The immediate effect of the strict blockade which Titus had
established was to carry the horrors of famine to their height.
Whole families lay expiring together, and the streets were strewn
with the bodies of the dead and dying. None wept over them--none
buried them. No cry was heard in the streets, for the wretches had
not strength to complain: they lay in a state of mute anguish,
waiting unheeded by those whom once they loved, for the last expiring
pang. The only sounds that broke the oppressive silence of that city
of death, were the bands of robbers forcing open the houses in search
of food and plunder, or the blows which they wantonly inflicted on
the dead bodies that were scattered on every side. For some time the
soldiers made an attempt at burying the corpses, as they feared their
exposure might occasion a pestilence; but they soon became too
numerous, and then they threw them over the walls into the trenches
below. Even this precaution ceased ere long, and the whole city was
poisoned with the odour as of a vast charnel-house. The way to the
walls was actually choked with dead bodies; yet still the soldiers
both of John and Simon went trampling over them to man the
fortifications, with a desperate courage and hardened indifference.
At this time another crime was added to the awful catalogue of Zion's
sins. The high-priest Matthias was slain on a pretended charge of
holding a correspondence with the Romans; and the cruelty of the act
was enhanced by the three sons of the venerable old man being first
massacred before his eyes. This sacrilegious murder at length
excited in the populace a determined resolution to shake off the
tyrannical yoke under which they had so long groaned in silence. One
of their number, named Judas, conspired with several others to betray
one of the towers to the enemy. They made the offer of surrendering
it, but the Romans had learned to be suspicious of such overtures,
and hesitated to take advantage of it. While they paused the
conspiracy was revealed to Simon, and instant vengeance overtook
Judas and his accomplices. They were slaughtered, and their bodies
cast down to those with whom they had been parleying. This plan
being defeated, the wretched people again began to desert in
multitudes; but their sufferings did not always end with their
reaching the Roman camp, for many of the famished creatures so
eagerly devoured the food which was presented to them by the soldiers
that they died in agony. Others perished yet more miserably. They
were suspected of having swallowed their gold and jewels before they
left the city; and to obtain this wealth the Arabian and Syrian
allies seized a large party of the deserters, and actually cut them
open alive, and searched for the treasure.
When this inhuman proceeding reached the ears of Titus he was filled
with indignation, and would have ordered his cavalry to surround and
slay the murderers, but that their great numbers deterred him from
such an act of justice. He however denounced death against whoever
should in future be guilty of such barbarity but the love of gold was
in many instances greater than the fear of detection, and the crime
was not entirely prevented.
The calamities of Jerusalem were at their height. What a spectacle
of God's righteous vengeance did the proud city now display! Within
the walls the rival factions dyed their hands in each other's blood,
and in that of their helpless countrymen; and without, the Roman
camps covered the surrounding hills. The trumpets and shouts of the
armed host resounded through the day, and in the darkness of night
their watch-fires were seen gleaming on every side. All the pastoral
beauty of the scene had departed. The summer dwellings and
garden-houses of the Jewish nobles that so lately were seen among the
trees, in every variety of architecture, had been levelled to the
ground by the troops of Titus, and the vineyards and shady groves
were swept away. The gardens had become a sandy waste, cut up in
every direction by trenches and military works, in the midst of which
was seen the fatal wall of Titus, effectually shutting out all hope
of relief or reinforcement from the beleaguered city. Within its sad
enclosure all was dark despair. The daily sacrifice had ceased, for
no victims remained to offer, and the sword and famine had fearfully
reduced the once crowded population. The dogs and vultures shared
their dreadful meal undisturbed, for none ventured into the streets
except they were compelled to do so; and then they hurried on as
swiftly as possible, to avoid the spectacle of horror that surrounded
them, and dreading every moment that the hand of violence would lay
them by the side of the mangled corpses that strewed the way, to
become the food of birds and beasts of prey, or the objects of insult
to the yet more ferocious soldiery. In every street numbers of
houses which had been partially destroyed by fire, were abandoned to
decay, the doors and windows torn away, and in many instances the
roofs fallen in, and the once splendid edifices left to be beaten by
the storm and become the habitations of owls and bats. From some of
the shattered tenements lights might be seen gleaming through the
fissures in the walls, and showing that they were yet peopled with
miserable human beings.
