CHAPTER V.

THE ESSENES.

The impression which the first week of his sacerdotal duties had made upon Helon was quite different from all that he had experienced before. Hitherto his mind had been excited, and his curiosity and expectation raised; what he had lately seen and felt had given a quiet sober calmness to his mind, which was only broken at times by the eager desire of further knowledge on those subjects, on which his conversations with the old man in the temple had turned.

The following sabbath he attended the morning and evening sacrifice, in a portico, which lay on the northern side of the court of the Priests, and opposite to the altar of burnt-offering, and was called the Covert of the sabbath. This was a distinction allotted to the course of priests who had been on duty the preceding week, and were now resting from the noblest of all occupations, the service of Jehovah.

The sun was rising on the Holy City on the first day of the week, when Iddo took leave of his guests at the Water-gate. They took the road to Jericho, which leads over the mount of Olives. They had before them a journey of one hundred and fifty stadia, or about twenty-four sabbath-days’ journies. Passing the dry bed of the brook Kedron, they walked under the shade of the cedars, till the road wound up the side of the mount and led them through rows of olive-trees over the easternmost of the three summits. It is loftier than any of the hills on which the city stands. As they ascended it, Helon cast back a look of gratitude and regret on the sacred spot, where God had shown him so much good. The summit commanded on one side a view of the temple, the castle Baris, Zion, and the wide-stretched city; on the other, the eye could reach to the Dead Sea and the glittering line of the Jordan’s course, which winds on the other side of the walls of Jericho and falls into the Dead Sea. Towards the east, the exhalations rose from the sea, at the place where once Sodom and Gomorrah stood—a terrible memorial of Jehovah’s vengeance on the transgressors. Towards the west the smoke of the morning-sacrifice was ascending from the altar of burnt-offering in the temple. “See,” said Elisama, as he pointed to Moriah, “the fulfilment of the words of Moses, the glory of the Lord appearing to all the people in the fire that comes from before him and consumes the burnt-offering on the altar.”[79] And then turning to the clouds of pitchy smoke that hung over the Dead Sea; “Behold there the fulfilment of another word of Scripture, 'The Lord thy God is a consuming fire and a jealous God.'”[80]

Footnote 79:

Lev. ix. 23, 24.

Footnote 80:

Deut. iv. 24.

They proceeded in silence. At length Helon observed, “When the flame ascends upon our altar of burnt-offering, or the seven-branched candlestick is lighted at evening in the holy place, I cannot but think of Jehovah’s comparison of himself to a light, in our psalms and prophets. Fire is the most ethereal of the elements, and is a symbol as well of the grace of God to the pious, as of his indignation against sinners.”

“Beware,” interrupted Selumiel, “of making to thyself any likeness of God.”

“I understand,” said Helon, “what you mean. Even the doctrine of Zerdusht is superstition, because he has disfigured, by human additions, the knowledge which is handed down in its purity in our sacred writings. Yet it is remarkable that the children of the east have selected precisely this point from the divine wisdom of their forefathers, worshipping, alas, the visible sun, instead of the eternal light.”

“Be satisfied,” said Selumiel, “those whom thou art about to see to-day, have already prayed some hours ago for the return of the heavenly light. They do so every morning, and every morning their prayer is heard. You shall see my Essenes.”

“_Thy_ Essenes!” said Elisama. “Thou hast already thrown out hints of this kind more than once, Selumiel, greatly to my surprise. I remember when we were young together in Egypt, thou hadst a similar passion for the doctrines of the Therapeutæ; and an early passion, it seems, never dies.”

“I confess,” said Selumiel, “that in my youth I often looked with veneration towards the hill beside the lake Mareotis, where they had their favourite abode. But at a later period of my life I perceived that the contemplative life of the Therapeutæ, their profound solitude, and their enthusiastic passion for allegory, are not to be compared with the pious but active life led by the Essenes. I could say much to you of this people, but I will reserve it till we have passed through Bethany.”

This was indeed a spot more adapted for seeing than for listening. Bethany was a village on the eastern slope of the mount of Olives, and about two sabbath-days’ journies from Jerusalem. It was a still and lovely spot, surrounded with olives, palm-trees, figs, and dates, so that it seemed to stand in the midst of a large garden. They often turned to look back upon it, when they had passed through it. As they crossed a sparkling brook which ran at the foot of a steep hill, Selumiel exclaimed, “I will first quench my thirst, according to the manner of the Essenes, from this pure stream, and will then tell you, as I proposed just now, what I think of this people.”

