CHAPTER XV
THE KOHEN IS INEXORABLE
I determined to talk to the Kohen, and try for myself whether he mightnot be accessible to pity. This greatest of cannibals might, indeed,have his little peculiarities, I thought, and who has not?--yet atbottom he seemed full of tender and benevolent feeling; and as heevidently spent his whole time in the endeavor to make us happy, itseemed not unlikely that he might do something for our happiness in acase where our very existence was at stake.
The Kohen listened with deep attention as I stated my case. I did thisfully and frankly. I talked of my love for Almah and of Almah's lovefor me; our hope that we might be united so as to live happily inreciprocal affection; and I was going on to speak of the dread thatwas in my heart when he interrupted me:
"You speak of being united," said he. "You talk strangely. Of courseyou mean that you wish to be separated."
"Separated!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Of course we wish to beunited."
The Kohen stared at me as I said this with the look of one who wasquite puzzled; and I then went on to speak of the fate that was beforeus, and to entreat his sympathy and his aid that we might be savedfrom so hideous a doom. To all these words the Kohen listened with anair of amazement, as though I were saying incomprehensible things.
"You have a gentle and an affectionate nature," I said--"a nature fullof sympathy with others, and noble self-denial."
"Of course," said the Kohen, quickly, as though glad to get hold ofsomething which he could understand, "of course we are all so, for weare so made. It is our nature. Who is there who is not self-denying?No one can help that."
This sounded strange indeed; but I did not care to criticize it. Icame to my purpose direct and said,
"Save us from our fate."
"Your fate?"
"Yes, from death--that death of horror."
"Death?--horror? What do you mean by horror?" said the Kohen, in anamazement that was sincere and unfeigned. "I cannot comprehend yourmeaning. It seems as though you actually dislike death; but that isnot conceivable. It cannot be possible that you fear death."
"Fear death!" I exclaimed, "I do--I do. Who is there that does notfear it?"
The Kohen stared.
"I do not understand you," he said.
"Do you not understand," said I, "that death is abhorrent tohumanity?"
"Abhorrent!" said the Kohen; "that is impossible. Is it not thehighest blessing? Who is there that does not long for death? Death isthe greatest blessing, the chief desire of man--the highest aim. Andyou--are you not to be envied in having your felicity so near? aboveall, in having such a death as that which is appointed for you--sonoble, so sublime? You must be mad; your happiness has turned yourhead."
All this seemed like hideous mockery, and I stared at the Kohen with agaze that probably strengthened his opinion of my madness.
"Do you love death?" I asked at length, in amazement.
"Love death? What a question! Of course I love death--all men do; whodoes not? Is it not human nature? Do we not instinctively fly to meetit whenever we can? Do we not rush into the jaws of sea-monsters, orthrow ourselves within their grasp? Who does not feel within him thisintense longing after death as the strongest passion of his heart?"
"I don't know--I don't know," said I. "You are of a different race; Ido not understand what you say. But I belong to a race that fearsdeath. I fear death and love life; and I entreat you, I implore you tohelp me now in my distress, and assist me so that I may save my lifeand that of Almah."
"I--I help you!" said the Kohen, in new amazement. "Why do you come tome--to me, of all men? Why, I am nothing here. And help you tolive--to live! Who ever heard of such a thing?"
And the Kohen looked at me with the same astonishment which I shouldevince if a man should ask me to help him to die.
Still, I persisted in my entreaty for his help.
"Such a request," said he, "is revolting; you must be mad. Such arequest outrages all the instincts of humanity. And even if I could dosuch violence to my own nature as to help you to such a thing, how doyou think I could face my fellow-men, or how could I endure theterrible punishment which would fall upon me?"
"Punishment!" said I. "What! would you be punished?"
"Punished!" said the Kohen. "That, of course, would be inevitable. Ishould be esteemed an unnatural monster and the chief of criminals. Mylot in life now is painful enough; but in this case my punishmentwould involve me in evils without end. Riches would be poured upon me;I should be raised to the rank of Kohen Gadol; I should be removedfarther away than ever from the pauper class--so far, indeed, that allhope in life would be over. I should be made the first and noblest andrichest in all the land."
He spoke these words just as if he had said, "the lowest, meanest,poorest, and most infamous." It sounded like fresh mockery, and Icould not believe but that he was amusing himself at my expense.
"This is cruel," said I. "You are mocking me."
