 CHAPTER IX To understand thoroughly what happened to the Nazarene at the Khan, the reader must be reminded that eastern ends were different from the ends of the western world. They were called Khans, from the Persian, and in simplest form were fenced enclosures without house or shed, often without a gate or entrance. Their sights were chosen with reference to shade, defence, or water. Such were the ends that sheltered Jacob when he went to seek a wife in Padun Aram. Their like may be seen at this day at the stopping places of the desert. On the other hand, some of them, especially those on the roads between great cities like Jerusalem and Alexandria, were princely establishments, monuments to the piety of the kings who built them. In ordinary, however, they were no more than the house or possession of a shake, in which, as in headquarters, he swayed his tribe. Including the traveller was the least of their uses. They were markets, factories, forts. Places of assemblage and residence for merchants and artisans quite as much as places of shelter for belated and wandering wayfarers. Within their walls, all the year round, occurred the multiplied daily transactions of a town. The singular management of these hostelries was the feature likely to strike a western mine with most force. There was no host or hostess, no clerk, cook, or kitchen. A steward at the gate was all the assertion of government or proprietorship anywhere visible. Strangers arriving stayed at will without rendering account. A consequence of the system was that whoever came had to bring his food and culinary outfit with him, or buy them of dealers in the con. The same rule held good as to his bed and bedding and forage for his beasts. Water, rest, shelter, and protection were all he looked for from the proprietor, and they were gratuities. The peace of synagogues was sometimes broken by brawling disputants, but that of the cons never. The houses and all their appurtenances were sacred. A well was not more so. The con at Bethlehem, before which Joseph and his wife stopped, was a good specimen of its class, being neither very primitive nor very princely. The building was purely oriental, that is to say, a quadrangular block of rough stones, one story high, flat roofed, externally unbroken by a window, and with but one principal entrance, a doorway which was also a gateway on the eastern side or front. The road ran by the door so near that the chalk dust half covered the lintel. A fence of flat rocks, beginning at the northeastern corner of the pile, extended many yards down the slope to the point, from whence it swept westerly to a limestone bluff, making what was in the highest degree essential to a respectable con, a safe enclosure for animals. In a village like Bethlehem, as there was but one shake, there could not well be more than one con, and, though born in the place, the Nazarene, from long residence elsewhere, had no claim to hospitality in the town. Moreover, the enumeration for which he was coming might be the work of weeks or months. Roman deputies in the provinces were proverbially slow, and to impose himself and wife for a period so uncertain upon acquaintances or relations was out of the question. So before he drew nigh the great house, while he was yet climbing the slope, in the steep places toiling to hasten the donkey, the fear that he might not find accommodations in the con became a painful anxiety, for he found the road thronged with men and boys who, with great adieu, were taking their cattle, horses, and camels to and from the valley, some to water, some to the neighbouring caves, and when he came close by his alarm was not allayed by the discovery of a crowd investing the door of the establishment, while the enclosure adjoining, broad as it was, seemed already full. We cannot reach the door! Joseph said in his slow way. Let us stop here and learn, if we can, what has happened? The wife, without answering, quietly drew the wimple aside. The look of fatigue at first upon her face changed to one of interest. She found herself at the edge of an assemblage that could not be other than a matter of curiosity to her, although it was common enough at the cons on any of the highways which the great caravans were accustomed to traverse. There were men on foot, running hither and thither, talking shrilly in all the tongues of Syria, men on horseback, screaming to men on camels, men struggling doubtfully with fractious cows and frightened sheep, men peddling bread and wine, and among the mass a herd of boys, apparently in chase of a herd of dogs. Everybody and everything seemed to be in motion at the same time. Possibly the fair spectator was too weary to be long attracted by the scene. In a little while she sighed and settled down on the pillion, and as if in search of peace and rest, or in expectation of someone, looked off to the south and up to the tall cliffs of the mount of Paradise, then faintly reddening under the setting sun. While she was thus looking a man pushed his way out of the press and, stopping close by the donkey, faced about with an angry brow, the Nazarene spoke to him. As I am what I take you to be, good friend, a son of Judah, may I ask the cause of this multitude? The stranger turned fiercely, but seeing the solemn countenance of Joseph, so in keeping with his deep, slow voice and speech, he raised his hand in haste salutation and replied, Peace be to you, rabbi. I am a son of Judah and will answer you. I dwell in Beth-Dagan, which, you know, is in what used to be the land of the tribe of Dan. On the road to Joppa from Motin, said Joseph, Ah! you have been in Beth-Dagan! the man said, his face softening yet more. What wonderers we have, Judah, are! I have been away from the ridge, old Ephraff, as our father Jacob called it, for many years. When the proclamation went abroad requiring all Hebrews to be numbered at the cities of their birth, that is my business here, rabbi. Joseph's face remained stolid as a mask, while he remarked, I have come for that also, I and my wife. The stranger glanced at Mary and kept silence. She was looking up at the bald top of Gator. The sun touched her upturned face and filled the violet depths of her eyes, and upon her parted lips trembled an aspiration which could not have been to a mortal. For the moment all the humanity of her beauty seemed refined away. She was, as we fancy, they are, who sit close by the gate in the transfiguring light of heaven. The Beth-Daganite saw the original of what, centuries after, came as a vision of genius to Sancio the Divine and left him immortal. Of what was I speaking? Ah! I remember. I was about to say that when I heard of the order to come here I was angry. Then I thought of the old hill in the town, and the valley falling away into the depths of Cedron, of the vines and orchards and fields of grain, unfailing since the days of Boaz and Ruth, of the familiar mountains, Gator here, Jabea, Yonder, Mars Elias there, which, when I was a boy, were the walls of the world to me, and I forgave the tyrants and came, I and Rachel, my wife, and Deborah and Michael, our roses of Sharon. The man paused again, looking abruptly at Mary, who was now looking at him and listening. Then he said, Rabbi, will not your wife go to mine? You may see her Yonder with the children under the leaning olive tree at the bend of the road. I tell you, he turned to Joseph and spoke positively, I tell you the con is full! It is useless to ask at the gate. Joseph's will was slow, like his mind. He hesitated, but at length replied. The offer is kind. Whether there be room for us or not in the house, we will go see your people. Let me speak to the gatekeeper myself. I will return quickly. And putting the leading strap in the stranger's hand he pushed into the stirring crowd. The keeper sat on a great cedar block outside the gate, against the wall behind him leaned a javelin, a dog squatted on the block by his side. The peace of Jehovah be with you! said Joseph, at last confronting the keeper. What you give may you find again, and when found be it many times multiplied to you and yours, replied the watchman gravely, though without moving. I am a Bethlehemite, said Joseph, in his most deliberate way. Is there not room for there is not? You may have heard of me, Joseph of Nazareth. This is the house of my fathers. I am of the line of David. His words held the Nazarene's hope. If they failed him, further appeal was idle, even that of the offer of many shekels. To be a son of Judah was one thing, in the tribal opinion a great thing. To be of the house of David was yet another. On the tongue of a Hebrew there could be no higher boast. A thousand years and more had passed since the boyish shepherd