A wild and dreary region lay before them, called the desert of Jericho. “I know,” said Selumiel, “that our Sadducees ridicule the Essenes, and our Pharisees curse them. But however the former may ridicule the idea of self-communion and moral strictness, it is certain that there is a deeper foundation for this self-communion at least, than individual inclination or caprice. The aged are generally inclined to it, and I know not what more genuine happiness one who has seen the world can propose to himself, in declining years, than the undisturbed society of persons like minded with himself, engaged in the united worship of Jehovah. And as there is a period of life, in which almost all men feel the disposition to turn the thoughts inward, circumstances may arise to produce this inclination at an earlier period. Calamity and sorrow respect no age; and as it may be said of some men that they are children even in their grey hairs, so is it true of others, that even from their childhood they show the contemplative and serious character of age. Why then should not a whole society, consisting of such youths and such old men, unite to devote themselves to self-communion? It has been said of the Greeks, that they are always children; it may be said with equal truth and more honour of the Essenes, that they are always old men.”

“But,” said Elisama, “they never appear in the temple.” “That is what the Pharisees condemn in them, and I will not undertake to decide upon the question: but thus much is certain, that they fulfil all the other precepts of the law so much the more zealously, and appeal, on this point, to passages of holy writ, which teach the inefficacy of any ritual of sacrifice. But I will not defend them for not coming to mount Moriah; and I am so far from agreeing with them in this respect, that I am, as you know, a punctual visiter at all the festivals. Let us rather consider what both Sadducees and Pharisees blame in them, and see whether this blame does not really redound to their praise. You know that the Sadducees in their folly maintain, that the whole course of the events of life depends upon man’s own free will, that fate has no influence over human affairs, and that it rests with ourselves to be the authors of our own weal or woe. The Pharisees, with more reason, teach that some things in our lives are the work of fate, but not all, and that in some cases it depends upon ourselves whether events shall happen or not. But how many rulers of the world must they then suppose to exist, or how would they contrive to keep this host of rulers in order and in harmony? How much more just and consistent is the doctrine of the Essenes, that fate disposes of all events, that nothing happens to man without its appointment, and that the great and the trifling in events, what is necessary and what is apparently arbitrary, all is alike subject to a predestined order!”

“Nay,” Elisama exclaimed, “these are subjects on which only the Messiah when he comes can instruct us fully—but this doctrine is horrible.”

“Myron would say,” observed Helon, “that the Essenes were Jewish Pythagoreans; as the Pharisees might be called Jewish Stoics; and the Sadducees, Jewish Epicureans.”

Their conversation broke off here, all parties being a little out of humour, an effect to which the desert on which they had now entered perhaps contributed. It was a long, hilly, dreary waste. Deep ravines without verdure opened beside serrated cliffs, sometimes of a chalky whiteness, sometimes of sand. No fountain, no shrub, was to be discerned, as far as the eye could reach; scarce here and there a stunted plant or a dry blade of grass. The rocks were rent and thrown in such wild confusion, that Helon thought an earthquake must have torn up the bowels of the earth, in this abode of desolation and of death. Towards the east, between the ragged summits of the hills, the thick clouds of smoke from the Dead Sea arose, as from the bottom of the abyss. From the higher ground the region around Jericho might indeed be seen, but it served by the contrast rather to aggravate the dreariness of the nearer scene.

Selumiel was the first to resume the discourse. “You remarked,” said he to Helon, “that the Essenes are Jewish Pythagoreans; and there are in truth many points of resemblance between them. Both practise community of goods, both hold in abhorrence every kind of effeminacy and voluptuousness, both love white garments, forbid to take an oath, drink only water, pay extraordinary reverence to old age, enjoin silence for a stated time upon their novices, offer only unbloody sacrifices, and teach that destiny is supreme and uncontroulable in human affairs. They agree besides in this, that both believe the soul alone to be immortal; while the Sadducees deny that any thing of man is imperishable, and the Pharisees maintain the resurrection of the body. This coincidence in so many remarkable points may give us a clue to the common source of their doctrines and institutions. Pythagoras is said to have been in Babylon at the time of our captivity, and Zerdusht to have known Israel on the banks of Chebar—may not these both have drawn from the same source as our Essenes? For my own part, I consider the Essenes to be those who have preserved the original knowledge of divine things in the greatest purity. Hence it is that they so zealously observe the law, that they keep the sabbath with peculiar sanctity, that they consider agriculture as the most honourable of all occupations, that they hold Moses in the highest veneration, and endeavour to observe the precepts of the law with unusual strictness, directing their attention to its inward fulfilment in the heart, rather than the outward act of conformity to its commands. Of their mode of life you shall judge for yourself, when we visit their village; their heroic deeds in war are known from the recent history of our country.”

