sia and the
boreal regions, who are hemming the civilized world, waiting like
vultures for the first sign of weakness to destroy everything, the
slaves in revolt--all these impending terrors assure me that the end of
the old order is at hand. But what will become of the new if there is no
central belief to steady the ensanguined hands of furious mobs? For
years I have bethought me of a drama, a gigantic world-drama which shall
embody all the myths of mankind, all the noblest thoughts of the
philosophers. I shall take the Buddha myth, surely the supreme myth, and
transpose its characters to Jerusalem. A humble Jew shall be _my_
Buddha. He shall be my revenge on our conquerors; for my people have
been trampled upon by the insolent Romans, and who knows--a Jewish God,
a crucified God, may be worshipped in the stead of Jupiter and his vile
pantheon of gods and goddesses! _One_ God, the son of Jahveh who comes
upon earth to save mankind, is crucified and killed, is resurrected and
like Elijah is caught up to heaven in a fiery chariot. But you know the
usual style of these Asiatic legends! They are all alike; a virgin
birth, a miraculous life, and transfiguration. That sums up myths from
Adonis to Krishna, from Krishna to Buddha; though Monotheism comes from
the Hebrews, the Trinity from the Indians, and the _logos_ was
developed by Plato. Where I am original is that I make my hero a
Jew--the Jews are still half-cracked enough to believe in the coming of
a Messiah. And to compass a fine dramatic moment I have introduced an
incident I once witnessed in Alexandria at the landing of King Agrippa,
when the populace dressed up a vagabond named Karabas as a mock king and
stuck upon his head papyrus leaves for a crown, in his hand a reed for a
sceptre, and then saluted him as king. I shall make my Jew-God seized by
the Jews, his own blood and kin, given over to the Romans, mocked,
reviled, and set aside for some thief who shall be called Karabas. Then,
rejected, he shall be crucified, he a god born of a virgin, by the very
people who are looking for their Messiah. He is their Messiah; yet they
know it not. They shall never know it. That shall be their tragedy, the
tragedy of my race, which, notwithstanding the prophecies, turned its
back upon the Messiah because he came not clothed in the purple of
royalty. Is that not a magnificent idea for a drama?"

"Excellent," answered Hyzlo, in a critical tone; "but continue!"

"You seem with