Julian; or, Scenes in Judea

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II

I said, my mother, that I would write again so soon as new events had happened. That necessity presented itself immediately upon my sending to you the letter which I last wrote, — if those may be called new events which are to be witnessed, not so much in separate acts or occurrences, as in the ripening of the time toward some general and final issue. Such seems to me to be the condition of Caesarea. Large numbers of the people indeed, both J ew*s and Greeks, are little concerned by this quarrel with the Governor, being wholly engrossed by the expected games, either preparing to attend them with every circumstance of display, or to receive into their dwellings as visitors during their continuance, the friends and kinsfolk who make it their five years’ custom to assemble at Caesarea at this great festival. But greater numbers, however, although together with the rest they look forward to the games with pleasure, and to the entertainment of both friends and strangers, are much more deeply engaged by the difficulties of which I have already given you some account. The games may occupy their hands, but other interests, hopes and fears are busy at their hearts. Especially is this the case with the Jewish portion of the population. No one would dream that less than an empire were at hazard, to judge by the demeanor of

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this people. In truth they seem to me at all times a solemn tribe ; and this feature of their general character is darkened to a gloom like that of night, by the present aspect of their affairs. Their motion through the street is slow and cautiou?, with eyes cast down, or talking with one another in low and secret tones — turning continually with sudden movement the head to this side and that, as if expecting instantly the blow of an assassin, or the insult of a Greek. I confess myself amused not a little as I watch them. But if this is so with the Jews generally — or rather with the more zealous portion of them — how much more is it true of so fierce a spirit as Philip. Not the dark Casca nor the lean Cassius ever carried in their eyes what so threatened States with ruin and revolt. Although I cannot but judge his cause in the main a right one, yet can I not work up myself to his pitch of fury ; but, on the contrary, do what in me lies, partly by reason, and partly by a lighter rhetoric, to soothe his almost disordered mind. My success has been much such as it would have been, had I essayed to stem the northern tide as it rushes in at the open mouth of the Port, making colossal Rome and Asia to tremble on their bases.

On the morning of the day which preceded the opening of the games, and which was to witness the hearing of the Jewish deputation before Pilate, the air being close and oppressive, I sought the cooler walks of the garden, and reaching the little arbor of which I have spoken, took out my tablets and wrote. I had been not long thus engrossed, when I was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Anna, with a countenance more than usually expressive of anxiety. She seated herself near me, sayj tr i. ian.

mg, as she did so, “ I have come seeking you, and am glad to have found you here, and yet I hardly know why I have come, and I fear lest I deprive you of time that you need for more important objects.” I assured her that I was performing no duty of more importance than writing to my mother, and that her own name was the last from my pen ; of what I had said concerning her I could not inform her ; it was, however, no evil report, she might well believe. But what, I asked, was it which disturbed her, for her countenance spoke of some new alarm. “ It is nothing new,” she answered, “ nor anything, I fear, in which you will think you can serve us, and I hardly can say why I apply to you — yet you have inspired us with a strange confidence, and we think that because you are from Rome, while still you are of our own race, you will judge of our affairs more justly than we can do, who are so near, that everything appears of perhaps an unnatural size and interest. In a word, my mother begs you, and I join her in the entreaty, to use whatever power you may possess, to moderate the zeal of Philip, and hold him back from aspiring to be a leader in these affairs. I, alas, can do nothing ; for no sooner does he appear with that face of his, and his burning words, than I am straightway kindled with his ardor, and grow as hot as he.” I told her, “ that what she had now asked of me, I had already of my own mind attempted, but with no good effect whatever. Philip will take no counsellor to his bosom, beside his own impatient spirit, and Simon, who, good as he is, is mad as Philip himself.”

“ Mad ! — Julian 1 Oh, not quite mad” —

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“ My dear Anna, you cannot yourself bear the whole truth.”

“ I will try — now say on — you must forgive me.”