Among the desperate men who passed to and fro through these desolate
streets were many who even yet retained that natural vividness of
countenance for which their nation ever were distinguished; but it
was hardened by ferocity, and the keen black eye scowled darkly,
while the compressed lip spoke of desperate thoughts and the firmness
of despair. Then there were hurried gatherings of these insurgents,
frequently ending in fierce quarrels and murders in the open face of
day, or in the sudden attack of some house that was yet deemed worth
pillaging.
Men and angels might have wept to behold how deeply this city of God,
this sanctuary of holiness, was sunk into misery and desolation. But
oh! it was the spiritual degradation of her children that called for
the deepest pity; it was the spectacle of human nature in all its own
depravity, unrestrained by the fear of God or the laws of man; it was
the scourge of the Almighty lighting on this rebellious people, and
piercing their inmost souls--a faint representation of that eternal
punishment, where those who persist in rebellion will suffer and
blaspheme for ever, but repent not.
Amid all the crime and all the horror of that siege, there was one
event that seemed to surpass every other, and even moved the hearts
of those to whom murder was a pastime. Spies were employed by the
officers of both John and Simon's party, to bring them intelligence
of any provisions that they might discover in the houses of the
famishing people; and one day the artful Reuben came hastily to the
temple, and informed Isaac that he had observed the smell of food
being cooked in the house of his former mistress. He had long ago
deserted her, and only visited the house to commit fresh acts of
depredation, or lead others to add to her misery, and take from her
and her child the scanty pittance that she was yet able to procure.
Isaac summoned a party of his chosen companions in cruelty, and
hurried off to the dwelling of Mary, followed by the traitor Reuben.
The door was fastened inside, but it soon yielded to the furious
blows of the assailants, and they rushed on to the apartment usually
occupied by the heiress of Bethezob in the days of her wealth and
prosperity, and so well known to Isaac.
It was bereft of all its sumptuous furniture and rich ornaments; the
repeated incursions of the robbers had left nothing that was valuable
or beautiful. But she who had so often presided in that very
chamber, amid a crowd of admiring guests, was there,--yet alas, how
changed! Her graceful form reduced to a living skeleton, her lovely
features sunk and disfigured, and all that had given a charm to her
presence departed. Her eyes burnt with an almost unearthly glare,
and on her cheek was a bright hectic spot, the token of fever or
delirium.
She sat upon the ground, and when Isaac entered, her head was upon
her knees, and her face concealed. She had not heard or heeded the
noise of his violent entrance, and moved not until his footsteps on
the uncovered marble pavement roused her from her painful reverie.
Then she looked wildly up, and starting on her feet, exclaimed, in a
hollow and hurried tone,--
"Ah, Isaac, my betrothed husband, are you come at last to claim your
bride? I was fairer in those happy days when you first saw me in my
pride and my beauty. But hunger and strange thoughts have worn sad
ravages upon the form you used to praise."
Isaac did not reply: the memory of other scenes came over his mind,
and even he was moved at the sight of the wreck of mind and body
before him. Mary continued in the same wandering strain,--
"You see my apartments are not decked for our wedding, Isaac; the
spoilers have taken away all my goodly furniture. But, Isaac," she
added in a whisper, while she laid her wasted hand upon his arm, "I
have a feast prepared--a wedding feast! Do not tell your comrades,
for there is not enough for all. I have eaten and am satisfied, and
I have reserved the rest for you. See here!"
[Illustration: FAMINE AND MADNESS.]
She drew him towards a couch at the end of the room, and raised the
corner of the hangings. There he beheld the mangled body of a little
child which had been roasted, and from which part of the flesh had
been torn and devoured.
