Authors: Unknown
'I am not much of a philosopher,' admitted Marcellus, carelessly.
'Perhaps, after I've been in Athens awhile, lounging on Mars' Hill, observing
the spinning of sophistical cobwebs--'
'You'll be able to tie up sand with a rope,' assisted Benjamin, in the
same temper. 'But what we're talking about is more than a pedantry. It is a
practical matter. Here is your great Roman Empire, sending out its ruthless
armies in all directions to pillage and persecute weak nations; bringing home
the best of their children in stinking slave-ships, and setting the old ones at
hard labour to pay an iniquitous tribute. Eventually the Roman Empire will
collapse--'
'My father thinks that,' interposed Marcellus. 'He says that the Romans,
with their slave labour, are getting softer and fatter and lazier, every day;
and that the time will come--'
'Yes, yes, the time will come--but that won't be the reason!' declaimed
Benjamin. 'The Romans will be crushed, but not because they are too fat. It
will be because they have believed that all men are beasts. Enslaving other
men, they have denied their own spiritual dignity. Not much wonder that your
Roman gods are a jest and a mockery in the sight of all your intelligent
people. What do
you
want with gods--you who think that men are like
cattle, to be led by a halter? Why should
you
look to the gods, when
your dog doesn't?'
Benjamin paused in his monologue to refill their goblets. He had been
much stirred, and his old hand was trembling.
'I am a Jew,' he went on, 'but I am not unconversant with the religion
of other races. Time was when your Roman deities were regarded with some
respect. Jove meant something to your ancestors. Then the time came when Julius
Cæsar became a god, more important than Jove. Only the downtrodden any longer
believed in the classic deities who controlled the sunrise and the rain, who
dealt out rewards and punishments, who tempered the wind for the mariner, and
filled the grape with goodness. And why, let me ask you, did Cæsar make a
mockery of the Roman religion? Ah, that was when the Romans had achieved enough
military power to enslave other nations, buying and selling men, and driving
them in herds. By that act they declared that all men--including themselves, of
course--were of no relation to the gods! Vain and pompous Cæsar was god enough
when it became established that all men were animals!'
'I don't believe any sensible person ever thought that Julius was a
god,' protested Marcellus.
'Down in his heart--no,' agreed Benjamin. 'Nor Cæsar, himself, I dare
say!'
'Is it your belief, then, that if the Romans abolished slavery they
would think more highly of the old gods, and by their reverence make themselves
more noble?'
Benjamin chuckled derisively.
'An "if" of such magnitude,' he growled, 'makes the rest of
your question ridiculous.'
'Well, as for me'--Marcellus had tired of the subject, as his tone
candidly announced--'I have no interest in the gods, be they classic or
contemporary.'
'How do you account for the universe?' demanded Benjamin.
'I don't,' replied Marcellus. 'I didn't know that I was expected to.'
And then, feeling that this rejoinder was more impolite than amusing, he added
quickly: 'I should be glad to believe in a supernatural being, if one were
proposed who seemed qualified for that office. It would clarify many a riddle.
Yesterday you were saying that your people, the Samaritans, worshipped on the
mountain-tops. I can cheerfully do that too if I'm not required to personify
the sunrise and the trees.'
'We do not personify the objects of nature,' explained Benjamin. 'We
believe in one God--a Spirit--creator of all things.'
'Somewhere I have heard it said'--Marcellus's eyes were averted
thoughtfully--'that the Jews anticipate the rise of a great leader, a champion,
a king. He is to set them free and establish an enduring government. Do you
Samaritans believe that?'
'We do!' declared Benjamin. 'All of our great prophets have foretold the
coming of the Messiah.'
'How long have you been looking for him?'
'For many centuries.'
'And you are still hopeful?'
Benjamin stroked his long beard thoughtfully.
'The expectation ebbs and flows,' he said. 'In periods of national
calamity there has been much talk of it. In times of great hardship and
persecution, the Jews have been alert to discover among themselves some wise
and brave man who might give evidence of messianic powers.'
'And never found one to qualify?' asked Marcellus.
