CHAP. VII.

The hut that Joseph was bidden to enter was the last left in the cenoby for allotment, four proselytes having arrived last month.

No better commodity have we for the moment, the curator said, struck by the precarious shelter the hut offered—a crazy door and a roof that let the starlight through at one end of the wall. But the rains are over, he added, and the coverlet is a warm one. On this he left Joseph, whom the bell would call to orison, too tired to sleep, turning vaguely from side to side, trying to hush the thoughts that hurtled through his clear brain—that stars endure for ever, but the life of the palm-tree was as the life of the man who fed on its fruit. The tree lived one hundred years, and among the Essenes a centenarian was no rare thing, but of what value to live a hundred years in the monotonous life of the cenoby? And in his imagination, heightened by insomnia, the Essenes seemed to him like the sleeping trees. If he remained he would become like them, while his father lived alone in Galilee! Dan rose up before him and he could find no sense in the assurances he had given the president that he wished to be admitted into the order. He seemed no longer to desire admission, and if he did desire it he could not, for his father's sake, accept the admission. Then why had he talked as he had done to the president? He could not tell: and it must have been while lying on his right side, trying to understand himself, what he was and why he was in the cenoby, that he fell into that deep and dreamless sleep from which he was awakened by a bell, and so suddenly that it seemed to him that he had not been asleep more than a few minutes. It was no doubt the bell for morning prayer: and only half awake he repaired with the other proselytes to the part of the village open to the sunrise.

All the Essenes were assembled there, and he learnt that they looked upon this prayer of thanksgiving for the return of light as the important event of the day. He joined in it, though he suspected a certain idolatry in the prayer. It seemed to him that the Essenes were praying for the sun to rise; but to do this would be to worship the sun in some measure, and to look upon the sun as in some degree a God, he feared; but the Essenes were certainly very pious Jews. What else they were, time would reveal to him: a few days would be enough; and long before the prayer was finished he was thinking of his father in Galilee and what his face would tell, were he to see his son bowing before the sun. But the Essenes were not really worshipping the sun but praying to God that the sun might rise and give them light again to continue their daily work. One whole day at least he must spend in the cenoby, and—feeling that he was becoming interested again in the Essenes—he began to form a plan to stay some time with them.

On rising from his knees, he thought he might stay for some weeks. But if the Essene brotherhood succeeded in persuading him that his fate was to abandon his father and the trade that awaited him in Galilee and the wife who awaited him somewhere? His father often said: Joseph, you are the last of our race. I hope to see with you a good wife who will bear you children, for I should like to bless my grandchildren before I die. The Essenes would at least free him from the necessity of telling his father that there was no heart in him for a wife; and if he did not take a wife, he might become—— One of the curators whispered to him the use he should make of the little axe, and he followed the other proselytes; and having found a place where the earth was soft, each dug a hole about a foot deep, into which they eased themselves, afterwards filling up the hole with the earth that had been taken out. Joseph then went down with them to a source for purifications, and these being finished the proselytes grouped themselves round Joseph, anxious to become acquainted with the last recruit, and asking all together what provision of food he had made for himself for that day: if he had made none, he would have to go without food, for only those who were admitted into the order were suffered to the common repasts. A serious announcement, he said, to make to a man at break of day who knew nothing of these things yesterday, and he asked how his omission might be repaired. He must ask for permission to go to Jericho to buy food. As he was going there on a mule, he might bring back food not only for himself but for all of them: enough lentils to last a week; and he inquired what else they were permitted to eat—if eggs were forbidden? At which the proselytes clapped their hands. A basket of eggs! A basket of eggs! And some honey! cried another. Figs! cried a third; we haven't tasted any for a month. But my mule's back will not bear all that you require, Joseph answered. Our mule! cried the proselytes; all property is held in common. Even the fact of my mule having become common property, Joseph said, will not enable him to carry more than his customary burden, and the goods will embarrass me. If the mule belongs to the community, then I am the mule driver, the provider of the community. Constituted such by thy knowledge of the aptitudes and temper and strength of the animal! cried a proselyte after him, and he went away to seek out one of the curators; for it is not permissible for an Essene to go to Jericho without having gotten permission. Of course the permission was at once granted, and while saddling his mule for the journey the memory of the river overnight now caused Joseph to hesitate and to think that he might find himself return empty-handed to the plump of proselytes now waiting to see him start.

