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EDITORIAL

The Three Wise Men

THE comet was blazing down from the sky on the midnight before Christmas. Three songs were dying away in the East: one from the rich and ornate chapel of the great cathedral on the hills beyond 110th Street-a song of beauty and exquisite finish but coldly and formally sung. Another, a chant from the dim synagogue on the lower East Side- heavy with droning and passionate; the last from West 53d Street-a minor wail of utter melody. The songs had died away and the three priests, looking at the midnight sky, saw the comet at the same moment. The priest in the ornate chapel, gowned in his silken vestments, paused and stared wonderingly at the star; it seemed drawing near to him and guiding him. Almost before he knew it he had thrown a rich fur cloak about himself and was whirling downtown in a taxicab, watching the star with fascinated gaze. The rabbi on the lower East Side no sooner saw that blaze in the heavens than a low cry of joy left his lips and he followed swiftly, boarding a passing Grand Street car and changing up Broadway; he hung on the footboard to watch unmindful of the gibes at his white beard and Jewish gabardine. The old black preacher of 53d Street, with sad and wrinkled face, looked at the moving star thoughtfully and walked slowly with it. So the three men threaded the maize of the Christmas-mad streets, neither looking on the surging crowds nor listening to the shouts of the people, but seeing only the star. The "honk, honk" of the priest's taxicab warned the black priest scarcely too soon, and he staggered with difficulty aside as it whizzed by and made the motorman of the car, which bore the Jew, swear at the carelessness of the chauffeur. One flew, the other whirred swiftly and the third walked slowly; yet because of their differing ways they all came to the steps of the great apartment house at the same moment, and they bowed gravely to each other, yet not without curiosity, as each ascended the steps. The porter was strangely deferential and they rose swiftly to the seventh floor, where a wide hall door flew silently open. 

Within and before the wide log fire of drawing room sat a woman. She was tall and shapely and well gowned. She sat alone. The guests had gone an hour since and the last footsteps of the servants were echoing above; yet she sat there weary, still gazing into the mystery of the fire. She had seen many Christmas Eves and they were growing all to be alike-wretchedly alike. All equally lonely, aimless-almost artificial. She arose once and walked to the window, sweeping aside the heavy curtains, and the brilliancy of the star blazed in upon her. She looked upon it with a start. She remembered how once long, long years ago she had looked upon stars and such things as very real and shining fingers of fate. She remembered especially on a night like this how some such star had told her future. How out of her soul wonderful things were to be born, and she had said unto the star: "How shall this be?" And something had answered: "That holy thing that shall be born of you shall be called the Son of God." And then she had cried in all her maiden faith and mystery: "Behold the hand-maiden of the Lord, be it according to thy world." And the angel departed from her, and it never came back again. Here she was reaching the portals of middle age with no prospects and few ambitions; to live and wait and sleep; to work a soulless work, to eat in some great manger like this- that was the life that seemed stretching before her endless and without change, until the End and the Change of Changing. And yet she had dreamed such dreams and fancied such fair destiny! As she thought of these dreams to-night a tear gathered and wandered down her face. It was then that she became suddenly aware of two men standing on either side of her, and she felt, but did not see, a third man, who stood behind. But for the soft voice of the first speaker she would have sprung up in alarm, but he was an old man and deferential with soft ascetic Jewish face, with white-forked beard and gabardine, and he bowed in deep humility as he spoke, saying:
"Where is He that is born King of the Jews, for we have seen His star in the East, and have come to worship Him?"
The other surpliced figure, who stood upon her right hand, said the same thing, only less:
"Where is He who is born King, for we have seen His star in the East, and have come to worship Him?" And scarcely had his voice ceased than the strong low rolling of another voice came from behind, saying:
"Where is He, for we have seen His star in the East, and have come to worship Him?"
She sank back in her chair and smiled. There was evidently some mistake, and she said to the Jew courteously:
"There is no King here"
"But," said the Jew, eagerly, tremulously, "it is a child we seek, and the star has guided us hither; we have brought gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh." Still the woman shook her head.
"Children are not allowed in these apartments," she said, "and besides, I am unwed."
The face of the Jew grew radiant.
"The Scriptures say He shall be born of a Virgin," he chanted. But the woman smiled bitterly.
"The children of Virgins are not welcome in the twentieth century, even though they be Sons of God!"

Transcription Notes:
be it according to thy "word" instead of "world"