The bloodthirsty, the cruel Isaac drew back with a cry of horror, and
a shudder passed through his powerful frame, while the blood curdled
in the veins of his companions, who had followed closely, in the hope
of partaking in the expected meal.
"Why do ye tremble?" cried Mary, fiercely: "his mother has eaten, and
will not you? Oh! do ye say that I murdered him? my beautiful, my
beloved! Did ye see me give him that last embrace, and did ye behold
his sweet blue eyes as they smiled at me through their tears? I held
him to my bursting heart, but the demon within me strangled him--it
was not I that did it. Oh do not look so loathingly at me--it was
the fiend that has so long possessed my soul. It was famine, Isaac,
that drove me to it. It was better that his mother's hands should
take away his life, than that her eyes should see him pine away and
die for want!"
"Let me go, unnatural monster in a human form!" cried Isaac, bursting
from her grasp; for she held his arm with the strength of a maniac,
and fixed her fiery eyes upon him with a gaze that made his blood run
cold. "Let me go, ere I plunge this dagger to thy heart."
"Oh, that would be the kindest deed that you could do for me,"
answered the wretched mother; "God and man have deserted me, and
devils possess my soul. Here, give the fatal stroke, and end the
miseries that I have no power to endure."
She sank at his feet, exhausted with her wild emotions and the effort
she had made. Her eye was fixed on him, as he retreated slowly from
that once radiant and joyous being, who now lay crushed beneath a
load of misery and guilt. Ere he reached the door he turned again,
and saw that the fire of that eye had fled, and the features were
fixed in death.
Isaac and his fierce companions retraced their steps to the temple,
and though they stepped unheedingly over many a livid corpse that lay
in their path, yet they could not recall the dying look of the lonely
heiress of Bethezob without a shudder. But the impression soon died
away, and they again busily engaged in the strife and violence and
ruthless war that filled the city.
For two days the scanty portion of food that Naomi was able to
procure and reserve for her little favourite remained untouched;
David did not appear, and she became very uneasy. She could not go
out to seek him, for her father had strictly prohibited her from
venturing beyond the gates of the house; and the alarm she had
experienced on the day she went to the garden made her dread to
expose herself to a similar danger. She waited anxiously until Zadok
came home on the second evening, and then besought him to go to
Mary's dwelling with some of his attendants, and ascertain whether
she and her child yet lived, or whether either want or violence had
put a period to their existence. Zadok was evidently distressed at
her inquiries, and at length told her that they had both expired: but
his manner bespoke something more than his words declared, and Naomi
entreated him to inform her of all that he knew of the wayward Mary
and her lovely little boy. Her father had heard the dreadful story
of their death, for it had spread through the city, and caused a
thrill of horror in every one who heard it; but he wished to avoid
shocking the ears of his daughter with such a revolting account. Her
inquiries however were so urgent, that he was compelled to own to her
that David had expired by the hands of his mother, and that despair
and misery had then speedily terminated her existence. More than
that he did not disclose to her; but that was sufficient to fill her
with grief and horror. She could not but weep at the sad fate of the
engaging child in whom she had taken so much delight; and still more
at the thought of the frantic state of misery to which his mother
must have been reduced ere she could have committed so dreadful a
deed. An asylum had been offered to Mary in the house of Zadok, when
distress had first begun to be felt in the city; and though she had
then rejected it with some contempt, and preferred trusting to her
own resources, the offer had been renewed more than once. But Mary
was too proud to accept it; she knew that her whole mode of life had
ever been opposed to the purity and simplicity that marked the family
of Zadok; and in the presence of Salome and her daughter she felt a
restraint that was extremely irksome to her spirit. Her mind was
weakened by suffering and constant privation; and she sat in her
desolate house, brooding over her sorrows and fears until reason
forsook her, and she was left a prey to passion and despair--an awful
example of the depth of depravity to which the human mind may sink
when unsupported by God's preventing grace, and a dreadful fulfilment
of the worst of those woes that had been pronounced by the prophets
of old on the inhabitants of Jerusalem.
