Authors: Unknown
The day was still young and at his disposal; for Marcellus did not want
him about. Perhaps that was because he wished to be undistracted while he made
experiments with his modelling-clay; perhaps, again, he needed solitude for a
reshaping of his preconceived theories about supernatural phenomena.
Strolling out of the Temple garden, Demetrius proceeded down the street
which grew noisier and more crowded as he neared the agora. He sauntered
aimlessly through the vasty marketplace, savouring the blended aromas of
ground spices, ripe melons, roasted nuts, and fried leeks; enjoying the
polyglot confusion. Emerging, he lounged into a circle gathered about a blind
lute-player and his loyal dog; drifted across the cobbled street to listen to a
white-bearded soothsayer haranguing a small, apathetic company from the portico
of an abandoned theatre; was jostled off the pavement by a shabby legionary who
needed much room for his cruise with a cargo of wine. Time was beginning to
hang heavy on his hands.
It now occurred to him that he might trump up some excuse to have a talk
with Benjamin. Purchasing a small basket of ripe figs, he proceeded to the
weaver's house; and, entering, presented himself before the old man's
worktable.
'So, he decided not to come, eh?' observed Benjamin, glancing up sourly
and returning immediately to his stitches. 'Well, you're much too early. I have
not finished. As you see, I am at work on it now.'
'I did not come for the robe, sir.' Demetrius held out his gift. 'It was
a long day, and I had no employment. I have been strolling about. Would you
like some figs?'
Benjamin motioned to have the basket put down on the table beside him;
and, taking one of the figs, slowly munched it, without looking up from his
work. After a while, he had cleared his mouth enough to be articulate.
'Did you say to yourself, "I must take that cross old Jew some of
these nice figs"?--or did you say, "I want to ask Benjamin some
questions, and I'll take the figs along, so he'll think I just dropped in to be
friendly"?'
'They're quite good figs, sir,' said Demetrius.
'So they are.' Benjamin reached for another. 'Have one yourself,' he
mumbled, with difficulty. 'Why did you not want him to come back and see me
to-day? You were afraid I might press him to talk about that poor, dead Jew?
Well, and why not? Surely a proud young Roman need not shrink from the
questions of an old weaver--an old Jewish weaver--in subjugated Athens!'
'Perhaps I should let my master speak for himself. He has not instructed
me to discuss this matter.'
'I daresay you are telling the truth; albeit frugally,' grinned
Benjamin. 'You would never be mistaken for a sieve. But why may we not do a
little honest trading? You came to ask questions. Very well; ask them. Then--I
shall ask questions of you. We will put all the questions on the table, and
bargain for answers. Is that not fair enough?'
'I'm afraid I don't quite understand,' parried Demetrius.
'Well, for one thing, I noticed yesterday that you were surprised and
troubled when I showed knowledge of strange doings in Jerusalem last Passover
Week; and I think you would like to ask me how much I know about that. Now, I
shall be glad to tell you, if you will first answer some questions of mine.'
Benjamin glanced up with a sly, conspiratorial smile. 'I shall give you an easy
one first. Doubtless you were in Jerusalem with your master: did you happen to
see the Galilean whom they crucified?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Demetrius, promptly.
'Very good. What manner of man was he?' Benjamin put down his work, and
leaned forward with eager interest. 'You are a bright fellow, for a slave--and
a heathen. Was there anything--anything peculiar--about this Galilean? How
close did you get to him? Did you hear him speak?'
'My first sight of the Galilean was on the morning of our entrance into
Jerusalem. There was a great crowd accompanying him into the city. Not knowing
the language, I did not fully understand the event; but learned that this large
multitude of country people wanted to crown him king. They were shouting
"Messiah!" I was told that these people were always looking for a
great leader to deliver them from political bondage; he would be the
"Messiah." So the crowd shouted "Messiah!" and waved palms
before him, as if he were a king.'
Benjamin's eyes were alert and his shrunken mouth was open, the puckered
lips trembling.
'Go on!' he demanded, gutturally, when Demetrius paused.
'I forced my way into the pack until I was almost close enough to have
touched him. He was indeed an impressive man, sir, albeit simply clad--'
'In this?' Benjamin caught up the robe in his shaking hands and pushed
it toward Demetrius, who nodded--and went on.