But if thou crossed the river yesterday, there is no reason why thou shouldn't cross it in safety now, cried one. But forget not the basket of eggs, said a second. Nor the honey, mentioned a third, and a fourth called after him the quality of lentils he enjoyed. The mind of the fifth regarding food was not expressed, for a curator came by and reproved them, saying they were mere belly-worshippers.

There will be less water in the river than there was overnight, the curator said, and Joseph hoped he was right, for it would be a harsh and disagreeable death to drown in a lake so salt that fish could not live in it. True, one would escape being eaten by fishes; but if the mule be carried away, he said to himself, drown I shall, long before I reach the lake, unless indeed I strike out and swim—which, it seemed to him, might be the best way to save his life—and if there be no current in the lake I can gain the shore easily. But the first sight of the river proved the vanity of his foreboding, for during the night it had emptied a great part of its flood into the lake. The struggle in getting his mule across was slight; still slighter when he returned with a sack of lentils, a basket of eggs, some pounds of honey and many misgivings as to whether he should announce this last commodity to the curator or introduce it surreptitiously. To begin his probationship with a surreptitious act would disgrace him in the eyes of the prior, whose good opinion he valued above all. So did his thoughts run on till he came within sight of a curator, who told him that sometimes, on the first day of probationship, honey and figs were allowed.

The cooking of the food and the eating of it in the only cabin in which there were conveniences for eating helped the time away, and Joseph began to ask himself how long his cloistral life was going to endure, for he seemed to have lost all desire to leave it, and had begun to turn the different crafts over in his mind and to debate which he should choose to put his hand to. Of husbandry he was as ignorant as a crow, nor could he tell poisonous pastures from wholesome, nor could he help in the bakery. At first venture there seemed to be no craft for him to follow, since fish did not thrive in the Salt Lake and the fisherman's art could not be practised, he was told, in the Jordan, for the Essenes were not permitted to kill any living thing.

While laying emphasis on this rule, the curator cracked a flea under his robe, but Joseph did not call his attention to his disobedience, but bowed his head and left him to the scruple of conscience which he hoped would awaken in him later.

Before this had time to come to pass, the curator called after him and suggested that he might teach Hebrew to the four proselytes, whose knowledge of that language had seemed to Mathias, their instructor, disgracefully weak. They were all from Alexandria, like their teacher, and read the Scriptures in Greek; but the Essenes, so said the curator, must read the Scriptures in Hebrew; and the teaching of Hebrew, Mathias said to Joseph, takes me away from my important work, but it may amuse you to teach them. Our father may accept you as a sufficient teacher: go to him for examination.

A little talk and a few passages read from the Scriptures satisfied the president that Joseph was the assistant teacher that had been so long desired in the community, and he spoke to Joseph soothingly of Mathias, whose life work was the true interpretation of the Scriptures. But did the Scriptures need interpretation? Joseph asked himself, not daring to put questions to the president; and on an early occasion he asked Mathias what the president meant when he spoke of a true interpretation of the Scriptures, and was told that the true meaning of the Scriptures lay below the literal meaning. There can be no doubt, he said, that the Scriptures must be regarded as allegories; and he explained to Joseph that he devoted all his intellect to discovering and explaining these allegories, a task demanding extraordinary assiduity, for they lay concealed in what seemed to the vulgar eye mere statements of fact: as if, he added scornfully, God chose the prophets for no better end than a mere relation of facts! He was willing, however, to concede that his manner of treating the Scriptures was not approved by the entire community, but in view of his learning, the proselytes were admitted to his lectures—one of the innovations of the prior, who, in spite of all, remained one of his supporters.

To the end of his life Joseph kept in his memory the moment when he sat in the corner of the hall, his eyes fixed upon Mathias's young and beautiful profile, clear cut, hard and decisive as the profiles of the young gods that decorated the Greek coins which shocked him in Cæsarea. His memory of Mathias was as partial; but he knew the president's full face, and while pondering on it he remembered that he had never seen him in profile. Nor was this all that set the two men apart in Joseph's consciousness. The prior's simple and homely language came from the heart, entered the heart and was remembered, whereas Mathias spoke from his brain. The heart is simple and always the same, but the brain is complex and various; and therefore it was natural that Mathias should hold, as if in fee, a great store of verbal felicities, and that he should translate all shades of thought at once into words.