"Cruel?--cruel?" said he; "what is cruel? You mean that such a fatewould be cruel for me."
"No, no," said I; "but alas! I see we cannot understand one another."
"No," said the Kohen, musingly, as he looked at me. "No, it seems not;but tell me, Atam-or, is it possible that you really fear death--thatyou really love life?"
"Fear death!--love life!" I cried. "Who does not? Who can help it? Whydo you ask me that?"
The Kohen clasped his hands in amazement.
"If you really fear death," said he, "what possible thing is thereleft to love or to hope for? What, then, do you think the highestblessing of man?"
"Long life," said I, "and riches and requited love."
At this the Kohen started back, and stared at me as though I were araving madman.
"Oh, holy shades of night!" he exclaimed. "What is that you say? Whatdo you mean?"
"We can never understand one another, I fear," said I. "The love oflife must necessarily be the strongest passion of man. We are so made.We give up everything for life. A long life is everywhere consideredas the highest blessing; and there is no one who is willing to die, nomatter what his suffering may be. Riches also are desired by all, forpoverty is the direst curse that can embitter life; and as to requitedlove, surely that is the sweetest, purest, and most divine joy thatthe human heart may know."
At this the Kohen burst forth in a strain of high excitement:
"Oh, sacred cavern gloom! Oh, divine darkness! Oh, impenetrableabysses of night! What, oh, what is this! Oh, Atam-or, are you mad?Alas! it must be so. Joy has turned your brain; you are quitedemented. You call good evil, and evil good; our light is yourdarkness, and our darkness your light. Yet surely you cannot bealtogether insane. Come, come, let us look further. How is it! Try nowto recall your reason. A long life--a life, and a long one! Surelythere can be no human being in a healthy state of nature who wishes toprolong his life; and as to riches, it is possible that anyone existswho really and honestly desires riches? Impossible! And requited love!Oh, Atam-or, you are mad to-day! You are always strange, but now youhave quite taken leave of your senses. I cannot but love you, and yetI can never understand you. Tell me, and tell me truly, what is itthat you consider evils, if these things that you have mentioned arenot the very worst?"
He seemed deeply in earnest and much moved. I could not understandhim, but could only answer his questions with simple conciseness.
"Poverty, sickness, and death," said I, "are evils; but the worst ofall evils is unrequited love."
At these words the Kohen made a gesture of despair.
"It is impossible to understand this," said he. "You talk calmly; youhave not the air of a madman. If your fellow-countrymen are all likeyou, then your race is an incomprehensible one. Why, death is thegreatest blessing. We all long for it; it is the end of our being. Asfor riches, they are a curse, abhorred by all. Above all, as to love,we shrink from the thought of requital. Death is our chief blessing,poverty our greatest happiness, and unrequited love the sweetest lotof man.
"
All this sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, yet the Kohen was notmad. It seemed also like the mockery of some teasing demon; but thegentle and self-denying Kohen was no teasing demon, and mockery withhim was impossible. I was therefore more bewildered than ever at thisreiteration of sentiments that were so utterly incomprehensible. He,on the other hand, seemed as astonished at my sentiments and asbewildered, and we could find no common ground on which to meet.
"I remember now," said the Kohen, in a musing tone, "having heard ofsome strange folk at the Amir, who profess to feel as you say youfeel, but no one believes that they are in earnest; for although theymay even bring themselves to think that they are in earnest in theirprofessions, yet after all everyone thinks that they areself-deceived. For you see, in the first place, these feelings whichyou profess are utterly unnatural. We are so made that we cannot helploving death; it is a sort of instinct. We are also created in such away that we cannot help longing after poverty. The pauper must always,among all men, be the most envied of mortals. Nature, too, has made ussuch that the passion of love, when it arises, is so vehement, soall-consuming that it must always struggle to avoid requital. This isthe reason why, when two people find that they love each other, theyalways separate and avoid one another for the rest of their lives.This is human nature. We cannot help it; and it is this thatdistinguishes us from the animals. Why, if men were to feel as you sayyou feel, they would be mere animals. Animals fear death; animals loveto accumulate such things as they prize; animals, when they love, goin pairs, and remain with one another. But man, with his intellect,would not be man if he loved life and desired riches and sought forrequited love."
I sank back in despair. "You cannot mean all this," I said.
He threw at me a piteous glance. "What else can you believe or feel?"said he.