Salome's feeble remains of strength were daily declining, and she
blessed the Lord who was so mercifully removing her from scenes of
horror that harrowed her soul. The miserable death of her relative
Mary and the little David preyed upon her mind, and she passed a
restless night. Zadok and Naomi had not retired to rest, though it
was past midnight, when they were all startled by a tremendous crash
which appeared to come from the wall beyond the temple, where the
greatest part of the Roman army was posted, and where they had just
completed another set of military engines to replace those which had
been destroyed by the bold stratagem of John. They listened in
breathless anxiety, and expected every moment to hear the shouts of
the Romans and the sounds of a desperate conflict. But nothing
reached their ears until the day dawned, when Zadok hastened to
discover the cause of their alarm. The noise had been occasioned, as
he feared, by a large portion of the wall having fallen. It had been
shaken by the blows of the engines during the preceding day, and the
subterranean passage which John had dug to undermine the works of the
enemy passed beneath that spot. It sunk, and the massy wall fell,
leaving a heap of ruins.
The Romans rushed to the breach as soon as daybreak enabled them to
perceive it; but they were disappointed in their hopes of an
immediate entrance, by finding that John had, with great foresight,
caused a second wall to be built within, as a precaution against the
event which had just occurred. This new erection was, however, of no
great strength, and Titus exhorted his men to make a vigorous effort
to scale it. A Syrian, named Sabinus, volunteered to attempt the
perilous enterprise, and eleven others followed his example. With
their shields held over their heads, they pressed forward in spite of
the shower of darts, and arrows, and stones that were hurled upon
them from above. Sabinus had actually reached the summit of the wall
when his foot slipped, and he fell on the inside. Instantly he was
surrounded, and though he rose to his knees, and made a valiant
defence, he was soon overpowered and slain. Three of his followers
were also killed by stones, and the remainder carried back, all
severely wounded, to the camp.
But the Romans were not discouraged. Two nights after the falling of
the wall, Marcellus resolved to make a second effort to scale the
breach and wall. His heart was wrung with agony at the protracted
sufferings of the wretched Jews, and it died within him when he
thought what might already have been the fate of Naomi. The only
chance which seemed to remain of rescuing her, or any of her
countrymen, from destruction, was for the besiegers to gain an
entrance into the city ere famine and strife had completed the work
of death that was going on within the walls. Twenty of the soldiers
of the guard consented to follow him, with a standard-bearer and a
trumpeter. He was also accompanied by his valiant father, who
gloried in his son's intrepidity, and insisted on sharing the
enterprise. Soon after midnight they passed silently through the
ruins and reached the wall. They mounted it undiscovered by the
guard, who had fallen asleep overpowered with fatigue. They were
instantly slain, and then Marcellus commanded the trumpeter to sound
a loud and stirring blast from the wall which was already gained.
The sound aroused the other sentinels, and those appointed to guard
the wall. They saw that the enemy had surprised them, but they knew
not that the party was so small, and in a momentary panic they fled.
Titus also heard the victorious sound of the trumpet, and the shout
of the triumphant band. He hastily summoned his officers and a
strong party of soldiers, and hurried to the wall, where by the light
of torches he saw his gallant young friend and his veteran father
standing on the wall, where they had planted the standard of Rome.
Marcellus informed him that the Jews had fled, and Titus with his
troops succeeded in surmounting the wall and scaling the tower of
Antonia before the affrighted Jews made any attempt to oppose them.
They fled to the temple when they saw the enemy entering the tower,
while numbers of the Romans gained access to the street below, by
means of the opening into the subterranean passages that had been
made by John underneath the wall, the entrance to which was now
abandoned by the besieged.