“Take, however, Anna, all that I would say, .and not a part only. Philip is mad only in his impetuosity and haste ; not wholly in the great purposes which he cherishes. I blame him not that he is restive, as a Jew, beneath Roman oppression, such as I now see it with my own eyes to be. I can, with him, scorn the base spirits who with new submissions are waiting to purchase the forbearance of the Governor. Were I a born Jew of Caesarea, I would with Philip be a Jew in the full possession and enjoyment of my rights, or I would renounce together my faith and my country. A Jew with the name only, is one who with wonderful folly invites insult from the whole world, while from that which brings this universal contempt upon his head, he derives neither profit nor pleasure. In th:s Anna, I speak the words of experience. I would not that Philip should be the fool that I have been. You will be glad to know, in respect to myself, that in the few days I have been here I have lived years, and that the demon who has so long possessed me is departing. I am become a Jew in feeling at least, as well as in name. Henceforward, if I am still to bear reproach, it shall not be for naught. Such at least is the resolve of to-day. You now cannot doubt that I am on Philip’s side, that with him I would fight for the fair rights and the honored name.”

“Ah! how I bless you,” cried Anna with glowing cheeks, “ for these words. You then think with Ph.:lip, that he is right.”

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“But you came to me, Anna, did you not, that I might oppose him ?” She answered nothing, but only covered her face with her hands.

“ I think Philip to be both right and wrong,” I then continued, “ as you would see yourself, if you would reflect one moment. In his principles and general pur pose he is right, so I judge ; in his present action he is wrong: he is over hasty. He will but inflame both the Governor and the Greeks to visit upon your part of the population some new violence, while he is in no condition to resist them, or take the least advantage of the contest that may ensue. He can display all the courage and spirit of one who is ready to perish for his rights ; but I fear — to suffer — will be all that he can achieve* Do you not feel that it is so V9

“ I do believe it,” she answered. “ It is my constant thought when alone, but the presence of my brother drives it away. Where he is I can only feel. I am never myself but by halves. Wisdom, I fear, I shall never reach.”

“ Wisdom, Anna, is not for so young as you. I am older by many years than you, yet I have not so much as come in sight of it. What I have now been saying may sound very wise, but I know not if it be so. I can only say that I think as I do now. I pretend not to know. It is a new thing for me to be appealed to for counsel, who have hitherto been myself a dependent upon others.”

As I said these words, steps rapidly approached, and Philip entered the little building where wTe sat. His countenance expressed a mind disturbed and angry.

“ How now, Philip,” said Anna, “ what new evil have

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you to report with that ill-boding brow? Surely Pilate refuses not to hear us ?”

“No, my sister, it is not that, but worse. Pilate re fuses not to hear. But we refuse to be heard. Digest that.”

“How, Philip, can that be? Was it not in full assembly of our people that the five hundred were deputed once more to wait upon the Governor ? Who can have revoked that decree but the people themselves ? And they have not done it.”

“ The decree hath not been revoked, and the five hundred proceed this day to the judgment seat of Pilate, but with their tongues cut out, and their hands bound.”

“ Speak not in riddles, Philip — what is it ?”

“It is true, Anna, as I have said, we go with our tongues out, and our hands bound. Neither Simon, nor Eleazer is our mouth-piece, but — whom think you? Sy Ileus !” —

“ Our tongues are out indeed,” exclaimed his sister ; “whose bad work has it been ?”

“ Of all — save a sacred few. And now, may — ”

“Nay, Philip, swear not,” said Anna, and laid her hand across his mouth. He thrust it rudely from him, and again began his usual oath ; but his affection for his sister obtained the mastery, and he suddenly paused, kissed her cheek, and asked her forgiveness. The kiss put to flight all her remaining resolutions of moderation, and changed her for the moment to but the counterpart of himself.

“ It might, indeed, then,” she cried, “ as well be that we were heard not at all. A Roman is as good a J ew

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as that unbelieving Sadducee — our J ulian here were a better.”

“ Who, I pray you,” I then asked, “ is this Sylleus that it so inflames you he should fill this office ?”

“ Have you not heard of him ?” said Philip. “ But I forget you are but newly come to Caesarea. Sylleus leads the Ilerodians ; and what with their own numbers, and the faint-hearted among us of the stricter sort, it has been an easy victory to place him at the head of this embassy. I ought not in reason mayhap to have looked for other issue than this. Yet I cannot but feel it, for it brings us bound hand and foot, to bide the will of Pilate. Peace, not truth and right, is the watch- word with these slaves with souls less in bigness than a. grain of mustard-seed, or the point of a needle, who would, like their true ancestor, sell their birth-right for a mess of pottage. Surely, now-a-days there can be no shame, like that of being a Jew — apostates all — hypocrites and slaves.”