His mind moved in a rich, erudite and complex syntax that turned all opposition into admiration. Even the president, who had been listening to theology all his life and had much business to attend to, must fain neglect some of it for the pleasure of listening to Mathias when he lectured. Even Saddoc, the most orthodox Jew in the cenoby, Mathias could keep as it were chained to his seat. He resented and spurned the allegory, but the beautiful voice that brought out sentence after sentence, like silk from off a spool, enticed his thoughts away from it. The language used in the cenoby was Aramaic, and never did Joseph hear that language spoken so beautifully. It seemed to him that he was listening to a new language and on leaving the hall he told Mathias that it had seemed to him that he was listening to Aramaic for the first time. Mathias answered him—blushing a little, Joseph thought—that he hoped one of these days, in Egypt perhaps, if Joseph ever went there, to lecture to him in Greek. He liked Aramaic for other purposes, but for philosophy there was but one language. But you speak Greek and are now teaching Greek, so let us speak it when we are together, Mathias said, and if I detect any incorrectness I will warn you against it.

That Mathias should choose to speak to him in Greek was flattering indeed, and Joseph, who had not spoken Greek for many months, began to prattle, but he had not said many words before Mathias interrupted him and said: you must have learnt Greek very young. This remark turned the talk on to Azariah; and Mathias listened to Joseph's account of his tutor carelessly, interrupting him when he had heard enough with a remark anent the advancement of the spring, to which Joseph did not know how to reply, so suddenly had his thoughts been jerked away from the subject he was pursuing. You have the full Jewish mind, Mathias continued; interested in moral ideas rather than beauty: without eyes for the village. True that you see it in winter plight, but in the near season all the fields will be verdant and the lintels running over with flowers. He waited for Joseph to defend himself, but Joseph did not know for certain that Mathias was not right—perhaps he was more interested in moral ideas than in beauty. However this might be, he began to experience an aversion, and might have taken leave of Mathias if they had not come upon the president. He stopped to speak to them; and having congratulated Mathias on having fortuned at last on an efficient teacher of Hebrew and Greek, and addressed a few kindly words directly to Joseph and taken his hand in his, the head of the community bade them both good-bye, saying that important business needed his presence. He sped away on his business, but he seemed to leave something of himself behind, and even Mathias was perforce distracted from his search of a philosophic point of view and indulged himself in the luxury of a simple remark. His goodness, he said, is so natural, like the air we breathe and the bread we eat, and that is why we all love him, and why all dissension vanishes at the approach of our president; a remarkable man.

The most wonderful I have ever seen, Joseph answered: a remark that did not altogether please Mathias, for he added: his power is in himself, for he is altogether without philosophy.

Joseph was moved to ask Mathias if the charm that himself experienced was not an entire absence of philosophy. But he did not dare to rouse Mathias, whom he feared, and his curiosity overcame his sense of loyalty to the president. If he were to take his leave abruptly, he would have to return alone to the village to seek the four proselytes, but their companionship did not attract him, and he found himself at that moment unable to deny himself the pleasure of the sweet refreshing evening air, which as they approached the river seemed to grow sweeter. The river itself was more attractive than he had yet seen it, and there was that sadness upon it which we notice when a rainy day passes into a fine evening. The clouds were rolling on like a battle—pennants flying in splendid array, leaving the last row of hills outlined against a clear space of sky; and, with his eyes fixed on the cliffs over against the coasts of the lake, Mathias let his thoughts run after his favourite abstractions: the relation of God to time and place. As he dreamed his metaphysics, he answered Joseph's questions from time to time, manifesting, however, so little interest in them that at last Joseph felt he could bear it no longer, and resolved to leave him. But just as he was about to bid him good-bye, Mathias said that the Essenes were pious Jews who were content with mere piety, but mere piety was not enough: God had given to man a mind, and therefore desired man to meditate, not on his own nature—which was trivial and passing—but on God's nature, which was important and eternal.