The Romans passed through the deserted Antonia, and made a furious
attack on the temple; but here they met with a determined resistance
from the followers of John, while Simon's party hastened to join
them, and both factions united in their efforts to repulse the enemy
and drive them back to the tower. Neither party gained any great
advantage with their swords and spears, but at length the Jews came
out and met their assailants sword in hand. Then the narrow passages
were soon crowded with the dead and wounded, and the soldiers climbed
over heaps of bodies to rush upon their antagonists. Ten hours did
this deadly conflict last; when Titus finding it was impossible to
force his way into the temple, withdrew his men, well satisfied with
having gained possession of the fortress of Antonia. He loaded
Marcellus with grateful praises for his gallant and most successful
enterprise, and desired him to name his own reward, when the young
Roman immediately demanded that when the city was taken, Zadok and
his family should be spared; and requested Titus to give strict
orders throughout the army that his house should be respected and
left in undisturbed security, until the inhabitants could be removed
to a place of safety.
Titus readily acceded to this request, and the situation of the
priest's dwelling was carefully described to the troops, who were
commanded not to enter it on pain of instant death.
It was early in the month of July when the Antonia was taken. Titus
gave orders that the magnificent tower should be razed to the ground,
and an easy ascent made for his whole army to march up the hill on
which it was built. He then resolved to make one more attempt at
persuading the obstinate insurgents to surrender or to meet him in
open battle, by appealing to their religious feelings, which he
believed yet to exist in undiminished force. He knew that it was a
day appointed in the Jewish law for a great sacrifice; but no victims
remained to be offered, and the people feared to enter the temple.
He therefore sent Josephus to speak with John, and offer him a free
egress from the sacred edifice, if he would come forth and fight, and
thus save the temple from pollution. Josephus having placed himself
in a secure situation, delivered the message to John, and further
besought him to spare his country, and not to cause the most holy
sanctuary to be destroyed by fire, which the Romans were ready to
apply to it. Some of the Jews were moved by his address, which John
perceiving, immediately replied to him with many insulting words: and
told him that he never entertained the slightest fear of the temple
being injured, as it was the dwelling-place of Jehovah, and He would
protect it. He then cursed the renegade Jew for his cowardice and
treachery, and while Josephus with tears and sobs endeavoured to make
an impression on his countrymen, John sent out a party of men to
seize upon him, and bring him into the temple. In this he was,
however disappointed, for Josephus escaped, and rejoined the Romans
in safety.
When Titus saw that he could neither persuade the Jews to take pity
on themselves and their families, nor to regard the sanctity of the
temple, he was compelled against his will to resume the siege. He
resolved on an attack in the darkness of night; and finding the place
too narrow for his whole army to act together, he selected thirty men
from each century, and informed them that Cerealis should take the
command, while he would overlook them from one of the towers of
Antonia that yet remained uninjured. His presence always acted as a
powerful stimulus to the bravery of his soldiers, and he would have
led them himself to the attack had not his officers entreated him to
refrain from such an exposure of his person. For their sakes he gave
up the command to Cerealis; but he proclaimed that his eye would be
upon the combatants, and that he should reward every act of
individual courage. Led on by the hope of earning their general's
approbation, the troops advanced to the temple walls at the ninth
hour of the night. They did not, however, find the sentinels again
sunk in sleep as they had expected, but the garrison were all on the
alert, and ready to repel their attack, They rushed out in large
bodies, and the Romans sustained the shock unmoved. Those who
followed in the obscurity of the night mistook their own comrades for
the enemy, and multitudes of the Jews fell by the swords of their own
fellow-soldiers. When day dawned on the bloody scene, the fight was
carried on with greater equality, and was maintained for eight hours.
The Romans fought for honour and promotion, and every man strove to
distinguish himself above his comrades, and merit the reward promised
by the general; but not a foot of ground was gained; and at length
the combatants on each side, weary of such continued and fruitless
exertions, gave up the contest, and retired to their respective
quarters.
A considerable part of the Antonia was levelled, and in seven days
the Romans had constructed a broad road up the steep ascent, and
fortified it strongly on each side. When they had thus cleared the
way to the temple wall, they began to raise mounds; and
notwithstanding the great difficulty of procuring timber, and the
constant annoyance to which they were exposed from the attacks of the
Jews, they succeeded in erecting embankments against four different
parts of the outer court.