became the successor of Saul and founded a royal family. Wars, calamities, other kings and the countless obscuring processes of time had, as respects fortune, lowered his descendants to the common Jewish level. The bread they ate came to them of toil never more humble. Yet they had the benefit of history, sacredly kept, of which genealogy was the first chapter and the last. They could not become unknown, while, wherever they went in Israel, acquaintance drew after it a respect amounting to reverence. If this were so in Jerusalem and elsewhere, certainly one of the sacred line might reasonably rely upon it at the door of the Khan of Bethlehem. To say, as Joseph said, this is the house of my fathers, was to say the truth most simply and literally, for it was the very house Ruth ruled as the wife of Boaz, the very house in which Jesse and his ten sons, David the youngest, were born, the very house in which Samuel came seeking a king and found him, the very house which David gave to the son of Barzile, the friendly Gileadite, the very house in which Jeremiah by prayer rescued the remnant of his race flying before the Babylonians. The appeal was not without effect. The keeper of the gate slid down from the cedar block and, laying his hand upon his beard, said respectfully, Rabbi, I cannot tell you when this door first opened in welcome to the traveller. But it was more than a thousand years ago. And in all that time there is no known instance of a good man turned away, save when there was no room to rest him in. If it has been so with the stranger, just cause must the steward have who says no to one of the line of David. Wherefore I salute you again. And if you care to go with me, I will show you that there is not a lodging-place left in the house, neither in the chambers, nor in the lewens, nor in the court, not even on the roof. May I ask when you came? But now the keeper smiled. The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself. Is not that the law, Rabbi? Joseph was silent. If it be the law, can I say to one a long time come, go thy way, another is here to take thy place? Yet Joseph held his peace. And if I said so, to whom would the place belong? See the many that have been waiting, some of them since noon. Who are all these people? asked Joseph, turning to the crowd. And why are they here at this time? That which doubtless brought you, Rabbi, the decree of the Caesar. The keeper threw an interrogative glance at the Nazarene, then continued. Brought most of those who have lodging in the house. And yesterday the caravan, passing from Damascus to Arabia and lower Egypt, arrived. These who you see here belong to it, men and camels. Still Joseph persisted. The court is large, he said. Yes, but it is heaped with cargos, with bails of silk in pockets of spices, and goods of every kind. Then for a moment the face of the applicant lost its stillitity. The lusterless, staring eyes dropped. With some warmth he next said, I do not care for myself, but I have with me my wife, and the night is cold, colder on these heights than in Nazareth. She cannot live in the open air. Is there not room in the town? These people, the keeper waved his hand to the throng before the door, have all besought the town, and they report its accommodations all engaged. Again Joseph studied the ground saying, half to himself, she is so young, if I make her bet on the hill the frost will kill her. Then he spoke to the keeper again. It may be you knew her parents, Joachim and Anna, once of Bethlehem, and, like myself, of the line of David. Yes, I knew them. They were good people. That was in my youth. This time the keeper s eyes sought the ground and thought. Suddenly he raised his head. If I cannot make room for you, he said, I cannot turn you away. Rabbi, I will do the best I can for you. How many are of your party? Joseph reflected, then replied, my wife and a friend with his family from Beth Dagon, a little town over by Joppa, in all six of us. Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people and hasten, for when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you know the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now. I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller. That of the sojourner will follow. So saying the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the Beth Dagonite, in a little while the latter brought up his family, the women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly. The daughters were images of what she must have been in youth, and as they drew nigh the door, the keeper knew them to be of the humble class. This is she of whom I spoke, said the Nazarene, and these are our friends. Mary's veil was raised. Blue eyes and a hair of gold, muttered the steward to himself, seeing but her. So looked the young king when he went to sing before Saul. Then he took the leading strap from Joseph, and said to Mary, Peace to you, O daughter of David, then to the others, peace to you all. Then to Joseph. Rabbi, follow me. The party was conducted into a wide passage paved with stone, from which they entered the court of the con. To a stranger the scene would have been curious, but they noticed the Lewins that yawned darkly upon them from all sides, and the court itself, only to remark how crowded they were. By a lane reserved in the stowage of the cargos, and then by a passage similar to the one at the entrance, they emerged into the enclosure adjoining the house, and came upon camels, horses, and donkeys, tethered in dozing and close groups. Among them were the keepers, men of many lands, and they too slept or kept silent watch. They went down the slope of the crowded yard slowly, for the dull carriers of the women had wills of their own. At length they turned into a path running towards the gray limestone bluff overlooking the con on the west. The cave to which we are going, he said to her, must have been a resort of your ancestor, David. From the field below us, and from the well down in the valley, he used to drive his flocks to it for safety, and afterwards, when he was king, he came back to the old house here for rest and health, bringing great trains of animals. The manger's yet remain as they were in his day. Better a bed on the floor where he has slept than one in the courtyard or out by the roadside. Ah, here is the house before the cave. This speech must not be taken as an apology for the lodging offered. There was no need of apology. The place was the best then at disposal. The guests were simple folks, by habits of life easily satisfied. To the Jew of that period, moreover, a boat in Caverns was a familiar idea, made so by everyday occurrences, and by what he heard of Sabbaths in the synagogues. How much of Jewish history, how many of the many exciting incidents in that history, had transpired in caves? Yet further, these people were Jews of Bethlehem, with whom the idea was especially commonplace, for their locality abounded with caves, great and small, some of which had been dwelling places from the time of the Emem and Horites. No more was there offence to them in the fact that the cavern to which they were being taken had been, or was, a stable. They were the descendants of a race of herdsmen, whose flocks habitually shared both their habitations and their wanderings. In keeping with a custom derived from Abraham, the tent of the Bedouin, yet shelters his horses and his children alike. So they obeyed the keeper cheerfully, and gazed at the house, feeling only a natural curiosity. Everything associated with the history of David was interesting to them. The building was low and narrow, projecting but a little from the rock to which it was joined at the rear, and wholly without a window. In its blank front there was a door, swung on enormous hinges, and thickly dobb'd with ochreous clay. While the wooden bolt of the lock was being pushed back, the women were assisted from their pillions. Upon the opening of the door, the keeper called out, Come in! The guests entered, and stared about them. It became apparent immediately that the house was but a mask or covering for the mouth of a natural cave or grotto, probably forty feet long, nine or ten high, and twelve or fifteen in width. The light streamed through the doorway, over an uneven floor, falling upon piles of grain and fodder, an earthenware and household property occupying the center of the chamber. Along the sides were mangers low enough for sheep and build of stones laid in cement. There were no stalls or partitions of any kind. Dust and chaff yellowed the floor, filled all the crevices and hollows, and thickened the spider-webs, which dropped from the ceiling like bits of dirty linen. Otherwise the place was cleanly