof rock, with hand uplifted as if to bless the centuries of pilgrims;\npast the entrance of the narrow defile, filled from end to end with\norchards of peaches and figs, through which the river Gyndes foamed\ndown to meet him; over the broad rice-fields, where the autumnal vapors\nspread their deathly mists; following along the course of the river,\nunder tremulous shadows of poplar and tamarind, among the lower hills;\nand out upon the flat plain, where the road ran straight as an arrow\nthrough the stubble-fields and parched meadows; past the city of\nCtesiphon, where the Parthian emperors reigned, and the vast metropolis\nof Seleucia which Alexander built; across the swirling floods of Tigris\nand the many channels of Euphrates, flowing yellow through the\ncorn-lands--Artaban pressed onward until he arrived, at nightfall of\nthe tenth day, beneath the shattered walls of populous Babylon.\n\nVasda was almost spent, and he would gladly have turned into the city\nto find rest and refreshment for himself and for her. But he knew that\nit was 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.\nAs she passed into the shadow Vasda slackened her pace, and began to\npick her way more carefully.\n\nNear the farther end of the darkness an access of caution seemed to\nfall upon her. She scented some danger or difficulty; it was not in her\nheart to fly from it--only to be prepared for it, and to meet it\nwisely, as a good horse should do. The grove was close and silent as\nthe tomb; not a leaf 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\nmuscle, before 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 deemed most fitting--the funeral of\nthe desert, from which the kites and vultures rise on dark wings, and\nthe beasts of prey slink furtively away, leaving only a heap of white\nbones in the sand.\n\nBut, as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man's\nlips. The brown, bony fingers closed convulsively on the hem of the\nMagian's robe 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.\n\nHow could he stay here in the darkness to minister to a dying stranger?\nWhat claim had this unknown fragment of human life upon his compassion\nor his service? If he lingered but for an hour he could hardly reach\nBorsippa at the appointed time. His companions would think he had given\nup the journey. They 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\nof the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his divine faith for\nthe sake of a single deed of human love? Should he turn aside, if only\nfor a moment, from the following of the star, to give a cup of cold\nwater to a poor, 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,\nhe carried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm-tree.\n\nHe unbound the thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above\nthe sunken breast. He brought water from one of the small canals near\nby, and moistened the sufferer's brow and mouth. He mingled a draught\nof one of those simple but potent remedies which he carried always in\nhis girdle--for the Magians were physicians as well as astrologers--and\npoured it slowly between the colorless 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 of 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 canst find\nthe dwellings of the Hebrews among the houses of Babylon.\"\n\nThe Jew raised his trembling hand 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\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\nSeven Spheres, could discern no trace of his friends.\n\nThe many-colored 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\nthe border of the desert. Bitterns stood by the stagnant pools and\njackals skulked through the low bushes; but there was no sign of the\ncaravan of the 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.\"\n\nArtaban sat down upon the ground and 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\nFOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD\n\n\nThere was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was listening to the\nstory of the Other Wise Man. And through this silence I saw, but very\ndimly, his figure passing over the dreary undulations of the desert,\nhigh upon the back of his camel, rocking steadily onward like a ship\nover the waves.\n\nThe land of death spread its cruel net around him. The stony wastes\nbore no 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,\nand the blue waters of the Lake of Galilee, and the fertile plain of\nEsdraelon, and the hills of Ephraim, and the highlands of Judah.\nThrough all these I followed the figure of Artaban moving steadily\nonward, until he arrived at Bethlehem. And it was the third day after\nthe three wise men had come to that place and had found Mary and\nJoseph, with the young child, Jesus, and had lain their gifts of gold\nand frankincense and 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\nI must inquire about the visit of my brethren, and to what house the\nstar directed 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\ntheir sheep. From the open door of a low stone cottage he heard the\nsound of a woman's voice singing softly. He entered and found a young\nmother hushing her baby to rest. She told him of the strangers from the\nfar East who had appeared in the village three days ago, and how they\nsaid that a star had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth\nwas lodging 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\nthat they were going far away to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a\nspell upon the village; something evil hangs over it. They say that the\nRoman soldiers are coming from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us,\nand the men have driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills,\nand hidden 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\ngrasp at the winged circle of gold on his breast. His heart warmed to\nthe touch. 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 favorite 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.\nShe set food before him, the plain fare of peasants, but willingly\noffered, and therefore full of refreshment for the soul as well as for\nthe body. Artaban accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child\nfell into a happy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a\ngreat peace filled 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\nto her bosom, and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the\nroom, covering him with the folds of her robe, lest he should wake and\ncry.\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\nhis white cap all but touched the lintel.