Helon’s attention and interest were very powerfully excited, but the last warning of the old man of the temple resounded in his ears, and to interrupt the panegyrics of Selumiel, he asked him, “Can you tell me when they made their first appearance, and what is their origin?”

“Some,” said Selumiel, “suppose them to descend from Jonadab, the son Rechab, who lived before the captivity; others, from those who fled into the desert with Judas Maccabæus, during the oppression of the Syrian kings; while others deduce them from Egypt, and from some of its sects of heathen philosophers. I hold them, however, to be of very high antiquity.”

While he was thus speaking, they saw a wanderer hastening over one of the naked hills which were near them. He was an aged man, of a spare form and long white beard, who, supporting his steps with a staff, kept on his way without looking around him, the human counterpart of this ungenial region. “This,” said Selumiel, “is one of them: I know him by his clothing, and by his only spitting behind him.” As he approached they greeted him, and he gravely returned the salutation. According to the custom of the Essenes he was clad only in white garments, and carried nothing but a staff on his journey.

“Wilt thou guide us to the Oasis of the Essenes?” asked Helon.

“Follow me,” he replied abruptly.

“How many are there of you?” asked Helon, endeavouring to engage him in conversation.

“There are four thousand of us in this country.”

“But I am surprised that you travel without any wallet.”

“I am come, curious youth, from a distance, to assist at the trial of one of our body, which cannot be held by fewer than one hundred persons. Among us every thing is in common. We avoid great cities, but where we go we trust to the hospitality of our brethren.”

“Who is the transgressor on whom ye are to sit in judgment?” asked Selumiel.

“A man who had scarcely completed his probation, and was not able to keep the secret of our institution.”

“Tell me,” said Helon, “I beseech you, what is the probation which must be gone through, before any one can be received as a member of your society.”

“He receives a white garment, a girdle of peculiar sanctity, and a spade, after which he must labour for a year, and practise self-examination. He is then received into our society, but for three years is not admitted to the common table. If in this time he gives evident tokens of being discreet, just, temperate, and chaste, an oath of tremendous sanctity is demanded from him, that he will before all things honour and serve the Lord, that he will be just towards men, that he will hate all unrighteousness, assist the pious, keep his faith and word towards every man, and pay profound obedience to the magistrate, who rules not but by the ordination of God; that he will not himself abuse power if he should be in possession of it, that he will keep his hands pure from theft and his mind from the desire of unlawful gain; that he will conceal nothing from his brethren, nor reveal their secrets to any other, even when threatened with tortures and death; that he will not communicate the doctrines of the body to any one, in any other form than that in which they have been taught to him, and that he will keep with equal care the books of doctrine and the names of the angels. When he has sworn to do all this, he is admitted to a participation in the bath, in the common meal, and all the secrets of the society.”

The gravity of the man, the solemnity of his words, and the earnestness with which he spoke, thrilled through Helon’s frame, combined as they were with the peculiar character of the scene.

They proceeded without further speaking, till they came within sight of an Oasis, a fruitful spot amidst the waste. A fountain rose here from a cleft in the rock, and a few cottages, surrounded by cultivated fields, stood under the shade of palm-trees. Beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the fountain all was wild, desolate, and barren, an emblem, according to the Essenes, of the soul of an unrighteous man, and the naphtha-smoke which rose in the distance from the Dead Sea, they regarded as a type of the future punishment of the wicked. This was the settlement of the Essenes. As they approached, they perceived by the multitude of persons who were going to and fro, that the trial had occasioned an unusual resort. Yet, in spite of this, every thing went on with such a stillness, as if single individuals were pursuing some noiseless occupation. An Essene, an acquaintance of Selumiel, told them how great was the consternation and horror of the whole body, at the discovery that a traitor had divulged their secrets. This offence was to be visited by the most fearful penalty of their code, expulsion from their society. Its terror consisted in this, that having bound himself by an oath, which even the unworthy dared not violate, never to use ordinary food, nor even to receive food at all from other men, there was nothing left him, but to support himself on roots and herbs till he died.