'Not the real one--no.' Benjamin paused to meditate. 'It is a queer
thing,' he went on. 'In a time of great need, when powerful leadership is
demanded, the people--confused and excited--hear only the strident voices of
the audacious, and refuse to listen to the voice of wisdom which, being wise,
is temperate. Yes--we have had many zealous pretenders to messiahship. They
have come and gone--like meteors.'
'But, in the face of all these disappointments, you sustain your faith
that the Messiah will come?'
'He will come,' murmured Benjamin. 'Of course, every generation thinks
its own problems are severe enough to warrant his coming. Ever since the Roman
occupation, there has been a revival of interest in the ancient predictions.
Even the Temple has pretended to yearn for the Messiah.'
'Pretended?' Marcellus raised his brows.
'The Temple is fairly well satisfied with things as they are,' grumbled
Benjamin. The Roman Prefects grind the poor with vicious taxation, but they are
careful about imposing too hard on the priests and the influential rich. The
Temple would be embarrassed, I fear, if the Messiah put in an appearance. He
might want to make some changes.' The old man seemed to be talking mostly to
himself now, for he did not bother to explain what he meant.
'He might discharge the merchants, perhaps, who sell sacrificial beasts
to the poor at exorbitant prices?' asked Marcellus, artlessly.
Benjamin rallied from his reminiscent torpor and slowly turned an
inquiring gaze upon his pagan guest.
'How do you happen to know about that iniquity?' he asked slyly.
'Oh, I heard it discussed in Jerusalem.' Marcellus made it sound
unimportant. 'It seems there had been a little protest.'
'A little protest?' Benjamin lifted an ironical eyebrow. 'It must have
been quite an insistent protest to have come to the ears of a visiting Roman.
What were you doing there--if I may venture to ask?'
'It was Empire business,' replied Marcellus, stiffly. He rose,
readjusting the folds of his toga. 'I must not outstay my welcome,' he said,
graciously. 'You have been most kind. I am greatly indebted to you. May I have
the robe now?'
Benjamin withdrew, returning almost immediately. Marcellus examined the
robe in the waning light.
'It is well done,' he said. 'No one would know it had ever been torn.'
'No one but you,' said Benjamin, gravely. Marcellus shifted his
position, uneasily, avoiding the old man's eyes. 'These stains,' added
Benjamin, 'I tried to remove them. They will not come out. You have not told me
about this poor Jew. He was brave, you said; and died at the hands of his
enemies. Was he a Galilean, perhaps?'
'I believe so,' replied Marcellus, restlessly. He folded the robe over
his arm, and extended his hand in farewell.
'Was his name Jesus?' Benjamin's insistent voice had dropped to a mere
guttural whisper.
'Yes, that was his name,' admitted Marcellus, grudgingly. 'How did you
know?'
'I learnt of the incident from a long-time friend, one Popygos, a dealer
in spices. He was in Jerusalem during this last Passover Week. Tell
me'--Benjamin's tone was entreating--'how did you come by this robe?'
'Does it matter?' countered Marcellus, suddenly haughty.
Benjamin bowed obsequiously, rubbing his thin hands.
'You must forgive me for being inquisitive,' he muttered. 'I am an old
man, without family, and far from my native land. My scrolls--the history of my
race, the words of our great prophets--they are my meat and drink, my young
friend! They are a lamp unto my feet and a light upon my path. They are my
heritage. My daily work--it is nothing! It busies my fingers and brings me my
food; but my soul, my life--it is hidden and nourished in words so fitly spoken
they are as apples of gold in pictures of silver!' Benjamin's voice had risen
resonantly and his deep-lined face was enraptured.
'You are fortunate, sir,' said Marcellus. 'I, too, am fond of the
classics bequeathed to us by men of great wisdom--Plato, Pythagoras,
Parmenides--'
Benjamin smiled indulgently and wagged his head.
'Yes, yes--it was through their works that you were taught how to
read--but not how to live! They who spoke the Hebrew tongue understood the
words of life! Now--you see--my young friend--throughout these prophecies there
runs a promise. One day, a Messiah shall arise and reign! His name shall be
called Wonderful! And of his kingdom there shall be no end! No certain time is
set for his coming--but he will come! Think you then that it is mere idle
curiosity in me to inquire diligently about this Jesus, whom so many have
believed to be the Messiah?'
'I would hear more about these predictions,' said Marcellus, after a
meditative pause.