and, to appearance, as comfortable as any of the arched loons of the con proper. In fact, a cave was the model and first suggestion of the loon. Come in! said the guide. These piles upon the floor are for travellers, like yourselves. Take one of them you need. Then he spoke to Mary. Can you rest here? The place is sanctified. She answered. I leave you then. Peace be with you all. When he was gone they busied themselves making the cave habitable. Making the shouting and stir of the people in and about the con ceased. At the same time every Israelite, if not already upon his feet, arose, solemnized his face, looked towards Jerusalem, crossed his hands upon his breast, and prayed. For it was the sacred ninth hour when sacrifices were offered in the temple on Moriah, and God was supposed to be there. When the hands of the worshippers fell down, the commotion broke forth again. Everybody hastened to bread or to make his pallet. A little later the lights were put out, and there was silence, and then sleep. About midnight someone on the roof cried out, What light is that in the sky? Awake, brethren! Awake and see! The people, half asleep, sat up and looked. Then they became wide awake, though wonderstruck, and the stir spread to the court below and into the ruins. Soon the entire tenetry of the house and cord and enclosure were out gazing at the sky. And this was what they saw. A ray of light, beginning at a height immeasurably beyond the nearest stars, and dropping obliquely to the earth. At its top a diminishing point. At its base many furlongs in width, its sides blending softly with the darkness of the night, its core erosiate electrical splendor. The apparitions seemed to rest on the nearest mountain southeast of the town, making a pale corona along the line of the summit. The con was touched luminously, so that those upon the roof saw each other's faces, all filled with wonder. Steadily, through minutes, the ray lingered, and then the wonder changed to awe and fear. The timid trembled, and the boldest spoken whispers, "'Saw you ever the like?' asked one. "'It seems just over the mountain there. I cannot tell what it is. Nor did I ever see anything like it,' was the answer. "'Can it be that a star has burst and fallen?' asked another, his tongue faltering. "'When a star falls, its light goes out.' "'I have it,' cried one confidently. "'The shepherds have seen a lion and made fires to keep him from the flocks.' The men next to the speaker drew a breath of relief and said, "'Yes, that is it. The flocks were grazing in the valley over there to-day.' A bystander dispelled the comfort. "'No, no. Though all the wood in all the valleys of Judah was brought together in one pile and fired, the blaze would not throw a light so strong and high.' After that there was silence on the house-top, broken but once again while the mystery continued. "'Brethren,' exclaimed Jew of Venerable Meehan, "'what we see is the latter our Father Jacob saw in his dream. "'Blessed be the Lord God of our Fathers!' end of chapter. Book 1, Chapter 11 of Ben Hur. Ben Hur, A Tale of the Christ by Lou Wallace. Book 1, Chapter 11. A mile-and-a-half, it may be two miles, southeast of Bethlehem, there is a plain separated from the town by an intervening swell of the mountain. Besides being well sheltered from the north winds, the veil was covered with the growth of sycamore, dwarf oak, and pine trees, while in the glens and ravines adjoining there were thickets of olive and mulberry, all at this season of the year invaluable for the support of sheep, goats, and cattle, of which the wandering flocks consisted. At the side farthest from the town, close under a bluff, there was an extensive mera, or sheep-coat, ages old. In some long forgotten foray, the building had been unroofed and almost demolished. The enclosure attached to it remained intact, however, and that was of more importance to the shepherds who drove their charges thither than the house itself. The stone wall around the lot was high as a man's head, yet not so high but that sometimes a panther, or a lion, hungering from the wilderness, leaped boldly in. On the inner side of the wall, and as an additional security against the constant danger, a hedge of the remnants had been planted, an invention so successful that now a sparrow could hardly penetrate the overtopping branches, armed as they were with great clusters of thorns hard as spikes. The day of the occurrences which occupy the preceding chapters, a number of shepherds seeking fresh walks for their flocks, led them up to this plain, and from early morning the groves had been made to ring with calls, and the blows of axes, and the bleeding of sheep and goats, the tankling of bells, the lowing of cattle, and the barking of dogs. When the sun went down they led the way to the Mara, and by nightfall had everything safe in the field. Then they kindled a fire down by the gate, partook of their humble supper, and sat down to rest and talk, leaving one on watch. There were six of these men, omitting the watchman, and after while they assembled in a group near the fire, some sitting, some lying prone. As they went bareheaded habitually, their hair stood out in thick, coarse, sun-burnt shocks. Their beard covered their throats and fell in mats down the breast. Mantles of the skin of kids and lambs, with the fleece on, wrapped them from neck to knee, leaving the arms exposed. Broad belts girth the rude garments to their waists. Their sandals were of the coarsest quality. From their right shoulders hung scripts containing food and selected stones for slings, with which they were armed. On the ground near each one lay his crook, a symbol of his calling and a weapon of offence. Such were the shepherds of Judea. In appearance, rough and savage as the gaunt dog sitting with them around the blaze. In fact, simple-minded, tender-hearted, effects due in part to the primitive life they led, but chiefly to their constant care of things lovable and helpless. They rested and talked, and their talk was all about their flocks. A dull theme to the world, yet a theme which was all the world to them. If in narrative they dwelt long upon affairs of trifling moment. If one of them omitted nothing of detail in recounting the loss of a lamb, the relation between him and the unfortunate should be remembered. At birth it became his charge, his to keep all its days, to help over the floods, to carry down the hollows, to name and train. It was to be his companion, his object of thought and interest, the subject of his will. It was to enliven and share his wanderings. In its defence he might be called on to face the lion or robber to die. The great events, such as blotted out nations and changed the mastery of the world, were trifles to them, if perchance they came to their knowledge. Of what Herod was doing in this city or that, building palaces and gymnasia, and indulging forbidden practices, they occasionally heard. As was her habit in those days, Rome did not wait for people slow to inquire about her. She came to them. Over the hills along which he was leading his lagging herd, or in the fastnesses in which he was hiding them, not unfrequently the shepherd was startled by the Blair of trumpets, and, peering out, beheld a cohort, sometimes a legion, in March. And when the glittering crests were gone, and the excitement incident to the intrusion over, he bent himself to evolve the meaning of the eagles and gilded globes of the soldiery, and the charm of a life so the opposite of his own. Yet these men, rude and simple as they were, had a knowledge and a wisdom of their own. On sabbaths they were accustomed to purify themselves, and go up into the synagogues, and sit on the benches farthest from the ark. When the Cezanne bore the Torah round, none kissed it with greater zest. When the Shelyak read the text, none listened to the interpreter with more absolute faith, and none took away with them more of the elder's sermon, or gave it more thought afterwards. In a verse of the Shema they found all the learning and all the law of their simple lives, that their Lord was one God, that they must love him with all their souls. And they loved him, and such was their wisdom surpassing that of kings. While they talked, and before the first watch was over, one by one the shepherds went to sleep, each lying where he had sat. The night, like most nights of the winter season in the hill-country, was clear, crisp, and sparkling with stars. There was no wind, the atmosphere seemed never so pure, and the stillness was more than silence. It was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth. By the gate, hugging his mantle close, the watchman walked. At times he stopped, attracted by