So did he run on, full of violence till he had spent himself, and exhausted his stores of a proud and indignant passion. I could not but honor the feelings from which it all came, growing up, as they did, from that deep root of religious reverence, which, planted in his youth, had been duly nurtured, till it had spread throughout his whole nature, and drew everything to itself. Still I was sufficiently conscious that his was a virtue in its excess — in such excess that it was changed almost to a vice. His religion seemed to me little more, or better, than a blind and dangerous superstition. I dared to say to him a part of what I thought. I said, “ that, according to my belief, he would gain more, by

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a more moderate course of action — that the laws of his own faith would be better observed, not to speak of a true policy, by conduct which should exhibit signs of patience and forbearance, and a willingness sometimes to yield a little for the sake of peace ; especially when so to yield was not to surrender anything that could be called a principle, or a point of faith; but was only bending for a time before the force of circumstances. 1 too would have him to be a Jew, and that not in name only, but in every act of his life, and purpose of his soul ; but I would have him consider whether by a too violent and passionate demeanor, he did not, in truth, do a more treasonable act toward his religion and nation, than by one of more calmness. Pilate, surrounded by his soldiers, -was not easily to be turned from his course, nor were the Greeks so few, or so weak, as to be deterred from what they had undertaken by any show of opposition, which, so far as I could judge, it was in the power of the Jews to make. It truly seemed to me, that for the present, at least, the affairs of his people would prosper more in the hands of Sy Ileus, than in those of Simon.”

Philip listened as I spoke, and without those vehement exclamations of wonder or contempt with which he is accustomed to interrupt those who utter opinions contrary to his own. But I could see by the fixed and grave expression of his countenance, no muscle moving, that he heeded, no more than the marble seat on which he sat, the words he had heard.

“ The Law,” said he, “ given of God to our Fathers, is no human instrument, it is no fabric wrought by the hands of men to be altered at our pleasure, or winked Vol. I. — 5 i>

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out of sight at our will or convenience. It is the law of the God of Moses, and therefore wholly right, and to be obeyed and honored by those who receive it, in the spirit •and in the letter, by the observance of its rites, by the keeping of its festivals, by the reverence of its Sabbaths, by the payment of its tythes — by the worship of him who founded it, and the hatred of those who would subvert it. The proper Jew is one who not only loves, but hates. The measure of contempt, that is by other nations served out to him, he returns heaped up and running over. The Jew’s bond of allegiance to the Jew is not a more binding one, than that which leagues him in everlasting hatred against the gentile. Our ancestors, who with the besom of extermination and death swept the land of their inheritance of its accursed tribes, and spared neither the sucking child, nor the tender maid, nor the hoary head, are an example unto us of our day, how we should deal with any, who shall dare to set up their rest on the consecrated soil of this kingdom, not of man, but of God.

“ And even as he of old was but a traitor, an apostate, and a rebel, who held back his hand from the slaughter of the people whom God had devoted,- — the Amorite and the Hittite and the Perizite, even so is he who doth the same now. The idolatrous Canaan ite of our day is the Roman and the Greek. The hand of God will ever be against us, till by the hand of those who love his law they be driven from the land, where their presence is as blasting and mildew.

“ I have waited, Roman, for such a day as this, and now it is come I hail it, and give God thanks. I dare not disobey the voice that sounds in my ear. As foi

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Pilate and his legions, I care no more for them than for the chaff driven of the wind. I and the few who are with me may fall a sacrifice before that altar, on which the servants of the Most High have ever freely offered up themselves. But, if for the present — it will not always be in vain. Others, and other times shall reap the harvest.”

“ Such consequences may ensue,” I replied, “ it cannot be gainsaid. The least events, so esteemed once, have proved nothing less than the corner stone of changes which have amazed the world. But no eye can discern the possibility of aught but suffering and death, in a revolt like this, without concert and without preparation. You will only furnish fresh victims to the cruelty of Pilate.”

“ For myself,” answered Philip, “ I am ready to be a victim — I should not fall unhonored nor unavenged.”