Day by day the destruction was carried on, while the horror-stricken
inhabitants of Jerusalem trembled at the progress of the foe. Many
still cherished a vain confidence that the holy temple would never be
suffered to fall into the hands of the heathen, but that the Lord of
Hosts would yet manifest His power and save the sacred edifice from
ruin. Among these Zadok was the most sanguine, and he and Javan
still cheered their companions with words of hope and encouragement.
They both passed their time within the temple walls, giving all their
aid in its defence, while the daily combats were carried on. At
night Zadok always returned to his home, and saddened the sinking
hearts of his wife and daughter and the terrified Deborah with the
account of the operations of the enemy and the slaughter of their own
defenders. They anticipated the evils which he believed would never
be realized; and amid his many feelings of grief at the evidently
approaching death of his wife, one of the strongest was a deep regret
that she should be taken away before the glorious appearance of
Messiah, and not share with him in all the triumph and prosperity of
the promised kingdom. Once he expressed this regret to Salome, who
regarded him with an earnest expression of sorrow, while he spoke
with ardour of the blessed days that were yet reserved for Zion.
"Oh, Zadok," she replied, "talk not to me of our country's
prosperity. Alas! that is yet far distant, and we can hope to see
nothing but her woe, even though our days should be prolonged beyond
the time allotted to man. I am about to leave you, my beloved Zadok,
and all my hopes are fixed on the joys of a better world than this.
I know that you will deeply grieve at my departure, and I could not
think of our separation with calmness, were it not for the confiding
hope I feel, that ere long you will join me where we shall never part
again."
"I cannot bid you banish these sad thoughts, my Salome," replied her
husband, with much emotion, "for I cannot shut my eyes to the
dreadful certainty that I shall soon be left alone. May all your
future hopes be realized, and may our souls dwell together in the
presence of God. Yet I could have desired a longer continuance of
our union on earth, that you with me might have beheld the Messiah
coming in the clouds of heaven to redeem Israel, and to sit upon the
throne of David in the glory of Jehovah."
"Zadok, I have learnt to know that Messiah will not appear in glory
until he stands in the latter day upon the earth. This is the time
of Israel's darkness and dispersion, so clearly foretold by all our
holy prophets, and her restitution is yet a long way off."
"Who has taught you to adopt this belief, Salome? I fear that
Naomi's wild fancies and expectations have tinged your mind also.
You were wont to enter into all the views which I, in common with our
most learned men, entertain of the coming of Messiah. Our sacred
Scriptures plainly declare that it will be as we expect. The time is
already past when our nation began to look for his appearing, and
though it has been so long delayed, we have evident tokens that we
shall not now look for him in vain. Our land is trodden by
strangers, and our people are sunk in the lowest misery. Now--now is
the time for the archangel's trump to rend the sky, and proclaim to
our trembling foes that He who reigns on high is coming to protect
his chosen people from their insolent oppressions! Salome, I look
for him each day: and at night while I am watching your broken and
uneasy slumbers, I listen for the piercing sound, and look out
through the dark sky to catch the first beams of that great light
that shall tell of his coming. This supports me through the scenes
of horror that I daily witness, and this enables me to mark unmoved
the progress of our foes. I know that their course will suddenly and
swiftly be arrested when our guilty city has received its measure of
chastisement."
"Oh that these glorious but vain expectations would vanish from your
mind, Zadok! I would to God that your eyes were opened to the real
state and future prospects of our race! Guilty indeed we are. A
load of guilt rests upon the seed of Abraham that may not be so
quickly expiated. O Zadok! I tremble while I speak, but I must
declare the truth. I know that nothing but the blood of Christ can
atone for the guilt of the land where that blood was shed, and the
blind people who cried, 'His blood be on us and on our children!'"
"Salome!" cried Zadok, starting in surprise and horror; "can I have
heard aright? What mean you?"
"Do not look so terribly at me, my own Zadok," replied Salome, in a
faltering voice. "Do not curse your dying wife, though she confesses
to you that all her hopes of immortality are founded on the merits
and death of Jesus of Nazareth. In his atoning blood I trust for the
pardon of my sins, and into his hands I am ready to commit my spirit,
for he has redeemed me."