"The very opposite. We are so made that we hate and fear death; to ushe is the King of Terrors. Poverty is terrible also, since it isassociated with want and woe; it is, therefore, natural to man tostrive after riches. As to the passion of love, that is so vehementthat the first and only thought is requital. Unrequited love isanguish beyond expression--anguish so severe that the heart will oftenbreak under it."
The Kohen clasped his hands in new bewilderment.
"I cannot understand," said he. "A madman might imagine that he lovedlife and desired riches; but as to love, why even a madman could notthink of requital, for the very nature of the passion of love is themost utter self-surrender, and a shrinking from all requital;wherefore, the feeling that leads one to desire requital cannot belove. I do not know what it can be--indeed, I never heard of such athing before, and the annals of the human race make no mention of sucha feeling. For what is love? It is the ardent outflow of the wholebeing--the yearning of one human heart to lavish all its treasuresupon another. Love is more than self-denial; it is self-surrender andutter self-abnegation. Love gives all away, and cannot possiblyreceive anything in return. A requital of love would mean selfishness,which would be self-contradiction. The more one loves, the more hemust shrink from requital."
"What!" cried I, "among you do lovers never marry?"
"Lovers marry? Never!"
"Do married people never love one another?"
The Kohen shook his head.
"It unfortunately sometimes happens so," said he, "and then the resultis, of course, distressing. For the children's sake the parents willoften remain with one another, but in many cases they separate. No onecan tell the misery that ensues where a husband and wife love oneanother."
The conversation grew insupportable. I could not follow the Kohen inwhat seemed the wildest and maddest flights of fancy that ever wereknown; so I began to talk of other things, and gradually the Kohen wasdrawn to speak of his own life. The account which he gave of himselfwas not one whit less strange than his previous remarks, and for thisreason I add it here.
"I was born," said he, "in the most enviable of positions. My fatherand mother were among the poorest in the land. Both died when I was achild, and I never saw them. I grew up in the open fields and publiccaverns, along with the most esteemed paupers. But, unfortunately forme, there was something wanting in my natural disposition. I loveddeath, of course, and poverty, too, very strongly; but I did not havethat eager and energetic passion which is so desirable, nor was Iwatchful enough over my blessed estate of poverty. Surrounded as I wasby those who were only too ready to take advantage of my ignorance orwant of vigilance, I soon fell into evil ways, and gradually, in spiteof myself, I found wealth pouring in upon me. Designing men succeededin winning my consent to receive their possessions; and so I graduallyfell away from that lofty position in which I was born. I grew richerand richer. My friends warned me, but in vain. I was too weak toresist; in fact, I lacked moral fibre, and had never learned how tosay 'No.' So I went on, descending lower and lower in the scale ofbeing. I became a capitalist, an Athon, a general officer, and finallyKohen.
"At length, on one eventful day, I learned that one of my associateshad by a long course of reckless folly become the richest man in allthe country. He had become Athon, Melek, and at last Kohen Gadol. Itwas a terrible shock, but I trust a salutary one. I at once resolvedto reform. That resolution I have steadily kept, and have at leastsaved myself from descending any lower. It is true, I can hardly hopeto become what I once was. It is only too easy to grow rich; and, youknow, poverty once forfeited can never return except in rareinstances. I have, however, succeeded in getting rid of most of mywealth, chiefly through the fortunate advent of Almah and afterward ofyourself. This, I confess, has been my salvation. Neither of you hadany scruples about accepting what was bestowed, and so I did not feelas though I was doing you any wrong in giving you all I had in theworld. Most of the people of this city have taken advantage of yourextraordinary indifference to wealth, and have made themselves paupersat your expense. I had already become your slave, and had received thepromise of being elevated to the rank of scullion in the cavern of theMista Kosek. But now, since this event of your love for Almah, Ihope to gain far more. I am almost certain of being made a pauper, andI think I can almost venture to hope some day for the honor of apublic death."
To such a story I had nothing to say. It was sheer madness; yet it wasterribly suggestive, and showed how utterly hopeless was my effort tosecure the assistance of such a man toward my escape from death.
"A public death!" I said, grimly. "That will be very fortunate! And doyou think that you will gain the dignity of being eaten up afterward?"
The Kohen shook his head in all seriousness.
"Oh no," said he; "that would be far beyond my deserts. That is anhonor which is only bestowed upon the most distinguished."