'Why not?' Benjamin's deepset eyes lighted. 'I love to think of them. I
shall gladly tell you; though it would be better if you could read them for
yourself.'
'Is Hebrew difficult?' asked Marcellus.
Benjamin smiled and shrugged.
'Well, it is no more difficult than Greek, which you speak fluently. Naturally,
it is more difficult than Latin.'
'Why "naturally"?' snapped Marcellus, frowning.
'Forgive me,' retreated Benjamin. 'Perhaps the Greeks ask more of the
mind because the Greek writers--' The old man politely floundered to a stop.
'The Greek writers thought more deeply,' assisted Marcellus. 'Is that
what you're trying to say? If so, I agree with you.'
'I meant no offence,' reiterated Benjamin. 'Rome has her poets,
satirists, eulogists. There are many interesting little essays by your Cicero;
rather childish. They pick flowers, but they do not sweep the sky!' Benjamin
caught up a worn scroll from the table and deftly unrolled it with familiar
hands. 'Listen, friend!--"When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy
fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that thou
art mindful of him?"'
'Rather pessimistic, I'd say,' broke in Marcellus, 'although it sounds
sensible enough.'
'But wait!' cried Benjamin. 'Let me go on, please!--"Thou hast made
him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and
honour." Ah--there is richness in the Hebrew wisdom! You should acquaint
yourself with it!'
'For the present, I shall have to content myself with such choice bits
of it as you may be good enough to offer me, from time to time,' said
Marcellus. 'I am doing some sculpturing now, and it will claim my full
attention.' He laid a small silk bag of silver on the table. 'Please accept
this--for mending the robe.'
'But I do not wish to be paid,' said Benjamin, firmly.
'Then give it to the poor,' said Marcellus, impatiently.
'Thank you.' Benjamin bowed. 'It has just occurred to me that if you
would know something of this ancient Jewish lore--and are too busy to study it
for yourself--you might permit your Greek slave to learn the language. I should
be glad to instruct him. He is intelligent.'
'It is true that Demetrius is bright. May I ask how you discovered it?'
'He spent an hour here to-day.'
'Indeed! What was his errand?'
Benjamin shrugged the query away as of no consequence.
'He was sauntering about, and paid me a friendly call; brought me some
figs; asked me some questions.'
'What manner of questions?'
'He may tell you if you ask him,' said Benjamin, dryly. 'He is your
property, is he not?'
'I do not own his thoughts,' retorted Marcellus. 'Perhaps you have
imputed to me a more brilliant talent for brutality than I possess.'
Old Benjamin smiled, almost benevolently, shook his head slowly, and
laid a thin hand on Marcellus's broad shoulder.
'No, I do not think you are cruel, my son,' he declared, gently. 'But
you are an unfortunate representative of a cruel system. Perhaps you cannot
help yourself.'
'Perchance, when your Messiah comes,' rejoined Marcellus crisply, still
smarting under the old man's condescension, 'he may make some valuable
suggestions.' He turned to go.
'By the way,' said Benjamin, following to the door, 'how long, after the
crucifixion of Jesus, did you remain in Jerusalem?'
'I left the city before sunrise, the next morning,' replied Marcellus.
'Ah!' reflected Benjamin, stroking his white beard. 'Then you heard
nothing further--about him?'
'What more was there to hear? He was dead.'
'Do you'--the old man hesitated--'do you know that--for a certainty?'
'Yes,' declared Marcellus. 'I am sure of it.'
'Were you there?' Benjamin's cavernous eyes insisted upon a direct
answer. It was slow in coming.
'I saw him die,' admitted Marcellus. 'They pierced his heart, to make
sure, before they took him down.'
To his amazement, Benjamin's seamed face lighted with a rapturous smile.
'Thank you, my friend!' he said, brightly. 'Thank you--for telling me!'
'I had not supposed my painful words would make you glad,' said
Marcellus, in a tone of bewilderment. 'This Jesus was a brave man. He deserved
to live! Yet you seem pleased to be assured that he was put to death!'
'There have been many rumours,' said Benjamin, 'many idle tales,
reporting that the drunken legionaries left the scene before he died, and that
the friends of the Galilean rescued and revived him.'