They arrived about the fifth hour (eleven o’clock) the time when they took their meal in common. They had risen before daylight, had conversed together briefly, but only concerning divine, never concerning human things, and had then greeted the sun as if imploring him to rise. After this every one had been dismissed by the person under whose superintendence he was placed, to pursue his labour for the day, and having now pursued it for several hours, they had bathed themselves in cold water a second time, and girded themselves with the sacred linen dress. Assembling in a hall, the entrance to which was forbidden to all but the members of their own order, they had thence proceeded, as carefully purified as if they were in a temple, to their refectory, where they seated themselves at table, not reclined as was the custom of the east. Bread and vegetables were placed before them; a priest prayed before and after the meal; while eating, a solemn silence was preserved, and when they had finished, they laid aside the holy garment, and each prepared himself to pursue his labour without intermission till the evening.

Food was placed before the strangers, Essene fare, bread and hyssop. No women were to beseen: for the Essenes on this Oasis belonged to the highest class, in which marriage was forbidden: it was allowed in the inferior classes, only with strict limitations and restraints. They must speedily have become extinct, had it not been that they received many children among them for education, and that many grown-up persons constantly joined their society, weary of the cares and vicissitudes of busy life. Thus they formed a society which never died out, although no child was born among them. They allowed no traffic in their community, because it must have been carried on through the medium of gold, which they considered as the root of all moral corruption; they had no servants, for each ministered to the other; and they took no oath, that which they had taken at their admission rendering every other superfluous.

Although our travellers were not admitted into the refectory of the Essenes, they were not alone. They found a multitude of sick persons assembled, who had come in hope of relief from the secret wisdom of the Essenes. They performed their cures by means of mysterious formularies, and recipes carefully preserved in their ancient books. These books had come to them in times of venerable antiquity from remote regions of the east, and were carefully studied by them, especially on the sabbath, which they held even more sacred than the other Jews. Their cures were wrought chiefly by enforcing temperance, self-command, and the dominion of the soul over the body; and with these means they performed wonders. The simplicity of their lives preserved their health to extreme old age, and not a few boasted that the spirit of prophecy had been wakened in them.

When Selumiel and Elisama had laid themselves down after the frugal repast, to rest beneath the palms, Helon went about to examine the whole arrangement and economy of this establishment. He would gladly have entered into conversation with some of the Essenes, but no one addressed him, and the determined taciturnity of their looks, and the profound stillness which reigned around these cottages, deterred him from making the attempt. He silently followed an aged man, who with his staff was making his round through the fields, when about noon every one was already again at his labour, and who seemed to be superintending their operations. The bending of the men, the prostration of the youths, as he approached them, showed to Helon that reverence for age was here inculcated and practised as a part of the duties of religion. Every thing here was done by command; no man followed a will of his own; indeed the will itself appeared to be social not individual, one thing only was excepted—beneficence. If those who were in need were not his own kindred, every one might assist and relieve them without asking permission or waiting for a command. The fields were covered with luxuriant crops, but the cultivators themselves were spare and pale.

Selumiel and Elisama had rested themselves, the heat of the mid-day was past, and there was no more to be discovered in a day than in an hour respecting the Essenes. The simple exterior of their habits and customs was easily seen. To learn any part of their secrets, it was necessary to listen in silence for years together. Our travellers therefore broke up immediately after the mid-day, and continued their tedious way through the desert to Jericho. Selumiel had requested his friend, the Essene, to be their guide, as the road was intricate even to those who had frequently travelled it. The Essene, at home amidst these solitudes, readily complied, and led them through ravines, amidst precipices, through sandy plains destitute of vegetation, and over naked hills. Always alert and ready to assist, he went before them, gave them his hand in difficult parts of the way, supported the elder men in the steeper ascents, and answered every question that was addressed to him, but so briefly that he seemed to weigh every word, and to be in perpetual apprehension of allowing one that was superfluous to escape his lips.

In answer to the question of Elisama, whence the name of Essene was derived, he informed them that it was Persian, and denoted the resemblance of their life to that of bees. “We learn from them to be unwearied in our diligence, to live in brotherly union, to be without distinction of sex in respect to desire, and to gather stores for the supply of others.” Their contempt for the female sex and aversion from matrimony displeased Elisama, who called the latter an ordinance of God, and pronounced it a vain and presumptuous thought of man, to wish to annihilate the distinction of sex, when the Creator had made the human race male and female.