a stirrer among the sleeping herds, or by a jackals cry off on the mountain side. The midnight was slow coming to him, but at last it came. His task was done, now for the dreamless sleep with which labor blesses its weary children. He moved towards the fire, but paused. A light was breaking around him, soft and white, like the moons. He waited breathlessly. The light deepened. Things before invisible came to view. He saw the whole field, and all it sheltered. A chill sharper than that of the frosty air. A chill of fear smote him. He looked up. The stars were gone. The light was dropping as from a window in the sky. As he looked, it became a splendor. Then in terror he cried, Awake! Awake! Upsprang the dogs, and howling ran away. The herds rushed together bewildered. The men clambered to their feet, weapons in hand. What is it? They asked in one voice. See! cried the watchman. The sky is on fire! Suddenly the light became intolerably bright, and they covered their eyes, and dropped upon their knees. Then as their souls shrank with fear, they fell upon their faces blind and fainting, and would have died had not a voice said to them, Fear not! And they listened, Fear not! For behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. The voice, in sweetness and soothing more than human, and low and clear, penetrated all their being, and filled them with assurance. They rose upon their knees, and, looking worshipfully, beheld in the center of a great glory the appearance of a man, clad in a robe intensely white. Above its shoulders towered the tops of wings, shining and folded. A star over its forehead glowed with steady luster, brilliant as Hesperus. Its hands were stretched towards them in blessing. Its face was serene and divinely beautiful. They had often heard, and in their simple way, talked of angels, and they doubted not now, but said in their hearts, The glory of God is about us, and this is he who of old came to the prophet by the river of Uli. Directly the angel continued, For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. Again there was a rest, while the words sank into their minds, And this shall be a sign unto you, the Annunciator said next, He shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. The herald spoke not again. His good tidings were told, yet he stayed awhile. Suddenly the light, of which he seemed the center, turned rosy-ate and began to tremble. Then up, far as the men could see, there was flashing of white wings and coming and going of radiant forms, and voices as of a multitude chanting in unison, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men. Not once the praise, but many times. Then the herald raised his eyes as seeking approval of one far off. His wings stirred and spread slowly and majestically, on their upper side white as snow, in the shadow very tinted like mother of pearl. When they were expanded many cubits beyond his stature he arose lightly and without effort floated out of view, taking the light up with him. Long after he was gone, down from the sky fell the refrain in measure, mellowed by distance, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men. Then the shepherds came fully to their senses. They stared at each other stupidly, until one of them said, It was Gabriel, the Lord's messenger unto men. None answered. Christ the Lord is born, said he not so. Then another recovered his voice and replied, That is what he said. And did he not also say, In the city of David, which is our Bethlehem yonder, and that we should find him a babe in swaddling clothes? And lying in a manger. The first speaker gazed into the fire thoughtfully, but at length said, like one possessed of a sudden resolve, There is but one place in Bethlehem where there are dangers, but one, and that is in the cave near the old con. Brethren, let us go see this thing which has come to pass. The priests and doctors have been a long time looking for the Christ. Now he is born, and the Lord has given us a sign by which to know him. Let us go up and worship him. But the flocks! The Lord will take care of them. Let us make haste. Then they all arose, and left the mara. Around the mountain, and through the town they passed, and came to the gate of the con where there was a man on watch. What would you have? He asked. We have seen and heard great things tonight. They replied. Well we too have seen great things, but heard nothing. What did you hear? Let us go down to the cave in the enclosure that we may be sure. Then we will tell you all. Come with us and see for yourself. It is a fool's errand. No, no, the Christ is born. The Christ, how do you know? Let us go and see first. The man laughed scornfully. The Christ indeed, how are you to know him? He was born this night, and is now lying in a manger, so we were told, and there is but one place in Bethlehem with majors. The cave? Yes, come with us. They went through the courtyard without notice, although there were some up even then talking about the wonderful light. The door of the cavern was open, a lantern was burning within, and they entered unceremoniously. I give you peace. The watchman said to Joseph and the Beth Dagonite, here are people looking for a child born this night, whom they are to know by finding him in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. For a moment the face of the stolid Nazarene was moved. Turning away he said, the child is here. They were led to one of the majors, and there the child was. The lantern was brought, and the shepherds stood by mute. The little one made no sign, it was, as others just born. Where is the mother? asked the watchman. One of the women took the baby, and went to marry, lying near, and put it in her arms. Then the bystanders collected about the two. It is the Christ! said a shepherd at last. The Christ! they all repeated, falling upon their knees in worship. One of them repeated several times over. It is the Lord! and His glory is above the earth and heaven! And the simple men, never doubting, kissed the hem of the mother's robe, and with joyful faces departed. In the con, to all the people aroused and pressing about them, they told their story. And through the town, and all the way back to the Mara, they chanted the refrain of the angels, glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men. The story went abroad, confirmed by the light so generally seen, and the next day, and for days thereafter, the cave was visited by curious crowds, of whom some believed, though the greater part laughed and mocked. CHAPTER XII. The eleventh day after the birth of the child in the cave, about mid-afternoon, the three wise men approached Jerusalem by the road from Chechum. After crossing Brook Cedron they met many people, of whom none failed to stop and look after them curiously. Judea was of necessity an international thoroughfare. A narrow ridge, raised, apparently, by the pressure of the desert on the east and the sea on the west, was all she could claim to be. Over the ridge, however, nature had stretched the line of trade between the east and the south, and that was her wealth. In other words, the riches of Jerusalem were the tolls she levied on passing commerce. Nowhere else, consequently, unless in Rome, was there such constant assemblage of so many people, of so many different nations. In no other city was a stranger less strange to the residents than within her walls and perlews. And yet these three men excited the wonder of all whom they met on the way to the gates. A child belonging to some women sitting by the roadside opposite the tombs of the kings saw the party coming. Immediately it clapped its hands and cried, Look! Look! What pretty bells! What big camels! The bells were silver. The camels, as we have seen, were of unusual size and whiteness, and moved with singular stateliness. The trappings told of the desert and of long journeys thereon, and also of ample means in possession of the owners, who sat under the little canopies exactly as they appeared at the rendezvous beyond the jable. Yet it was not the bells or the camels, or their furniture, or the demeanor of the riders that were so wonderful. It was the question put by the man who rode foremost of the three. The approach to Jerusalem from the north is across a plain which dips southward, leaving the Damascus gate in a veil or hollow. The road is narrow, but deeply cut by long use, and in place is difficult on account of the cobbles left loose and dry by the washing of the rains. On either side, however, they are stretched, in the old time, rich fields and handsome olive groves, which must, in luxurious growth, have been beautiful, especially to travelers fresh from the waste of the desert. In this road the three