"And do I live to hear this declaration from the wife of my bosom?"
exclaimed Zadok vehemently. "O God of my fathers, the measure of my
sorrow is now full. Salome, Salome, this from you!--you who have
walked through the path of life by my side, and never till this hour
have caused me one pang of disappointment. I believed that the
unsullied faith of Abraham was your support in these your last days
on earth, and that when I should depart in the same faith we should
meet in Abraham's bosom. Now what is my hope? You have forsaken the
Lord to worship a human being, and removed your trust from the
Ancient of Days to place it on a crucified malefactor!"
Salome trembled violently. She had expected that Zadok would be
greatly distressed at the confession of her belief in Jesus, and
therefore she had deferred it from day to day; but she had not
anticipated such a burst of grief, and it almost robbed her of all
courage to proceed. She looked at the agitated countenance of her
husband, and inwardly prayed for strength to support her in this
trying moment. The prayer was heard, and her sinking heart was
stayed and encouraged. She laid her slender wasted hand on that of
Zadok, and while she grasped it with all the force that remained to
her as if she feared that he would leave her in anger, she again
addressed him.
"Zadok, I have loved you with a deep devoted affection that your
unutterable kindness has well merited and well repaid. It has been
the object of my life to please you--alas! I fear I have often
thought of pleasing you more than the Lord my God. Can you then
believe that I have lightly adopted opinions in opposition to yours,
and which I knew would give you displeasure and grief? I have long
struggled against the convictions that entered my mind many many
months ago; but the Lord was too strong for me. He would not let me
go on in error and unbelief, but gradually He has dispersed the
clouds of prejudice that hung over my soul, and has disclosed to me
the way of salvation through his Son Jesus Christ. I could not shut
my eyes to the dazzling light of the Gospel, when revealed to me by
the Spirit of God. As easily might I look up into the unclouded
noonday sky and not see the sun shining in his strength, as read and
hear the history of Jesus, and not perceive him to be the Son of God,
the promised seed of David."
Zadok did not reply. He feared to give utterance to his feelings,
and suffered Salome to continue.
"It was the word of God, written by His servants, and left for the
conviction and comfort of His children in all ages, that has wrought
this change in my mind. And now, Zadok, listen to my request; it is
the last that I may ever have to make to you--let it not be the first
that you have ever denied me. In the name of our covenant God I
entreat you to read the Gospel--to listen to all that our dear Naomi
has repeated to me; and, above all, to pray that the Lord will
graciously enlighten your mind to understand and receive the truth.
Then I know that you will believe--I know that you will see in Jesus
of Nazareth the promised Messiah, who was to grow up as a tender
plant, and a root out of a dry ground. Did not the prophet rightly
describe him as despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and
acquainted with grief? Zadok, you know the words of Isaiah; and can
you read them without feeling how wonderfully they foretell the
sufferings and death of Jesus? Oh, if you would but believe that he
was wounded for your transgressions and bruised for your iniquities,
you would find rest to your soul, and be filled with such joy and
peace, and such humble adoring gratitude, as no other belief could
ever inspire. Promise me, my own beloved husband--promise me that
you will comply with my request. I am too feeble to speak as I would
fain speak to you."
Zadok was moved at her earnestness, and astonished at the boldness
and energy that seemed to animate her timid sinking spirit.
"What is there," he cried, "in this new doctrine, which thus seizes
on its votaries with such infatuation? Naomi was ever a wayward,
enthusiastic girl, and I might have anticipated that she would
readily embrace any visionary ideas that were presented to her. But
you, Salome, I thought possessed a calmer spirit. Why did you not
apply to me when first these doubts began to trouble you? I would
have answered them, and restored you to your former stability and
faith in our holy religion."