Selumiel endeavoured to silence Elisama, by reminding him that nearly all the members of this community were old men. But the Essene himself would not accept this explanation; he maintained that this opinion was intimately and necessarily connected with the rest of their system. “The body as ye see,” said he, “is perishable and its elements for ever changing; the soul is immortal and unchangeable. Sprung from the purest ether, it is drawn down to the body by a certain natural impulse, and kept as it were imprisoned there while the body continues to exist. When freed from the fetters of the flesh, it rejoices like those delivered from a long and galling bondage, and wings its flight upwards. The souls of the just are conducted to an abode, beyond the ocean, of indescribable delight, where neither rain nor snow deforms the sky, and mild sea-breezes temper the rays of the sun. The wicked, on the contrary, are condemned to eternal thraldom and torment in a dwelling of frost and darkness. Should not then every soul abhor and shun intemperance and pleasure, as its worst enemies, and renounce every gratification which would give the body an ascendency over it, while it cultivates sobriety and chastity as the means of making its present captivity more tolerable, and of being ultimately delivered from it?”

The Essene spoke thus, animated in the defence of his doctrines, and almost forgetting the ordinary conciseness of his discourse. When he had ended, he turned abruptly round, after a brief salutation to the travellers. A hill higher than any in the desert, and equally bare, though on its verge, stood before them. They looked back, and saw the Essene vanishing among the intricacies of the path which they had just quitted, carefully holding his garments together, and hastening back to his brethren, without looking to the right hand or to the left. Helon seemed to breathe more freely as they emerged from this region of desolation. Selumiel, looking back towards the Oasis, and leaning on his staff, asked his companions, “Now, then, how like ye my Essenes?”

“Call them not _thy_ Essenes,” said Elisama, “for, Jehovah be praised, there is a wide difference between them and thee.”

“Allow me this,” said Selumiel, “and I will in return allow thee to speak of _thy_ Pharisees.”

“That,” said Elisama, very earnestly, “I shall never be; call me an Aramæan Jew, and I shall gladly accept the title.”

“What difference should one or the other make in our friendship?” said Selumiel. “Cannot we attach ourselves to different opinions, without any breach of our mutual good-will? Iddo takes it ill if I call him a Sadducee.”

“Alas for Israel,” said Elisama; “shall peace never come to thee? It has been a melancholy reflection to me, that in the land where alone Israel is truly Israel, I have scarcely found a single old friend who does not lean to one sect or other. What will be the end of these things?”

The young priest, dissatisfied with the turn which their conversation had taken, said hastily, and in a manner which neither of the old men understood, “In my service in the temple one thing only displeased me, that the turn of duty comes to each course of priests but once in twenty-four weeks. I fain would live the life of a priest every week and every day.”

“You might have discovered the method of doing so this very day,” said Selumiel.

“The Essenes do not sacrifice,” said Helon; “how then shall I find among them a perpetual priesthood?”

Elisama looked at him with astonishment. Selumiel, rejoiced as if he had come over to his opinion, replied, “You may find it in the daily mortification of your body and obedience to the law.”

“No,” said Elisama, “I will tell you—the conjugal and domestic life is the perpetual priesthood. You know that the patriarchs sacrificed with their own hands, and even now the master of the house becomes a priest, when, at the feast of the Passover, he kills the lamb, blesses the bread, and praises Jehovah. In spite of all the Essenes and their admirers,” said he, looking significantly at Selumiel, “it is my opinion, that the true Chasidean must be the father of a family.”

Selumiel stretched out his hand to the friend of his youth; they turned round, and scarcely had they advanced a few steps further when they had reached the summit of the hill, and the garden of God, the plain of Jericho, lay before them. The towers of the city arose from amidst the fertile fields, through which the silver Jordan wound its course. From the valley of death through which they had just passed, they had emerged into a scene where life displayed itself in all its luxuriance and fulness. The wide meadows through which the Jordan rolled were adorned by groups of towering palm trees and balsam bushes; the hills on both sides closed in the landscape with a beautifully picturesque effect. The air was fragrant with the odour of the roses which bear the name of Jericho. The note of the quail was heard in the corn-fields, the eagle swept his majestic way through the air, and the stork and the pelican strode stately beside the flood.