This remark revealed a new scope for inquiry to Joseph, who was interested in the Essenes; but his search was for miracles and prophets rather than ideas, and if he tarried among the Essenes it was because he had come upon two great men. He fell to considering the question afresh, and—forgetful of Mathias's admonitions that the business of man is to meditate on the nature of God—he said: the Essenes perform no miracles and do not prophesy;—an interruption to Mathias's loquacity which the other took with a better grace than Joseph had expected—for no one ever dared before to interrupt Mathias. Joseph had done so accidentally and expected a very fine reproof, but Mathias checked his indignation and told Joseph that Manahem, an Essene, had foreknowledge of future events given to him by God: for when he was a child and going to school, Manahem saw Herod and saluted him as king of the Jews; and Herod, thinking the boy was in jest or did not know him, told him he was but a private citizen; whereat Manahem smiled to himself, and clapping Herod on the backside with his hand said: thou wilt be king and wilt begin thy reign happily, for God finds thee worthy. And then, as if enough was said on this subject, Mathias began to diverge from it, mixing up the story with many admonitions and philosophical reflections, very wise and salutary, but not what Joseph cared to hear at that moment. He was in no wise interested at that moment to hear that he had done well in testing all the different sects of the Jews, and though the Essenes were certainly the most learned, they did not possess the whole truth. With a determination that was impossible to oppose, Mathias said: the whole truth is not to be found, even among the Essenes, and, my good friend, I would not encourage in you a hope that you may be permitted ever during your mortal life to discover the whole truth. It exists not in any created thing: but glimpses of the light are often detected, now here, now there, shining through a clouded vase. But the simile, he added, of the clouded vase gives rise to the thought that the light resides within the vase: the very contrary of which is the case. For there is no light in the vase itself: the light shines from beyond the skies, and I should therefore have compared man to a crystal itself that catches the light so well that it seems to our eyes to be the source of light, which is not true in principle or in fact, for in the darkness a crystal is as dark as any other stone. In such part do I explain the meaning that the wicked man, having no divine irradiation, is without instruction of God and knowledge of God's creations; he is as a fugitive from the divine company, and cannot do else than hold that everything is created from the world to be again dissolved into the world. And being no better than a follower of Heraclitus—But who is Heraclitus? Joseph asked.

A clouded face was turned upon Joseph, and for some moments the sage could not collect his thoughts sufficiently to answer him. Who is Heraclitus? he repeated, and then, with a general interest in his pupil, he ran off a concise exposition of that philosopher's doctrine—a mistake on his part, as he was quick enough to admit to himself; for though he reduced his statement to the lowest limits, it awakened in Joseph an interest so lively that he felt himself obliged to expose this philosopher's fallacies; and in doing this he was drawn away from his subject, which was unfortunate. The hour was near by when the Essenes would, according to rule, retire to their cells for meditation, and—foreseeing that he could not rid himself of the burden which Joseph's question imposed upon him—he abandoned Heraclitus in a last refutation, to warn Joseph that he must not resume his questions.

But if I do not ask at once, my chance is gone for ever; for your discourse is like the clouds, always taking new shapes, Joseph pleaded. In dread lest all be forgotten, I repeat to myself what you have said, and so lose a great deal for a certain remembrance.

Joseph's manifest delight in his statement of the doctrines of Heraclitus, and his subsequent refutation of the heathen philosopher caused Mathias to forget temporarily certain ideas that he had been fostering for some days—that God, being the designer and maker of all things, and their governor, is likewise the creator of time itself, for he is the father of its father, and the father of time is the world, which made its own mother—the creation. So that time stands towards God in the relation of a grandson; for this world is a young son of God. On these things the sage's thoughts had been running for some days past, and he would have liked to have expounded his theory to Joseph: that nothing is future to God: creations and the very boundaries of time are subject.

He said much more, but Joseph did not hear. He was too busy memorising what he had already heard, and during long hours he strove to come to terms with what he remembered, but in vain. The more he thought, the less clear did it seem to him that in eternity there is neither past nor future, that in eternity everything is present. Mathias's very words; but when he said them, there seemed to be something behind the words; while listening, it seemed to Joseph that sight had been given to him, but his eyes proved too weak to bear the too great illumination, and he had been obliged to cover them with his hands, shutting out a great deal so that he might see just a little ... as it were between his fingers. As we think of God only under the form of light, it seemed to him that the revelation entered into him by his eyes rather than by his ears. He would return to the sage every day, but what if he were not able to remember, if it were all to end in words with nothing behind the words? The sage said that in a little while the discourses would not seem so elusive and evanescent. At present they seemed to Joseph like the mist on the edge of a stream, and he strove against the belief that a philosopher is like a man who sets out to walk after the clouds.

