The Other Wise Man

The Other Wise Man

Condensed from the story by Henry Van Dyke

Each year at Christmas time we read the story of the Three Wise Men of the East and how they traveled from far away to offer their gifts to the Christ Child.  This is the story of another wise man that might have followed the star, not only to Bethlehem, but throughout his life, and yet never found the king.  His name was Artaban.

Artaban was one of the Magi, a man of great wealth, learning, and faith.  He had spent his life studying the stars and searching the scriptures.  Along with three of his learned companions he had discovered that the Son of God was to be born, and that at his birth a new star would appear in the heavens.  It was agreed between Artaban and his three companions that he would watch for the new star from Persia and the others would observe the sky from Babylon.

As the time approached for the sign to be given, Artaban called together a group of his Magi friends to gather in his home.  He told them about the coming birth of the Son of God, and the new star that would appear.  He said, “My three brethren are watching in Babylon, and I am watching here.  When the star appears, they will wait for me ten days, then we will all set out together to follow the star.  I believe the sign will come tonight and I have made ready for the journey by selling all my possessions and have bought these three jewels, a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl.  I intend to present them as my gift to the king.  I invite you to come with me that we may worship the newborn king together.”

While he spoke, he thrust his hand into the inmost fold of his robe and drew out three great gems, one blue as a fragment of the night sky, one redder than a ray of the sunrise, and one as pure as the peak on a snowy mountain.  He would give them all to the king.

One of his Magi friends arose and said, “Artaban, this is a vain dream.  No king will ever rise from the broken race of Israel.  He who looks for him is a chaser of shadows.”  Then he bid Artaban farewell and left his home.  One by one, each of the others offered his own excuse, until finally only his oldest and truest friend remained.  He said, “Artaban, I am too old for this quest, but my heart goes with thee.”  Then with his hand on Artaban’s shoulder he said, “Those who would see wonderful things must often be willing to travel alone.” And he too was gone.

Left to himself, Artaban put his jewels back into his robe.  Then he again took up his vigil to watch the night sky.  As he watched the heavens, Jupiter and Saturn rolled together and an azure spark was born out of the darkness beneath them.  The spark grew, rounding itself with purple splendor into a crimson sphere.

Artaban bowed his head.  “It is the sign,” he said.  “The King is coming and I will go to meet him.”  All night long, Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban’s horses had been waiting, saddled and bridled in her stall.  “God bless us both and keep our feet from falling and our souls from death,” Artaban whispered as he began his journey.

The Other Wise Man

Under his encouragement, each day his faithful horse measured off the allotted proportion of the distance and at nightfall of tenth day they approached the outskirts of Babylon.  In a little island of desert palm trees, Vasda scented difficulty and slackened her pace.  Then she gave a quick breath of anxiety and stood stock still.  Artaban dismounted.  The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying in the roadway.  His humble dress and haggard face showed him to be one of the poor Hebrew exiles that still dwelt in Babylon.  His skin bore the mark of the deadly marshland fever.  The chill of death was in his lean hand.  As Artaban turned to go, a sigh came from the sick man’s lips and the brown, bony fingers closed convulsively upon his robe.

Artaban knew that if he lingered for but an hour, he could not reach his friends at the appointed time.  They would go without him.  He would lose his quest.  But if he went now, the man would surely die.  “God of truth and mercy,” he prayed, “direct me in the holy path of wisdom which only thou knowest.”  Then quickly, he went to work.  Hour after hour he labored as only a skillful healer can do, and at last the man’s strength returned.   Artaban gave him what was left of his bread and wine, and a potion of healing herbs, then he mounted his horse and rode into Babylon.

It was already long past midnight, and though Artaban rode with the greatest haste, it was after dawn when he arrived at the designated meeting place.  His friends were nowhere to be seen.  Finally his eyes caught sight of a piece of parchment.  He read, “We have waited till past the midnight and can delay no longer. We go to find the king.  Follow us across the desert.”

Artaban sat down upon the ground in despair and covered his face with his hands.  “How can I cross the desert?” he said, “with no food and a spent horse?  I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire and buy a train of camels and provisions for the journey.  I may never overtake my friends.  Only God knows whether or not I shall loose my purpose because I tarried to show mercy.”

So Artaban followed his friends across the desert, following the star.  Eventually it led him to the tiny town of Bethlehem.  The streets were deserted.  Artaban saw a young mother standing by the door of a house, singing a lullaby to her child.  He asked her why the town was so quiet.  She told him it was rumored that Herod was sending soldiers to enforce some new tax.  The men had taken their flocks and herds back in to the hills beyond the soldier’s reach. 