'It was quite evident that the man was not enjoying the honour. His eyes
were brooding; full of sadness; full of loneliness.'
'Ah!--wait a moment, my friend!' Benjamin turned to his shelf of
scrolls; drew out one that had seen much handling; turned it rapidly to the
passage he sought, and read, in a deep sonorous tone: '"--a man of
sorrows--acquainted with grief--" This is the prophecy of Yeshayah.
Proceed, please! Did he speak?'
'I did not hear him speak--not that day.'
'Ah! so you saw him again!'
'When he was tried--at the Insula, a few days later--for treason.'
'You saw that?'
Demetrius nodded.
'What was his behaviour there?' asked Benjamin. 'Did he plead for
mercy?'
'No--he was quite composed. I could not understand what he said: but he
accepted his sentence without protest.'
Benjamin excitedly spread open his ancient scroll. 'Listen, my friend!
This, too, is from the prophecy of Yeshayah. "He was oppressed and
afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth."'
'He did talk,' remembered Demetrius, 'but very calmly--and confidently.
That was thought strange, too; for he had been cruelly whipped.'
Benjamin read again from the scroll in an agitated voice: '"He was
wounded for our transgressions--and with his stripes we are healed."'
'Whose transgressions?' wondered Demetrius. 'The Jews'?'
'Yeshayah was a Jewish prophet, my friend,' replied Benjamin. 'And he
was foretelling the coming of a Jewish Messiah.'
'That means then that the Messiah's injuries would not be borne in the
interest of any other people?' persisted Demetrius. 'If that is true, I do not
think this Jesus was the Messiah! Before he died, he forgave the Roman
legionaries who had nailed him to the cross!'
Benjamin glanced up with a start.
'How do you know that?' he demanded.
'So it was said by those who stood by,' declared Demetrius. 'It was
heard by all.'
'This is a strange thing!' murmured Benjamin. Presently he roused from a
long moment of deep meditation. 'Now--you may ask me questions, if you wish,'
he said.
'I think you have answered my queries, sir. I thought you might tell me
something more about the Messiah--and you have done so. According to the
writings, he was to come as the champion of the Jewish people. The man I saw
had no wish to be their champion. It made him unhappy when they urged kingship
upon him. At his trial he said he had a kingdom--but it was not in the world.'
'Where then--if not in the world?' rasped Benjamin.
'You are much wiser than I, sir. If you do not know, it would be
presumptuous for a pagan slave to attempt an explanation.'
'You are sarcastic, my young friend,' grumbled Benjamin.
'No, sir, I am entirely sincere, and bewildered. I think this Jesus was
interested in
everybody!
I think he was
sorry for everybody!'
Demetrius paused, and murmured apologetically, 'Perhaps I have been talking too
freely, sir.'
'You have a right to talk,' conceded Benjamin. 'I am a Jew--but I
believe that our God is the father of mankind. Peradventure the Messiah--when
he comes to reign over the Jews--will establish justice for all.'
'I wish I could study these ancient prophecies,' said Demetrius.
'Well'--Benjamin shrugged--'and why not? Here they are. You have a good
mind. If you have much time, and little to do, learn to read them.'
'How?'
'I might help you,' said Benjamin, amiably. He swung his thin legs over
the edge of the table. You will excuse me now,' he added, abruptly. 'I must
prepare my noonday meat.' Without further words of leave-taking, he moved
slowly toward a door at the rear, and disappeared.
Evidently Benjamin had finished his day's labour, for the sleek-topped
worktable was unoccupied. A door in the far corner behind the largest loom,
unnoticed by Marcellus on his previous visit, stood hospitably ajar. He walked
toward it.
In pleasant contrast to the stifling confusion of the overcrowded shop,
Benjamin's private quarters were simply but tastefully furnished. The
orange-and-blue rug that covered the entire floor was of fine workmanship.
There were three comfortable chairs and footstools, a couch with a pair of
camel's-hair saddle-bags for a pillow, and a massive metal-bound chest. An open
case of deep shelves, fitted around either side and below a large window, was
filled to capacity with ancient scrolls.