Such a belief being detestable, he resolved to rid himself of it, and Mathias would help him, he was sure, and in this hope he confided his life to him, going back to the night when Samuel appeared to him, and recounting his father's business and character, introducing the different tutors that were chosen for him, and his own choice of Azariah, to whom he owed his knowledge of Greek. To all of which the philosopher listened complacently enough, merely asking if Azariah shared the belief prevalent in Galilee that the world was drawing to a close. On hearing that he did, he seemed to lose interest in Joseph's story of Azariah's relations to his neighbours, nor did he seem unduly afflicted at hearing that only the most orthodox views were acceptable in Galilee. His indifference was disheartening, but being now deep in his biography, Joseph related perforce the years he spent doing his father's business in northern Syria, hoping as he told his story to awaken the sage's interest in his visit to Jerusalem. The Sadducees did not believe that Jahveh had resolved to end the world and might be expected to appear in his chariot surrounded by angels blowing trumpets, bidding the dead to rise. But the Pharisees did believe in the resurrection—unfortunately including that of the corruptible body, which seemed to present many difficulties. He was about to enter on an examination of these difficulties, but the philosopher moved them aside contemptuously, and Joseph understood that he could not demean himself to the point of discussing the fallacies of the Pharisees, who, Joseph said, hope to stem the just anger of God on the last day by minute observances of the Sabbath. Mathias raised his eyes, and it was a revulsion of feeling, Joseph continued, against hypocrisy and fornication, that put me astride my mule as soon as I heard of the Essenes, the most enlightened sect of the Jews in Palestine. That you should be among them is testimony of their enlightenment.... Mathias raised his hand, and Joseph's face dropped into an expression of attention. Mathias was willing to accede that much, but certain circumlocutions in his language led Joseph to suspect that Mathias was not altogether satisfied with the Essenes. He seemed to think that they were too prone to place mere piety above philosophy: a mistake; for our intellect being the highest gift we have received from God, it follows that we shall please him best by using it assiduously. He spoke about the prayers before sunrise and asked Joseph if they did not seem to him somewhat trite and trivial and if he did not think that the moment would be more profitably spent by instituting a comparison between the light of the intellect and that of the sun?

Mathias turned to Joseph, and waited for him to confess his perplexities. But it was hard to confess to Mathias that philosophy was useless if the day of judgment were at hand! He dared not speak against philosophy and it was a long time before Mathias guessed his trouble, but as soon as it dawned on him that Joseph was in doubt as to the utility of philosophy, his face assumed so stern an expression that Joseph began to feel that Mathias looked upon him as a fool. It may have been that Joseph's consternation, so apparent on his face, restored Mathias into a kindly humour. Be that as it may, Mathias pointed out, and with less contempt than Joseph expected, that the day of judgment and philosophy had nothing in common. We should never cease to seek after wisdom, he said. Joseph concurred. It was not, however, pleasing to Joseph to hear prophecy spoken of as the outpourings of madmen, but—having in mind the contemptuous glance that would fall upon him if he dared to put prophecy above philosophy—he held his peace, venturing only to remark that no prophets were found in Judea for some hundreds of years. Except Manahem, he added hurriedly. But his remembrance of Manahem did not appease the philosopher, who dropped his eyes on Joseph and fixed them on him. The moment was one of agony for Joseph. And as if he remembered suddenly that Joseph was only just come into the district of the Jordan, Mathias told with some ironical laughter that the neighbourhood was full of prophets, as ignorant and as ugly as hyenas. They live, he said, in the caves along the western coasts of the Salt Lake, growling and snarling over the world, which they seem to think rotten and ready for them to devour. Or else they issue forth and entice the ignorant multitude into the Jordan, so that they may the more easily plunge them under the flood. But of what use to speak of these crazed folk, when there are so many subjects of which philosophy may gracefully treat?

Prophets in caves about the Salt Lake! Joseph muttered; and a great desire awakened in him to see them. But you're not going in search of these wretched men? Mathias asked, and his eyes filled with contempt, and Joseph felt that Mathias had already decided that all intellectual companionship was henceforth impossible between them. He was tempted to temporise. It was not to discuss the resurrection that he desired to see these men, but for curiosity; and during the long walk he would meditate on Mathias's doctrines.... Mathias did not answer him, and Joseph, seeing him cast away in philosophy and unable to advise him further, went to the president to ask for permission to absent himself for two days from the cenoby, a permission that was granted willingly when the object of the absence was duly related.