\n\nThe soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and\ndripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress\nthey hesitated with surprise. The captain of the band approached the\nthreshold to thrust him aside. But Artaban did not stir. His face was\nas calm as though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes there\nburned that steady radiance before which even the half-tamed hunting\nleopard shrinks, and the fierce blood-hound pauses in his leap. He held\nthe soldier silently for an instant, and then said in a low voice:\n\n\"I am all alone in this place, and I am waiting to give this jewel to\nthe 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 splendor 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 clamor 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\nfor man that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy to see the\nface of 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\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 moment\nwith 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 the 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\nnever can succeed? Or was there a touch of pity and encouragement in\nthat inscrutable smile--a promise that even the defeated should attain\na victory, and the disappointed should discover a prize, and the\nignorant should be made wise, and the blind should see, and the\nwandering should come into the haven at last?\n\nI saw him again in an obscure house of Alexandria, taking counsel with\na Hebrew 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\nof grief.\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 splendor, 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.\n\n\"I do not know how this shall come to pass, nor how the turbulent kings\nand peoples of earth shall be brought to acknowledge the Messiah and\npay homage to Him. But this I know. Those who seek Him will do well to\nlook among the poor and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.\"\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\ngloom of subterranean prisons, and the crowded wretchedness of\nslave-markets, and the weary toil of galley-ships. In all this populous\nand intricate world of anguish, though he found none to worship, he\nfound many to help. He fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and\nhealed the sick, and comforted the captive; and his years went by more\nswiftly than the weaver's shuttle that flashes back and forth through\nthe loom while the web 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\nof the colors 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.\n\nThen, at last, while I was thinking of this pearl, and of its meaning,\nI heard the end of the story of the Other Wise Man.\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\nthan the cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that\ncovered them. His eyes, that once flashed like flames of fire, were\ndull as embers 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.\n\nIt was the season of the Passover. The city was thronged with\nstrangers. The children of Israel, scattered in far lands all over the\nworld, had returned to the Temple for the great feast, and there had\nbeen a confusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many days.\n\nBut on this day there was a singular agitation visible in the\nmultitude. The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom, and currents of\nexcitement seemed to flash through the crowd like the thrill which\nshakes the forest on the eve of a storm. A secret tide was sweeping\nthem all one way. The clatter of sandals, and the soft, thick sound of\nthousands of bare feet shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly\nalong the street that 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\nthem the 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\nthem another, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many\nwonderful works among the people, so that they love him greatly. But\nthe priests and elders have said that he must die, because he gave\nhimself out to be the Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the cross\nbecause he said that he was the 'King of the Jews.'\"\n\nHow strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired heart of\nArtaban! They had led him for a lifetime over land and sea. And now\nthey came to him darkly and mysteriously like a message of despair. The\nKing had arisen, but He had been denied and cast out. He was about to\nperish. Perhaps He was already dying. Could it be the same who had been\nborn in Bethlehem thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had\nappeared in 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\nenemies, and shall come in time to offer my pearl for His ransom before\nHe 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\nhim around the knees. She had seen his white cap and the winged circle\non his breast.\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\nthe Magi. 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\ndeath.\"\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\ngift which he had consecrated to the worship of religion had been drawn\nfrom his 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\ntell. One thing only was clear in the darkness of his mind--it was\ninevitable. And 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\ntremors ran through the earth, heaving convulsively like the breast of\none who struggles 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\nlast remnant of his tribute for the King. He had parted with the last\nhope of finding Him. The quest was over, and it had failed. But, even\nin that thought, accepted and embraced, there was peace. It was not\nresignation. It was not submission. It was something more profound and\nsearching. He knew that all was well, because he had done the best that\nhe could, from day to day. He had been true to the light that had been\ngiven to him. He had looked for more. And if he had not found it, if a\nfailure was all that came out of his life, doubtless that was the best\nthat was possible. 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\non the young girl's shoulder, and the blood trickling from the wound.\nAs she bent over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice\nthrough the twilight, very small and still, like music sounding from a\ndistance, in which the notes are clear but the words are lost. The girl\nturned to see if some one had spoken from the window above them, but\nshe saw no one.\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\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.\n\n\nTHE END","title":"The Story of the Other Wise Man","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":9824}