“ But suppose, Philip, your fall should drag down also to the same ruin — your mother and sister.” Philip’s stern countenance relaxed, and he gazed fondly upon Anna, who taking his hand and forgetful of everything but him, said, “ Let no fear, my brother, lest a little flower should perchance be trodden into the dust, lay restraint upon thy spirit. When God and Judea eall, go on thy way, let perish what will that shall be under thy feet,”

To say anything more I perceived to be worse than useless. We rose from our seats and in silence wound our way together to the house. At the ninth hour the deputation was to wait upon the governor. Philip soon left us to join his friends in their consultations; I did not accompany him, as he desired and urged me to do, but answered him I should be present at the hearing

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before the governor ; in the mean time I should walk forth and observe the temper and behavior of the people.

I accordingly took my way toward the principal part of the city which as yet I had scarcely seen. I was surprised, as I proceeded, by its extent, and the signs of wealth and taste even, in the forms of edifices, in the width of the streets, and the solidity of the pavements. The buildings of the city most remarkable for the costliness of their materials, for the observance of the best rules of Roman and Grecian art in their structure, for the grandeur of their parts, and the spaciousness of the grounds about them, are those which were erected by Herod the Great. As I have before said, I believe, they were built in too great haste to be built well, and there are everywhere to be discerned signs of weakness and decay ; but they everywhere also give abundant evidence in their forms, proportions, and general elegance of design, that the mind that projected them had been well instructed in the best science of the capital of the world. Everything in a word is here Roman or Greek ; nothing Jewish. Even the synagogues, although they are here as everywhere of peculiar form, indicating thereby to whom and what they belong, are yet both in the structure of the outer walls, of the inner porches, and the central edifice itself with its columns and roof, altogether conformable to the principles of Roman models. And truly, except the taste in such things had been borrowed from Rome, it is easy to believe there would have been but little to be witnessed among this people; for it must be confessed, my mother, that whatever portions of unfounded truth they may be in possession of, they are in other repects somewhat rude and barbarous.

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Hiey possess, it cannot be denied, that which is most valuable ; yet were it desirable also that they had added some of the graces and refinements of life, which give so real a beauty to the Italian and Grecian cities and provinces. A little while since and I should not have lamented this, though I might have noted it. Now I sincerely deplore it, as it tends to deprive them of the estimation among the rest of mankind which is justly their due. A virtuous man loses his power, if his countenance and manner wear not an accordant expression. And so truth methinks, religious as well as every other that is of worth, should be clothed with beauty. That can hardly be pure truth which shocks ind offends by its ugliness. It is adulterate.

But of all the edifices which adorn the city, the Palace f Herod, and now the abode of our Governor, is the vaost conspicuous for its vastness and richness. It would ltvti be mean in Rome. As I stood contemplating it, little heeding those in the street who were passing and repaying me, a voice at my side addressed me : —

“ I perceive, Sir, that you are a stranger by the manner in which you examine an object, which to us who dwell here is old and familiar. This magnificent structure we owe to the generosity and public spirit of the Great Herod ; truly called the Great. He was too great to be hemmed in by the boundaries of Judaism ; and though born a Hebrew aimed to be as much a Greek, and, by Hercules, a Roman too, as well as a Greek. Pardon my fi-eedom. But having little else to do, I am tit your ser ice to give you any information you may desire. I am thankful to him who can procure me occupation. The igh dressed in the Roman fashion, yet, Sir, 5*

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I perceive you are a Jew. But that need make no difference ; I am a Greek, it is true, as you on your part may see; and you may suppose not unreasonably that I hold a Jew in small esteem, seeing how things go in Caesarea ; but, Sir, I consider man first — afterwards only whether he be Jew, Greek or Roman. What think you V?

I was so rejoiced that the noise he had made at length ceased, that, though inwardly I fear I used him hardly, I complimented him on the last sentiment he had uttered, and told him “ I thought it wrorthy of a philosopher, which he seemed to be.”

“ Truly I flatter myself,” he replied, “ I am somewhat of a lover of Wisdom, but to say sooth, it is not always so easy to distinguish wisdom from folly, even as it is not so easy sometimes to know a philosopher from a fool. I aim at wisdom, but I often doubt, whether I do not hit folly, and be not a fool.”