stopped before the party in front of the tombs. Good people, said Balthazar, stroking his plaited beard and bending from his cot, is not Jerusalem close by? Yes, answered the woman into whose arms the childhood shrunk. If the trees on Yonswell were a little lower, you could see the towers on the market place. Balthazar gave the Greek and the Hindu a look, then asked, Where is he that is born king of the Jews? The women gazed at each other without reply. You have not heard of him? No. Well, tell everybody that we have seen his star in the east and are come to worship him. Thereupon the friends rode on. Of others they asked the same question with like result. A large company whom they met going to the grotto of Jeremiah were so astonished by the inquiry and the appearance of the travelers that they turned about and followed them into the city. So much were the three occupied with the idea of their mission that they did not care for the view which presently rose before them in the utmost magnificence, for the village first to receive them on Bezetha, for Mispah and Olivet, over on their left, for the wall behind the village, with its forty tall and solid towers, super-added partly for strength, partly to gratify the critical taste of the kingly builder, for the same towered wall bending off to the right, with many an angle, and here and there an embattled gate, up to the three great white piles Facilis, Maryamne, and Hippicus, for Zion, tallest of the hills, crowned with marble palaces, and never so beautiful, for the glittering terraces of the temple on Moriah, admittedly one of the wonders of the earth, for the regal mountains rimming the sacred city round about until it seemed in the hollow of a mighty bowl. They came at length to a tower of great height and strength, overlooking the gate which, at that time, answered to the present Damascus gate, and marked the meeting-place of the three roads from Shechem, Jericho, and Gibbion. A Roman guard kept the passageway. By this time the people following the camels formed a train sufficient to draw the idlers hanging about the portal, so that when Balthasar stopped to speak to the sentinel the three became instantly the center of a close circle, eager to hear all that passed. I give you peace, the Egyptian said in a clear voice. The sentinel made no reply. We have come great distances in search of one who is born king of the Jews. Can you tell us where he is? The soldier raised the visor of his helmet and called loudly. From an apartment at the right of the passage an officer appeared. Give way! he cried to the crowd which now pressed closer in, and as they seemed slow to obey he advanced twirling his javelin vigorously, now right now left, and so he gained room. What would you? he asked of Balthasar, speaking in the idiom of the city, and Balthasar answered in the same, Where is he that is born king of the Jews? Herod, asked the officer, confounded. Herod's kingship is from Caesar, not Herod. There is no other king of the Jews. But we have seen the star of him we seek and come to worship him. The Roman was perplexed. Go, father! he said at last. Go, father! I am not a Jew. Carry the question to the doctors in the temple, or to hanus the priest, or better still to Herod himself. If there be another king of the Jews, he will find him. Thereupon he made way for the strangers and they passed the gate. But before entering the narrow street, Balthasar lingered to say to his friends, We are sufficiently proclaimed. By midnight the whole city would have heard of us and of our mission. Let us go to the con now. CHAPTER XIII That evening before sunset some women were washing clothes on the upper step of the flight that led down into the basin of the pool of Siloam. They knelt each before a broad bowl of earthenware. A girl at the foot of the steps kept them supplied with water and sang while she filled the jar. The song was cheerful and no doubt lightened their labour. Occasionally they would sit upon their heels and look up the slope of Ophel and round to the summit of what is now the Mount of Offense, then faintly glorified by the dying sun. While they plied their hands, rubbing and ringing the clothes and the bowls, two other women came to them, each with an empty jar upon her shoulder. PEACE TO YOU! one of the newcomers said. The labourers paused, sat up, rung the water from their hands, and returned the salutation. It is nearly night, time to quit. There is no end to work, was the reply. But there is a time to rest and to hear what may be passing, interposed another. What news have you? Then you have not heard? No. They say the Christ is born, said the newsmonger, plunging into her story. It was curious to see the faces of the labourers brightened with interest. On the other side down came the jars, which in a moment were turned to deceits for their owners. The Christ! the listeners cried. So they say. Who? Everybody. It is common talk. Does anybody believe it? This afternoon three men came across Brooke Cedron on the road from Shesham. The speaker replied, circumstantially, intending to smother doubt. Each one of them rode a camel spotless white and larger than any ever before seen in Jerusalem. The eyes and mouths of the auditors opened wide. To prove how great and rich the men were, the narrator continued. They sat under awnings of silk. The buckles of their saddles were of gold. As was the fringe of their bridles, the bells were of silver and made real music. Nobody knew them. They looked as if they had come from the ends of the world. Only one of them spoke, and of everybody on the road, even the women and children, he asked this question. Where is he that is born king of the Jews? No one gave them answer. No one understood what they meant. So they passed on, leaving behind them this saying. For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. They put the question to the Roman at the gate, and he, no wiser than the simple people on the road, sent them up to Herod. Where are they now? At the con, hundreds have been to look at them already, and hundreds more are going. Who are they? Nobody knows. They are said to be Persians, wise men who talk with the stars, prophets it may be, like Elijah and Jeremiah. What do they mean by king of the Jews? The Christ, and that he is just born. One of the women laughed, and resumed her work, saying, Well, when I see him, I will believe. Another followed her example. And I, well, when I see him raise the dead, I will believe. A third said quietly, He has been a long time promised. It will be enough for me to see him heal one leper. And the party sat talking until the night came, and, with the help of the frosty air, drove them home. Later in the evening, about the beginning of the first watch, there was an assemblage in the palace on Mount Zion, of probably fifty Persians who never came together except by order of Herod, and then only when he had demanded to know some one or other of the deeper mysteries of the Jewish law and history. It was, in short, a meeting of the teachers of the colleges, of the chief priests, and of the doctors most noted in the city for learning, the leaders of opinion, expounders of the different creeds, princes of the Sadducees, phariseic debaters, calm, soft- spoken, stoical philosophers of the Essene socialists. The chamber in which the session was held belonged to one of the interior courtyards of the palace and was quite large and Romanesque. The floor was tessellated with marble blocks, the walls unbroken by a window where frescoed in panels of saffron yellow. A divan occupied the center of the apartment covered with cushions of bright yellow cloth and fashioned in form of the letter U, the opening towards the doorway. In the arch of the divan, or as it were, in the bend of the letter, there was an immense bronze tripod, curiously inlaid with gold and silver, over which a chandelier dropped from the ceiling, having seven arms, each holding a lighted lamp. The divan and the lamp were purely Jewish. The company sat upon the divan after this style of orientals, in costume, singularly uniform, except as to color. They were mostly men advanced in years. Immense beards covered their faces. To their large noses were added the effects of large black eyes, deeply shaded by bold brows. Their demeanor was grave, dignified, even patriarchal. In brief their session was that of the Sanhedrin. He who sat before the tripod, however, in the place which may be called the head of the divan, having all the rest of his associates on his right and left, and at the same time before him, evidently president of the meeting, would have instantly absorbed the attention of a spectator. He had been cast in large mold, but was now