The Blue Flower [46]
narrow streets for many days.
But on this day a singular agitation was visible in the
multitude. The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom.
Currents of excitement seemed to flash through the crowd. A
secret tide was sweeping them all one way. The clatter of
sandals and the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet
shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along the street
that leads to the Damascus gate.
Artaban joined a group of people from his own country,
Parthian Jews who had come up to keep the Passover, and
inquired of them the cause of the tumult, and where they were
going.
"We are going," they answered, "to the place called
Golgotha, outside the city walls, where there is to be an
execution. Have you not heard what has happened? Two famous
robbers are to be crucified, and with them another, called
Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works
among the people, so that they love him greatly. But the priests
and elders have said that he must die, because he gave himself
out to be the Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the cross
because he said that he was the `King of the Jews.'
How strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired
heart of Artaban! They had led him for a lifetime over land
and sea. And now they came to him mysteriously, like a
message of despair. The King had arisen, but he had been
denied and cast out. He was about to perish. Perhaps he was
already dying. Could it be the same who had been born in
Bethlehem thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had
appeared in heaven, and of whose coming the prophets had
spoken?
Artaban's heart beat unsteadily with that troubled,
doubtful apprehension which is the excitement of old age. But
he said within himself: "The ways of God are stranger than
the thoughts of men, and it may be that I shall find the King,
at last, in the hands of his enemies, and shall come in time
to offer my pearl for his ransom before he dies."
So the old man followed the multitude with slow and
painful steps toward the Damascus gate of the city. Just
beyond the entrance of the guardhouse a troop of Macedonian
soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl with torn
dress and dishevelled hair. As the Magian paused to look at
her with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of her
tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him around
the knees. She had seen his white cap and the winged circle
on his breast.
"Have pity on me," she cried, "and save me, for the sake
of the God of Purity! I also am a daughter of the true
religion which is taught by the Magi. My father was a
merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am seized for his
debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!"
Artaban trembled.
It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him
in the palm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage at
Bethlehem--the conflict between the expectation of faith and
the impulse of love. Twice the gift which he had consecrated
to the worship of religion had been drawn to the service of
humanity. This was the third trial, the ultimate probation, the
final and irrevocable choice.
Was it his great opportunity, or his last temptation? He
could not tell. One thing only was clear in the darkness of
his mind--it was inevitable. And does not the inevitable come
from God?
One thing only was sure to his divided heart--to rescue
this helpless girl would be a true deed of love. And is not
love the light of the soul?
He took the pearl from his bosom. Never had it seemed so
luminous, so radiant, so full of tender, living lustre. He
laid it in the hand of the slave.
"This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last of my
treasures which I kept for the King."
While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deepened, and
shuddering tremors ran through the earth heaving convulsively
like the breast of one who struggles with mighty grief.
The walls of the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were
loosened and crashed into the street.
But on this day a singular agitation was visible in the
multitude. The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom.
Currents of excitement seemed to flash through the crowd. A
secret tide was sweeping them all one way. The clatter of
sandals and the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet
shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along the street
that leads to the Damascus gate.
Artaban joined a group of people from his own country,
Parthian Jews who had come up to keep the Passover, and
inquired of them the cause of the tumult, and where they were
going.
"We are going," they answered, "to the place called
Golgotha, outside the city walls, where there is to be an
execution. Have you not heard what has happened? Two famous
robbers are to be crucified, and with them another, called
Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works
among the people, so that they love him greatly. But the priests
and elders have said that he must die, because he gave himself
out to be the Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the cross
because he said that he was the `King of the Jews.'
How strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired
heart of Artaban! They had led him for a lifetime over land
and sea. And now they came to him mysteriously, like a
message of despair. The King had arisen, but he had been
denied and cast out. He was about to perish. Perhaps he was
already dying. Could it be the same who had been born in
Bethlehem thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had
appeared in heaven, and of whose coming the prophets had
spoken?
Artaban's heart beat unsteadily with that troubled,
doubtful apprehension which is the excitement of old age. But
he said within himself: "The ways of God are stranger than
the thoughts of men, and it may be that I shall find the King,
at last, in the hands of his enemies, and shall come in time
to offer my pearl for his ransom before he dies."
So the old man followed the multitude with slow and
painful steps toward the Damascus gate of the city. Just
beyond the entrance of the guardhouse a troop of Macedonian
soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl with torn
dress and dishevelled hair. As the Magian paused to look at
her with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of her
tormentors, and threw herself at his feet, clasping him around
the knees. She had seen his white cap and the winged circle
on his breast.
"Have pity on me," she cried, "and save me, for the sake
of the God of Purity! I also am a daughter of the true
religion which is taught by the Magi. My father was a
merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am seized for his
debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!"
Artaban trembled.
It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him
in the palm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage at
Bethlehem--the conflict between the expectation of faith and
the impulse of love. Twice the gift which he had consecrated
to the worship of religion had been drawn to the service of
humanity. This was the third trial, the ultimate probation, the
final and irrevocable choice.
Was it his great opportunity, or his last temptation? He
could not tell. One thing only was clear in the darkness of
his mind--it was inevitable. And does not the inevitable come
from God?
One thing only was sure to his divided heart--to rescue
this helpless girl would be a true deed of love. And is not
love the light of the soul?
He took the pearl from his bosom. Never had it seemed so
luminous, so radiant, so full of tender, living lustre. He
laid it in the hand of the slave.
"This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last of my
treasures which I kept for the King."
While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deepened, and
shuddering tremors ran through the earth heaving convulsively
like the breast of one who struggles with mighty grief.
The walls of the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were
loosened and crashed into the street.