Artaban asked if she knew anything of three wise men that had come looking for a baby, the King of the Jews.  “Yes, she had seen the wise men, she told him, but they had disappeared as mysteriously as they had come, and Joseph had taken his wife and babe that same night and secretly fled to Egypt. 

As Artaban listened, the baby reached up its hand and touched his cheek and smiled.  His heart warmed at the touch.  Then suddenly outside there arose a wild confusion of sounds.  Women were shrieking. Then a desperate cry, “The soldiers are killing the babies, they are killing the babies!”

The Other Wise Man

“Please, save my child,” the young mother cried as she darted into the house to hide her baby.  Artaban stood in the doorway and watched as a band of soldiers marched towards him, their swords dripping with blood. The captain approached the door to thrust him aside but Artaban did not move.  His face was as calm as though he were watching the stars.  “There are no children in this house,” he said. 

The captain drew his sword and ordered, “Move aside!”  But still Artaban did not stir. Just his hand moved as he slipped it inside his robes and then withdrew it to reveal the giant ruby, glistening on his palm like a drop of blood.  Quietly Artaban said, “I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who knows there are no children in this house.”

Greedily the captain snatched the gem and ordered, “March on, there are no children here.”

Then Artaban prayed, “Oh, God, forgive me my sin.  I have spent for men that which was meant for God.  Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of the King?”  But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadows behind him, said softly, “Because thou has saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and give thee peace.”

Then Artaban, still following the king, went on into Egypt seeking for the little family.  For many years Artaban continued his search.  He was seen at the pyramids.  He was seen in an obscure house in Alexandria taking counsel from a Hebrew rabbi who told him to seek the king not among the rich, but among the poor.  He passed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land and the people cried for bread.  He made his dwelling in plague stricken cities where the sick lay helpless.  He visited the oppressed and afflicted in the gloom of prisons.  H searched the crowded wretchedness of slave markets.  Though he found no one to worship, he found many to serve. As the years passed, he fed the hungry, clothed the naked, healed the sick, and comforted the captive.

For thirty-three years he searched.  His hair was now white as snow.  He knew his life’s end was near but he was still desperate with hope that he would yet find the king.  For this purpose, he had come to Jerusalem.  It was the season of the Passover and the city was thronged with strangers.  All of them seemed to be moving toward the Damascus gate.  Artaban inquired where they were going.  One answered, “We are going to the execution on Golgotha, outside the city walls.  Two robbers are to be crucified, and with them a man called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works among the people, but the priests and elders have said he must die because he claims to be the Son of God.  Pilate sent him to the cross because he said that he was the King of the Jews.

The King of the Jews.  How strangely those old familiar words fell on the tired ears of Artaban.  God moves in mysterious ways,” he thought.  “Perhaps even now I will be able to use my last gift to ransom the King from death.”

The Other Wise Man

Reaching inside his robe Artaban brought out his last gem, the beautiful pearl.  It seemed to have grown even more radiant from the long years it had been held next to his heart.  But even as he looked at it a troop of soldiers came marching by, dragging a sobbing young woman behind them.  As they passed Artaban she tore herself away and threw herself at his feet.  “Have pity on me,” she cried.  “My father was also a Magi, but he is dead, and I am to be sold as a slave to pay for his debts.”

Artaban trembled as he again felt the old conflict arising in his soul.  It was the same that he had experienced in the palm grove of Babylon and the cottage at Bethlehem.  Twice the gift which he had consecrated to the King had been drawn from his hand to the service of humanity.  Would he fail again?  But then the soldiers dragged the girl from him and he knew.  “Daughter, here is thy ransom,” he whispered as he handed her the pearl. 

While he yet spoke, the darkness of the sky thickened and the shuddering tremors of an earthquake ran through the ground.  The houses rocked.  The soldiers fled in terror, but Artaban sank beside a wall.  What had he to fear?  What had he to hope for?  He had given away his last gift for the King.  The quest was over and he had failed.  What else mattered?  Suddenly, a heavy tile shook from a roof and fell, striking him on the temple.  He lay breathless and bleeding.  The rescued girl leaned over him, fearing that he was dead.  Then there came a still, small voice through the twilight.  It was like distant music.  The notes were clear but the girl could not understand the words.

Then the lips of Artaban began to move as if in answer and she heard him say, “Not so, my Lord.  For when saw I thee an hungered and fed thee, or thirsty and gave thee drink?  When saw I thee a stranger and took thee in, or naked and clothed thee?  When saw I thee sick or in prison and came unto thee?  Thirty three years have I looked for thee, Lord, but I have never seen thy face.” 

Then the girl heard the voice again, but this time she understood the words.  “Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.”

A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the tired face of Artaban as he took one long, last breath.  His journey was ended.  His treasures were accepted.  The Other Wise Man had found the King.