I could not help thinking that he had arrived at one wise conclusion, and turned to depart; but he was not to be so easily shaken off; he followed, and continued to pour forth a stream of talk, by turns wise and absurd, but always rapid and noisy. He commented upon every building we passed remarkable for its beauty or its purpose, and named to me every citizen we met, Jew, or Greek, informing me as to his condition, affairs, office, or wealth. As we came before the devoted Synagogue in our walk, it furnished him with an inexhaustible theme. He said “ that not Pilate himself knew better what would happen than he. Nay, not so well ; for Pilate knows not at once his own mind ; but the Greeks know theirs, and that it will be

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no impossible thing to force it upon the Governor. And before a few days are passed, Sir, these walla will lie level with the pavement. This cannot be agreeable to you Jews. It is always an evil to belong to the weaker party ; but then you know the philosophic virtue of submission to what is inevitable. 1 trust -your people will manifest their wisdom in a timely and politic acquiescence.”

I asked my unavoidable companion, how he could feel so sure of Pilate’s determination, especially as he was to hear the Jews again to-day, by some of their people who were more inclined to accommodation.

“Human nature, Sir, human nature,” — was his reply; “who knows not the Greeks? and who knows not Pilate? Prophecy is often nothing more than a shrewd judgment. The wise know what shall come to pass, from what already is, and has been. I confess, I see everything that shall be these few coming days with the same plainness as if it had already happened. There will be sad uproar, believe me.

I said, “ I hoped not.”

“ Ah yes,” he rejoined, “ it is a good thing to hope ; but one hopes less as he grows older and wiser. I know a few things, but I hope in nothing. — A fair day to you, most worthy Cataphilus,” cried my companion suddenly to one who passed, gaily and richly dressed, “ How is it with your great master to-day ? I trust he is in health.”

“ He is well,” replied the other, “ but he is closely shut up with despatches from the Emperor — Excuse iny haste,” — my companion was about to lay hold upon a fold of his robe — “ I will say that Zeno inquired for his welfare and forced himself away.

“That man,” said my new friend, “is ever in a hurry ; he is, you must' be informed, Pilate’s chief steward, and knows many things, if one could but get them out. But it is just so with all in this noisy place. I can scarce find a man who will allow me more than a few words, ere he must perforce be off to keep some appointment. It was not so in Athens. There, one could find a few who would give you an hour or so in the markets, or at the corner of a street, or at the bath. But here, great Jupiter, I surely deem that a pot of Tyrian dye, or a bale of Egyptian cotton is held to be of more value than would be a discourse from Plato, and a merchant more honored than a philosopher. But that Cataphilus, whom we just met, as I was saying, he has a master, and that master is Pilate, and Pilate has a master, who is Tiberius. Those despatches from Rome, I trow, give him some trouble. lie stands, I doubt, on slippery ground. But this in your ear. We Greeks make use of him, but we esteem him not any more than you Jews. Now, my young Hebrew, we approach the market, and a sight it is, I assure you ; there, behold ! That too was the work of Herod. Few things in Athens are finer.”

It was a noble structure indeed ; and the whole scene was imposing and grand, owing both to the buildings and the crowds of people who thronged the streets and squares. We stood where we had paused, observing and admiring, till, being too much jostled and incommoded by the swift moving currents of passengers, we withdrew a few paces to the steps of a portico,

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where we could see and converse without interruption. As we thus stood here, and Zeno enlarged with volubility upon the various objects before us, our attention was suddenly arrested by the loud tone of a voice commencing its prayers in the Hebrew tongue. I turned to the quarter whence the sound proceeded, and just within an arch of the portico, hardly separated from the street, there stood a Jew with face uplifted, and hands spread out, uttering at the top of his voice his noonday prayers; his eyes were so turned up as to give him the appearance of one in an agony, and his voice seemed to come forth from the passages of his nose rather than from those of the mouth. So distorted was his whole countenance by the sanctimonious expression he had assumed, that I did not at first recognise my companion on board the vessel. But as soon as I had made the discovery, I asked the Greek, who the person might be who was so diligent and noisy at his devotions. Zeno was amazed at my ignorance.

“What,” said he, “hast thou been but a day in Caesarea, and hast thou not heard of Ben-Ezra, the holiest Jew in all the city, the very head of the Pharisees, and with the common people of more sway than either Simon or Eleazar? Daily, as the shadow of yonder dial falls upon the sixth hour, may this trumpet tongue be heard in the market of Caesarea ; a proclamation of holy zeal to the fuels who cannot see, though they have eyes — of false and vain pretence to those who know how to use the eyes God has given them. See, his worshippers are gathering to listen. Such prayers never reach the gods. Perhaps it is not meant they should. They are answered in the effect they have