shrunken and stooped to ghastliness. His white robe dropped from his shoulders in folds that gave no hint of muscle or anything but an angular skeleton. His hands, half concealed by sleeves of silk, white and crimson striped, were clasped upon his knees. When he spoke, sometimes the first finger of the right hand extended tremulously, he seemed incapable of other gesture. But his head was a splendid dome. A few hairs, whiter than fine-drawn silver, fringed the base. Over a broad, full-sfeared skull, the skin was drawn close and shown in the light with positive brilliance. The temples were depolos, from which the forehead beatled like a wrinkled crag. The eyes were wan and dim, the nose was pinched, and all the lower face was muffed in a beard, flowing and venerable as errands. Such was Hillel, the Babylonian. The line of prophets, long extinct in Israel, was now succeeded by a line of scholars, of whom he was first in learning, a prophet in all but the divine inspiration. At the age of one hundred and six he was still rector of the great college. On the table before him lay outspread a roll or volume of parchment inscribed with Hebrew characters. Behind him, in waiting, stood her page richly-habited. There had been discussion, but at this moment of introduction the company had reached a conclusion. Each one was in an attitude of rest, and the venerable Hillel, without moving, called the page. The youth advanced respectfully. Go tell the king we are ready to give him answer. The boy hurried away. After a time two officers entered and stopped, one on each side at the door. After them slowly followed a most striking personage. An old man clad in a purple robe, bordered with scarlet, and girt to his waist by a band of gold, linked so fine that it was pliable as leather. The latchets of his shoes sparkled with precious stones. A narrow crown wrought in filigree, shown outside a tabouche of softest crimson plush, which, encasing his head, fell down the neck and shoulders, leaving the throat and neck exposed. Instead of a seal, a dagger dangled from his belt, he walked with the halting step, leaning heavily upon a staff. Not until he reached the opening of the divan did he pause or look up from the floor. Then as for the first time conscious of the company, and roused by their presence, he raised himself and looked haughtily round, like one startled in searching for an enemy. So dark, suspicious, and threatening was the glance. Such was Herod the Great, a body broken by diseases, a conscience seared with crimes, a mind magnificently capable, a soul fit for brotherhood with the Caesars, now seven and sixty years old, but guarding his throne with a jealousy never so vigilant, a power never so despotic, and a cruelty never so inexorable. There was a general movement on the part of the assemblage, a bending forward in Salam by the more aged, a rising up by the more courteurly, followed by low genuflections, hands upon the beard or breast. His observations taken, Herod moved on until at the tripod opposite the venerable Hillel, who met his cold glance with an inclination of the head, and a slight lifting of the hands. The answer! said the king, with imperious simplicity, addressing Hillel, and planting his staff before him with both hands. The answer! The eyes of the patriarch glowed mildly, and raising his head, and looking the inquisitor full in the face, he answered, his associates giving him closest attention. With thee, O King, be the peace of God, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. His manner was that of invocation, changing it, he resumed. Thou hast demanded of us where the Christ should be born. The king bowed, though the evil eyes remained fixed upon the sage's face. That is the question. Then, O King, speaking for myself and all my brethren here, not one dissenting, I say, in Bethlehem of Judea. Hillel glanced at the parchment on the tripod, and, pointing with his tremulous finger, continued, In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet, and thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judea, art not the least among the princes of Judea, for out of thee shall come a governor that shall rule my people Israel. Herod's face was troubled, and his eyes fell upon the parchment while he thought. Those beholding him scarcely breathed. They spoke not, nor did he. At length he turned about and left the chamber. Brethren, said Hillel, we are dismissed. The company then arose, and in groups departed. Simeon! said Hillel again. A man quite fifty years old, but in the hearty prime of life, answered and came to him. Take up the sacred parchment, my son. Roll it tenderly. The order was obeyed. Now lend me thy arm, I will to the litter. The strong man stooped. With his withered hands the old one took the offered support, and, rising, moved feebly to the door. So departed the famous rector, and Simeon, his son, who was to be his successor in wisdom, learning, and office. Yet later in the evening the wise men were lying in a loon of the con, awake. The stones which served them as pillows raised their heads so they could look out of the open arch into the depths of the sky. And as they watched the twinkling of the stars they thought of the next manifestation. How would it come? What would it be? They were in Jerusalem at last. They had asked at the gate for him they sought. They had borne witness of his birth. It remained only to find him, and as to that they placed all trust in the spirit. Men listening for the voice of God, or waiting a sign from heaven, cannot sleep. While they were in this condition a man stepped in under the arch darkening the loon. Awake, he said to them, I bring you a message which will not be put off. They all sat up. From whom? asked the Egyptian. Herod the king. Which one felt his spirit thrill? Are you not the steward of the con? Balthazar asked next. I am. What would the king with us? His messenger is without, let him answer. Tell him then to abide our coming. You are right, O my brother! said the Greek when the steward was gone. The question put to the people on the road and to the guard at the gate has given us quick notoriety. I am impatient, let us up quickly. The arose put on their sandals, girt their mantles about them, and went out. I salute you, and give you peace, and pray your pardon, but my master the king has sent me to invite you to the palace, where he would have speech with you privately. Thus the messenger discharged his duty. A lamp hung in the entrance, and by its light they looked at each other and knew the spirit was upon them. Then the Egyptian stepped to the steward and said, so as not to be heard by the others, You know where our goods are stored in the court, and where our camels are resting. While we are gone make all things ready for our departure if it should be needful. Will you we assured, trust me? the steward replied. The king's will is our will, said Balthasar to the messenger. We will follow you. The streets of the holy city were narrow then as now, but not so rough and foul, for the great builder not content with beauty enforced cleanliness and convenience also. Following their guide the brethren proceeded without a word. Through the dim starlight, made dimmer by the walls on both sides, sometimes almost lost under bridges connecting the housetops, out of a low ground they ascended to hill. At last they came to a portal reared across the way, in the light of fires blazing before it in two great braziers. They caught a glimpse of the structure and also of some guards leaning motionlessly upon their arms. They passed into a building unchallenged. Then by passages and arch-talls, through courts and under colonnades not always lighted, up long flights of stairs, passed innumerable cloisters and chambers, they were conducted into a tower of great height. Suddenly the guide halted, and pointing through an open door said to them, Enter, the king is there! The air of the chamber was heavy with the perfume of sandalwood, and all the appointments within were effeminately rich. Upon the floor, covering the central space, a tufted rug was spread, and upon that a throne was set. The visitors had but time, however, to catch a confused idea of the place, of carved and gilt ottomans and couches, of fans and jars and musical instruments, of golden candlesticks glittering in their own lights, of walls painted in the style of the voluptuous Grecian school, one look at which had made a Pharisee hide his head with holy horror. Herod, sitting upon the throne to receive them, clad as when at the conference with the doctors and lawyers, claimed all their minds. At the edge of the rug to which they advanced uninvited, they prostrated themselves. The king touched