Aleph, the Chaldean; or, the Messiah as Seen from Alexandria

by E. F. Burr

Before the third hour the next morning, both Cimon and Aleph found themselves in the great lecture hall of the Serapeum. The students came in scatteringly; but at length the room was well filled, for Seti was popular with the young men. This was owing partly to the splendor of his lineage and office, which always weighs much with even the most democratic young men; partly to his repute as the heir of the mysterious wisdom of Old Egypt; and partly to the wonderful contrast between his years and the unabated vigor of both his bodily and intellectual faculties. And then this son of the Pharaohs and supreme Egyptian pontiff was fond of young men, reasonably tolerant of their ways, and knew how to unite familiarity with dignity in his intercourse with them. But he was specially in favor with the dominant aristocratic element. Some of the other teachers were new men. Nobody knew who their fathers were. The patrician young men from Rome and elsewhere declared that they had no fathers. What had the Fabii and Claudii and Scipios to do with such people?

Cimon and Aleph had taken seats well in the rear of the hall. So they had opportunity to notice the bearing of the young men as they came in. On the whole they were pleased with it. While a few had the air of triflers and coxcombs, and here and there one had the jaded look that suggested late hours and early dissipation, the most had in various degrees that regulated and purposeful air which teachers like to see. Among the more thoughtful and earnest looking Aleph noticed one of the two Romans whom he had met at the banker’s. He also noticed that the ages of the students seemed to average about the same as his own.

Almost every one who entered seemed to notice the new-comers; and soon there was considerable whispering and passing to and fro among the young men—which continued till Seti appeared. He stopped for a moment to exchange salutations with our friends, and then conducted them to a seat on the right of the bema. This was the customary seat for newly matriculated persons: and was greatly for the convenience of older collegians who thus not only became promptly aware of a new arrival, but could quietly study him up without the fatigue and incivility of turning about in their seats for the purpose. Of course it was at the expense of the lecture. But never mind—there are some things more important than lectures to young people; and one of them is the discipline of guessing out characters from faces and bearing.

From the seat they now had the friends could see well what they had not before noticed, viz., a small latticed gallery just opposite to them from which came occasionally some hints and glints of white draperies. Though none of the schools of the time distinctly contemplated the co-education of the sexes, there was nothing in public opinion, especially at Alexandria, to hinder the daughters of the professors and other approved ladies from hearing the lectures given to the young men; though it was thought best to place the beauties where they could not be seen. The professors generally favored this invisible presence as being conducive to good order and gentlemanly conduct among the students. The chivalrous instinct was not a medieval invention, nor even an invention of Christianity. The students at the Serapeum in the First Century knew that bright eyes were watching them and behaved accordingly.

The lecture of Seti was on the ethics of truthfulness. It was delivered with a grave and quiet dignity and authority well befitting his years and station, and yet with a subtle fire and force of thought and expression that suited wonderfully youthful tastes. He had no manuscript before him, nor did he seem to have one within him from which he was reading; but he seemed to find his thoughts in the faces and eyes of his hearers as his keen glances went to and fro among them. And the young men felt that they were being perused.

On the way home, the day before, Seti had informed Aleph of a custom among the students. He had matriculated with the Faculty of the University: the students would ask him to matriculate also with themselves. Each new-comer was not considered by them as invested with full membership till they had examined him for themselves and settled his grade among them as a collegian. It was possible to avoid the ordeal, if he saw fit; but a cheerful acceptance of it would conduce to popularity, and, if the trial should be well sustained, would give him a commanding influence. What would Aleph prefer? Seti had asked with a shade of anxiety in his face.

“By all means,” Aleph had said with a smile, “let not this custom be waived on my account. I rather fancy the double matriculation.”

So he was not surprised when at the conclusion of the lecture all the students retained their seats. He was, however, somewhat surprised to see that Seti retained his also. But he had no time to speculate on the matter: for a fine looking young man at once came forward and, courteously calling attention to the badge the stranger wore, inquired whether he wished such further membership and privileges among them as an examination by the students would confer.

Aleph rose and as courteously replied that such was his wish; and that he would not on any account have any of the usual formalities omitted.

“This being so,” continued the young man, “your full consent to our ancient custom having thus been graciously conceded, I call on our committee for testing candidates to come forward in proper order and discharge their duty. I will only premise for your information that the examination will ask two questions—first, What do you know? and second, What can you do?”