"I feared your anger, Zadok, for I knew how strongly you were opposed
to the doctrines of the gospel. But I consulted the law and the
prophets, I examined the Scriptures with fervent prayer, and I saw
that they all spoke of a suffering Messiah. The descriptions of his
lowliness and rejection, his agonies and death, are as full and as
minute as any of those passages that foretell his future glory and
triumphant reign. Both are the inspired word of God, and both must
be accomplished. Jesus has suffered, and died, and ascended alive to
Heaven, thus fulfilling all that was declared of his first coming.
Christ will hereafter come again in like manner as he went up to
Heaven, with the holy angels, and in the glory of his Father. Then
shall he sit on his everlasting throne, and then shall be the day of
Israel's triumph. They shall look on him whom they have pierced, and
mourn because of him, and he will remember his holy covenant with
them, and make them once more his own people. Zadok, let us believe
in him now, that when he comes, we may also be in the number of his
saints, And reign with him for ever. Will you not believe in his
name, that name of power and love that can charm away the fears even
of a timid heart like mine?"
"Salome, I must leave you," replied Zadok gently. "You are too weak
for such a discussion as this, and I see that just now all arguments
would be ineffectual. I lament the change that has been wrought in
you, but I cannot look on your dear pallid face and feel an emotion
of anger. The Lord has permitted this trial to come upon me, and I
will try to bear it with composure, and not embitter your last hours
by my unavailing regrets that I have been compelled to leave you so
much alone with Naomi, and exposed to the influence of her erroneous
opinions. May God bless you, and may he bring you back to the right
way before it is too late. Oh, if your name should be wiped away
from the book of life!--but it cannot be. Your past life of
obedience and piety will be remembered, and the Lord will pardon the
errors into which you have fallen through weakness."
"Do not go thus sadly, Zadok; listen to me once more, and give me the
promise I so fondly ask, that you will seek the truth. O how I have
prayed for you!--and I feel as if my prayers would yet be heard. My
God has softened your heart towards me, and you do not look at me in
wrath and hatred; surely he will do more, he will give you grace to
believe his word. Will you read it?"
"I will, Salome. I will read what you call the word of revelation,
but which I regard as a tale of imposture. I know that Naomi
possesses a copy; and had I ever imagined it would work such ruin in
your faith, I would long ago have destroyed it. Since you have read
it, and been deceived by it, I will also peruse it attentively--not
to believe its contents, but that I may be better able to remove the
errors which it inculcates."
"Thank God, my Zadok! Only read it, and your acute judgment will
quickly discern its divine truth. You leave me happier far than I
have been for months past, for now I have told you the feelings of my
inmost soul, and I have a ray of hope that they may yet be shared by
you."
Zadok left the room, and immediately sought his daughter in her own
chamber. She was engaged in studying the contents of her
highly-valued manuscript when her father entered the room, and she
laid it down with a look of anxious fear. What was her joy when
Zadok informed her of the confession which he had just heard from her
mother, and the promise he had given her that he would read the book
which had produced so powerful an impression upon her mind! Though
this was followed by a severe reproof for the part which Naomi had
had in her mother's conversion, and a strong representation of the
sorrow which she had thus occasioned to her father, yet she could not
conceal her gratitude and delight at what had occurred. She very
meekly asked the forgiveness of Zadok for having in this one instance
disobeyed him, and acted contrary to his wishes; but she ventured at
the same time to speak of her imperative duty to point out the way of
life to others, and especially to one so near and dear to her, and
not to neglect the opportunity which had been afforded her of leading
her beloved mother to embrace those doctrines which had brought light
and joy and peace to her own soul.
Zadok was not angry at her boldness, nor did he charge her to refrain
from any further conversation with her mother on the subject of their
religion. He saw that the faith of both was unalterably fixed, and
his was not a heart that could take pleasure in harsh or oppressive
measures, when no good result could be hoped from them. He took the
roll of parchment, and Naomi blessed the Lord when she saw him place
it in the folds of his robe, and leave the room. She hastened to
Salome's apartment to rejoice with her in the happy result of her
long-dreaded declaration, and to pray that the Holy Spirit would
bless to her father's soul the perusal of the sacred volume.
[Illustration: Burning of the Temple]