a bell. An attendant came in and placed three stools before the throne. Seat yourselves! said the monarch graciously. From the north gate, he continued when they were at rest, I had this afternoon report of the arrival of three strangers curiously mounted, and appearing as if from far countries. Are you the men? The Egyptian took the sign from the Greek and the Hindu, and answered with the profoundest salam. Where we other than we are, the mighty Herod, whose fame is as incense to the whole world, would not have sent for us. We may not doubt that we are the strangers. Herod acknowledged the speech with a wave of the hand. Who are you? Whence do you come? he asked, adding significantly, let each speak for himself. In turn they gave him account, referring simply to the cities and lands of their birth, and the roots by which they came to Jerusalem. Somewhat disappointed, Herod plied them more directly. What was the question you put to the officer at the gate? We asked him, where is he that is born king of the Jews? I see now why the people were so curious. You excite me no less. Is there another king of the Jews? The Egyptian did not blanch. There is one newly born. An expression of pain knit the dark face of the monarch as if his mind were swept by a harrowing recollection. Not to me, not to me, he exclaimed. Possibly the accusing images of his murdered children flitted before him, recovering from the emotion, whatever it was, he asked steadily, where is the new king? That, oh king, is what we would ask. You bring me a wonder, a riddle surpassing any of Solomon's. The inquisitor said next, As you see I am in the time of life when curiosity is as ungovernable as it was in childhood, when to trifle with it is cruelty. Tell me further, and I will honor you as kings honor each other. Give me all you know about the newly born, and I will join you in the search for him. And when we have found him, I will do what you wish. I will bring him to Jerusalem, and train him in king-craft. I will use my grace with Caesar for his promotion and glory. Jealousy shall not come between us, so I swear. But tell me first how, so widely separated by seas and deserts, you all came to hear of him. I will tell you truly, oh king. Speak on, said Herod. Balthasar raised himself erect and said solemnly, There is an almighty God. Herod was visibly startled. He bade us come hither, promising that we should find the redeemer of the world, that we should see and worship him, and bear witness that he was come, and, as a sign, we were each given to see a star. His spirit stayed with us. Oh king, his spirit is with us now. An overpowering feeling seized the three. The Greek with difficulty restrained an outcry. Herod's gaze darted quickly from one to the other. He was more suspicious and dissatisfied than before. You are mocking me, he said. If not, tell me more. What is to follow the coming of the new king? The salvation of men. From what? Their wickedness. How? By the divine agencies. Faith, love, and good works. Then, Herod paused, and from his look no man could have said with what feeling he continued, You are the heralds of the Christ. Is that all? Balthasar bowed low. We are your servants, oh king. The monarch touched a bell and the attendant appeared. Bring the gifts, the master said. The attendant went out, but in a little while returned, and, kneeling before the guests, gave to each one an outer robe or mantle of scarlet and blue and a girdle of gold. They acknowledged the honors with eastern prostrations. A word further, said Herod when the ceremony was ended, to the officer of the gate, and but now to me, you spoke of seeing a star in the east. Yes, said Balthasar, his star, the star of the newly born. What time did it appear? When we were bidden come hither. Herod arose signifying the audience was over. Stepping from the throne towards them he said, with all graciousness, If, as I believe, O illustrious men, you are indeed the heralds of the Christ just born, know that I have this night consulted those wisest in things Jewish, and they say with one voice he should be born in Bethlehem of Judea. I say to you, go thither, go in search diligently for the young child, and when you have found him bring me word again that I may come and worship him. To your going there shall be no let or hindrance. Peace be with you. And folding his robe about him he left the chamber. Directly the guide came and led them back to the street, and thence to the con at the portal of which the Greek said impulsively, Let us to Bethlehem, O brethren, as the king has advised. Yes, cried the Hindu, the spirit burns within me. Be it so, said Balthazar, with equal warmth, the camels are ready. They gave gifts to the steward, mounted into their saddles, received directions to the Joppa gate, and departed. At their approach the great valves were unbarred, and they passed out into the open country, taking the road so lately traveled by Joseph and Mary. As they came up out of Hinnom, on the plain of Rhafiam, a light appeared, at first widespread in fate. Their pulses fluttered fast. The light intensified rapidly. They closed their eyes against its burning brilliance. When they dared look again, low, the star, perfect as any in the heavens, but low down and moving slowly before them. And they folded their hands and shouted, and rejoiced with exceeding great joy. God is with us! God is with us! They repeated, in frequent cheer, all the way, until the star, rising out of the valley beyond Mar Elias, stood still over a house up on the slope of the hill near the town. CHAPTER XIV It was now the beginning of the third watch, and at Bethlehem the morning was breaking over the mountains in the east, but so feebly that it was yet night in the valley. The watchman on the roof of the old Khan, shivering in the chilly air, was listening for the first distinguishable sounds with which life, awakening, greets the dawn, when a light came moving up the hill towards the house. He thought it a torch in someone's hand. Next moment he thought it a meteor. The brilliance grew, however, until it became a star. Soar afraid he cried out, and brought everybody within the walls to the roof. The phenomenon, in eccentric motion, continued to approach. The rocks, trees, and roadway under it shone as in a glare of lightning. Directly its brightness became blinding. The more timid of the beholders fell upon their knees, and prayed, with their faces hidden. The boldest, covering their eyes, crouched, and now and then snatched glances fearfully. After a while the Khan and everything thereabout lay under the intolerable radiance. Such a stared look beheld the star standing still, directly over the house in front of the cave where the child had been born. In the height of this scene the wise men came up, and at the gate dismounted from their camels and shouted for admission. When the steward so far mastered his terror as to give them heed, he drew the bars and opened to them. The camels looked spectral in the unnatural light, and, besides their outlandishness, there were in the faces and manner of the three visitors an eagerness and exaltation which still further excited the keepers' fears and fancy. He fell back, and for a time could not answer the question they put to him. Is not this Bethlehem of Judea? But others came, and by their presence gave him assurance. No, this is but the Khan. The town lies farther on. Is there not a child newly born? The bystanders turned to each other marveling, though some of them answered, Yes, yes. Show us to him, said the Greek impatiently. Show us to him, cried Balthazar, breaking through his gravity, for we have seen his star, even that which he beheld over the house, and are come to worship him. The Hindu clasped his hands, exclaiming, God indeed lives! Make haste, make haste! The Saviour is found! Blessed, blessed are we above men! The people from the roof came down and followed the strangers as they were taken through the court, and out into the enclosure. At sight of the star yet above the cave, though less kindescent than before, some turned back afraid. The greater part went on. As the strangers neared the house the orb arose. When they were at the door it was high up overhead, vanishing. When they entered it went out lost to sight. And to the witnesses of what then took place came a conviction that there was a divine relation between the star and the strangers, which extended also to at least some of the occupants of the cave. When the door was opened they crowded in. The apartment was lighted by a lantern enough to enable the strangers to find the mother, and the child awake in her lap. Is the child thine? asked Balthazar of Mary. And she, who had kept all the