A farther door opposite gave upon a shaded, stone-flagged court.
Assuming that the old man expected him to proceed, Marcellus crossed the room.
Benjamin, surprisingly tall in his long black robe and tasselled skull-cap, was
laying a table in the centre of his high-walled vine-thatched peristyle.
'I hope I am not intruding,' said Marcellus.
'It is never an intrusion,' said Benjamin, 'to pass through an open door
in Athens. You are welcome.' He pointed to one of the rug-covered chairs by the
table and put down the two silver goblets from his tray.
'I did not know that you lived here, at your shop,' remarked Marcellus,
for something to say.
'For two reasons,' explained Benjamin, laying an antique knife beside
the brown barley-loaf. 'It is more convenient, and it is prudent. One does not
leave a shop unguarded in this city.'
'Or any other city of my acquaintance,' commented Marcellus.
'Such as--' Benjamin drew out his chair and sat.
'Well, such as Rome, for example. We are overrun with slaves. They are
notorious thieves, with no regard for property rights.'
Benjamin laughed gutturally.
'The slave is indeed a predatory creature,' he remarked dryly. 'He makes
off with your best sandals when the only thing you have stolen from him is his
freedom.' He raised his cup and bowed to Marcellus. 'Shall we drink to the day
when no man is another man's property?'
'Gladly!' Marcellus sipped his wine. It was of good vintage. 'My
father,' he asserted, 'says the time will come when Rome must pay dearly for
enslaving men.'
'He does not approve of it? Then I presume he owns no slaves.' Benjamin
was intent upon evenly slicing the bread. Marcellus flushed a little at the
insinuation.
'If slavery were abolished,' he said, defensively, 'my father would be
among the first to applaud. Of course--as the matter stands--'
'Of course,' echoed Benjamin. 'Your father knows it is wrong, but other
men of his social station practise it. In his opinion, it is better to be wrong
than eccentric.'
'If I may venture to speak for my father,' said Marcellus, calmly, 'I do
not think he has elaborated a theory of that nature. He is a man of integrity
and generosity. His slaves are well treated. They probably have better food and
shelter in our home--'
'I can readily believe that,' interrupted Benjamin. 'They have more to
eat than they might have if they were free. Doubtless that is also true of your
horses and dogs. The question is: Are men and beasts of the same category? Is
there no essential difference between them in respect to the quality of their
value? If a healthy, hard-working ass can be had for ten drachmas, and an
able-bodied man can be had for two silver talents, the difference in their
worth is purely quantitative. It is at that point that I find human slavery
abhorrent. It is an offence to the majesty of the human spirit; for if any man
deserves to be regarded as of the same quality as a beast of burden, then no
man has any dignity left. I, Benjamin, believe that all men are created in the
image of God.'
'Is that a Jewish conception?' asked Marcellus.
'Yes.'
'But wealthy Jews own slaves, do they not?' Marcellus raised the
question casually, as if it didn't matter much how or whether the old man
answered it, but the charge stirred Benjamin to instant attention.
'Ah, there you have tapped one of the roots of our trouble!' he
exclaimed. 'The Jew professes to believe that humanity was created in the image
of God. Thus he affirms that God is his spiritual father. But that can be true
only if he declares that all men are the children of God. Either they all
are--or none! I, Benjamin, think they all are! Therefore, when I enslave
another man, placing him at once with the cattle in the fields, I throw my
whole case away.'
Marcellus broke his bread and amiably conceded that it didn't seem quite
right for one man to own another. It was no way to regard a fellow human, he
said, even if you treated him kindly. A man shouldn't be made to feel that he
was just another animal.
'Oh, as for that'--Benjamin dismissed this idea with an indifferent wave
of his thin arm--'you don't rob a slave of his divine character when you buy
him and hitch him to a plough, between an ox and an ass. He has had no choice
in the matter. It isn't he who has degraded mankind: it is
you!
He is
still free to believe that God is his spiritual father. But
you
aren't!
Now, you take the case of that handsome Greek who trails about after you.
Slavery hasn't stopped
him
from being one of the sons of God, if he
wants to consider himself so; but his slavery has made
you
a relative of
the beasts, because that is your conception of man's value.'