daughters and I long for such, myself. This was a sore sorrow to Hannah, though Aulus seemed singularly and happily resigned. However, four years ago, after the winter solstice when the Romans were celebrating their boisterous Saturnalia even in Jerusalem—they are restrained, however, on command of Caesar Augustus who is a sensible man—Hannah gave birth to a son. Aulus was consoling some of his men in a watchtower high over Jerusalem, for they, that night, were on duty and could not join the final night of the festivities, which he assured me are the most—pleasant—of all. It was a fine cold night, and Aulus was gazing in the direction of Bethlehem, the birthplace of King David, and all the stars were sharply visible.”
Hillel had glanced apologetically at his old visitor who was accepting more wine from a slave and who revealed traces of ennui. Candidly, he was yawning.
“A messenger came to Aulus to tell him of the birth of his first son, and Aulus immediately poured wine for his bereft men and declared a festivity of their own in the tower. He was partaking of his third goblet of wine when he chanced to glance in the direction again of Bethlehem, and then he saw a most amazing thing.”
“He was drunk,” said the guest. “I know these Romans. They are always drunk.”
Hillel was a little vexed. “Was it not David who said, ‘Oil to make the countenance shine, and wine to make the heart of man glad?’ He counted these as excellent gifts of God, and not to be rejected. Aulus is a prudent man. I have seen him drunk but five times.”
The guest snorted. “There are abjurations in the Holy Books against drunkenness. There is the case of Noë. What does your friend know of Noë?”
Hillel said, “I was not speaking of Noë. Aulus looked at the bright cold sky over Bethlehem on its hills and he saw a most remarkable sight. Among the stars was a star such as men have never seen before, brilliant and huge as a full moon and restless, turning and burning with a white fire, and moving as if with purpose.”
Your Aulus was indeed drunk, or he had observed what the astrologers call a nova—a new star. It is a phenomenon not unusual.”
“Stars do not destroy themselves in one burst of flame in a twinkling,” said Hillel, with a light flush on his fair cheek at this dismissal of his exciting story. “And if a nova appears, it is at least visible on successive nights for a considerable time. It is true that the star endured for a number of days, and then disappeared, but not in a fading or diminishing. It ended abruptly as if its mission was accomplished. For, you see, my dear old friend, it ceased its movements on that first night and remained suspended like a mighty cluster of great stars over a certain spot. It remained fixed, vivid and unchanging, at rest, until it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. I heard that the light of it was so powerful and intense that it cast shadows as defined as full moonlight on the earth, and occasioned much awe and fear in the surrounding country.”
“I, too,” said the guest, shrugging, “have relatives in Jerusalem, and they did not see this astonishing star.”
“It was midnight, or later,” said Hillel, “and how many are there now among men who lift their eyes from the world and consider the stars?”
“True,” said the guest.
“Aulus was convinced that a great hero had been born,” said Hillel, “a great warrior, though he doubted that this had occurred in Bethlehem, a poor little farming and market town. Hannah, on being told of this by her husband, declared it heralded the birth of their son.”
The guest raised exasperated eyes to the ornate ceiling of the dining room, and groaned, “The fantasies of women! Now your revered young cousin will declare she gave birth to the Messias!”
“No,” said Hillel, still somewhat vexed, but smiling now. “Hannah is not so vainglorious, and she has also known a man. She is inclined to believe in a
Janwillem van de Wetering