things in the least affecting the little one, imponder'd them in her heart, held it up in the light, saying, He is my son. And they fell down and worshipped him. They saw the child was, as other children, about its head was neither nimbus nor material crown. Its lips opened, not in speech, if it heard their expressions of joy, their invocations, their prayers. It made no sign whatever, but babylike looked longer at the flame in the lantern than at them. In a little while they arose and returning to the camels brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and laid them before the child, abating nothing of their worshipful speeches, of which no part is given, for the thoughtful know that the pure worship of the pure heart was then what it is now, and has always been, an inspired song. And this was the saviour they had come so far to find, yet they worshipped without a doubt. Why? Their faith rested upon the signs sent them by him whom we have since come to know as the Father, and they were of the kind to whom his promises were so all-sufficient that they asked nothing about his ways. Few there were who had seen the signs and heard the promises, the mother and Joseph, the shepherds, and the three, yet they all believed alike. That is to say, in this period of the plan of salvation God was all and the child nothing. But look forward, O reader, a time will come when the signs will all proceed from the sun. Happy they who then believe in him! Let us wait that period. It is necessary now to carry the reader forward twenty-one years to the beginning of the administration of Valerius Gratis, the fourth imperial governor of Judea, a period which will be remembered as rent by political agitations in Jerusalem, if indeed it be not the precise time of the opening of the final quarrel between the Jew and the Roman. In the interval Judea had been subjected to changes affecting her in many ways, but in nothing so much as her political status. Herod the Great died within one year after the birth of the child, died so miserably that the Christian world had reason to believe him overtaken by the divine wrath. Like all great rulers who spend their lives imperfecting the power they create, he dreamed of transmitting his throne and crown of being the founder of a dynasty. With that intent he left a will dividing his territories between his three sons, Antipas, Philip, and Arcalus, of whom the last was appointed to succeed to the title. The testament was necessarily referred to Augustus, the emperor, who ratified all its provisions with one exception. He withheld from Arcalus the title of king until he proved his capacity and loyalty. In lieu thereof he created him ethnarch, and as such permitted him to govern nine years, when, for misconduct and inability to stay the turbulent elements that grew and strengthened around him, he was sent into Gaul as an exile. Caesar was not content with deposing Arcalus. He struck the people of Jerusalem in a manner that touched their pride, and keenly wounded the sensibilities of the haughty habituaries of the temple. He reduced Judea to a Roman province, and annexed it to the prefecture of Syria. So, instead of a king ruling royally from the palace left by Herod on Mount Zion, the city fell into the hands of an officer of the second grade, an appointee called Procurator, who communicated with the court in Rome through the legate of Syria, residing in Antioch. To make the hurt more painful, the Procurator was not permitted to establish himself in Jerusalem. Caesarea was his seat of government. Most humiliating, however, most exasperating, most studied. Samaria of all the world the most despised. Samaria was joined to Judea as a part of the same province. What ineffable misery the bigoted separatists or Pharisees endured at finding themselves elbowed and laughed at in the Procurator's presence in Caesarea by the devotees of Jerusalem. In this reign of sorrows one consolation and one only remained to the fallen people. The high priest occupied the Herodian palace in the marketplace and kept the semblance of a court there. What his authority really was is a matter of easy estimate. Judgment of life and death was retained by the Procurator. Justice was administered in the name and according to the decrees of Rome. Yet more significant, the royal house was jointly occupied by the imperial ex-sizemen and all his core of assistance, registrars, collectors, publicans, informers, and spies. Still, to the dreamers of liberty to come there was a certain satisfaction in the fact that the chief ruler in the palace was a Jew. His mere presence there, day after day, kept them reminded of the covenants and promises of the prophets, and the ages when Jehovah governed the tribes through the sons of Aaron. It was to them a certain sign that he had not abandoned them, so their hopes lived and served their patience and helped them wait grimly the son of Judah who was to rule Israel. Judah had been a Roman province eighty years and more, ample time for the Caesars to study the idiosyncrasies of the people, time enough at least to learn that the Jew, with all his pride, could be quietly governed if his religion were respected. Proceeding upon that policy, the predecessors of Gratis had carefully abstained from interfering with any of the sacred observances of their subjects, but he chose a different course. Almost his first official act was to expel Hannas from the high priesthood and give the place to Ishmael, son of Phoebus. Whether the act was directed by Augustus or proceeded from Gratis himself, its impolicy became speedily apparent. The reader shall be spared a chapter on Jewish politics. A few words upon the subject, however, are essential to such as may follow the succeeding narration critically. At this time, leaving origin out of view, there were in Judea the party of the nobles and the separatist or popular party. Upon Herod's death the two united against Arkelus, from Temple to Palace, from Jerusalem to Rome they fought him, sometimes with intrigue, sometimes with the actual weapons of war. More than once the holy cloisters on Marias resounded with the cries of fighting men. Finally, they drove him into exile. Meantime throughout this struggle the allies had their diverse objects in view. The nobles hated Joazzar, the high priest. The separatists, on the other hand, were his zealous adherents. When Herod's settlement went down with Arkelus, Joazzar shared the fall. Hannas, the son of Seth, was selected by the nobles to fill the great office. Thereupon the allies divided. The induction of the Sethian brought them face to face in fierce hostility. In the course of the struggle with the unfortunate ethnic, the nobles had founded expedient to attach themselves to Rome. Discerning that when the existing settlement was broken up, some form of government must needs follow, they suggested the conversion of Judea into a province. The fact furnished the separatists an additional cause for attack. And when Samaria was made part of the province, the nobles sank into a minority, with nothing to support them but the imperial court and the prestige of their rank and wealth. Yet for fifteen years, down indeed to the coming of Valerius Gratis, they managed to have maintained themselves in both palace and temple. Hannas, the idol of his party, had used his power faithfully in the interest of his imperial patron. A Roman garrison held the tower of Antonia. A Roman guard kept the gates of the palace. A Roman judge dispensed justice civil and criminal. A Roman system of taxation, mercilessly executed, crushed both city and country. Daily, hourly, and in a thousand ways the people were bruised and galled, and taught the difference between a life of independence and a life of subjugation. Yet Hannas kept them in comparative quiet. Rome had no truer friend, and he made his loss instantly felt. Delivering his vestments to Ishmael, the new appointee, he walked from the courts of the temple into the councils of the separatists, and became the head of a new combination, Bethusian and Sethian. Gratis, the procurator, left thus without a party, saw the fires which, in the fifteen years, had sunk into sodden smoke, began to glow with returning life. A month after Ishmael took the office, the Roman found it necessary to visit him in Jerusalem. When from the walls, hooting and hissing him, the Jews beheld his guard enter the north gate of the city and march to the tower of Antonia, they understood the real purpose of the visit. A full cohort of legionaries was added to the former garrison, and the keys of their yoke could now be tightened with impunity. If the procurator deemed it important to make an example, alas for the first offender.