The Romans were securely established in the fortress of Antonia, and
they occupied the whole area between the tower and the temple. A
magnificent portico united the two buildings, and formed a means of
communication which the Jews were resolved to cut off before it
should be turned to their disadvantage by the besiegers. They
therefore contrived to set fire to the cloister, and by this means
made a breach which extended nearly thirty feet. The Romans in their
turn set fire to the remainder, and in a short time the whole of the
beautiful portico was a heap of smouldering ruins, and the space
between the temple and Antonia was entirely cleared. The Jews looked
on from their walls, and calmly allowed the flames to spread along
the cedar roofs and gilded mouldings, until they reached the
battlements of the temple. That sacred edifice was yet uninjured;
and still they madly hoped to preserve it from the hands of the
heathen, who daily advanced upon them by slow degrees, and made fresh
steps towards their final destruction. The great cloisters that ran
along the inside of the western wall appeared to be the portion of
the temple that was most exposed to the attacks of the enemy, and
John was resolved that if the Romans succeeded in getting upon the
roof and attempting to destroy it, their temerity should not go
unpunished. He caused all the hollow space between the beams and the
roof to be filled with dry wood, pitch, and other combustibles: and
then he commanded his men to withdraw, as if exhausted with fatigue.
The Romans saw them retire, and many of the more wary suspected that
it was merely a stratagem to draw them on to destruction. But
numbers were deceived, and in spite of the warnings of their
comrades, rushed impetuously forward. They applied the
scaling-ladders to the wall, mounted to the summit, and immediately
descended on the roof of the portico.
John saw that his artifice had succeeded; and when the roof was
covered with hundreds of the assailants, and they were about to
precipitate themselves into the court below, he gave the word, and
fire was applied to the combustibles in several places at the same
moment. The flames burst forth with violence, and the Romans found
themselves surrounded with the roaring element, and no way left of
escape. Filled with despair, many of them leaped from the wall into
the city, and were dashed to pieces. Others flung themselves down
among the enemy, who now crowded to the spot, and were either crushed
to death in the fall, or lay with broken limbs in the midst of their
enraged foes, and were quickly slain by their swords and lances.
Many of those who remained on the blazing roof were burnt to death,
while they looked vainly down towards their fellow-soldiers in the
area beyond the cloisters, who were unable to afford them any
assistance. Titus himself beheld their desperate situation, and
deeply commiserated it, though they had acted without orders, and
were suffering the consequences of their heedless impetuosity. He
made every possible exertion to rescue his brave men from a dreadful
death, but without success; and in profound sorrow he was forced to
behold even those who had retired to a broad part of the roof and
defended themselves valiantly, fall sword in hand, and perish to a
man.
The destruction of the cloisters had left the besiegers in
undisturbed possession of the outer court, or court of the Gentiles.
The legionaries completed the erection of their mounds on the eighth
of August, and Titus commanded the battering-rams to be planted
against the north gallery of the temple. For the six preceding days,
the most powerful of all the military engines had been playing upon
the outer wall without intermission; but the enormous size of the
stones, and excellent construction of the wall, had resisted all
efforts at its demolition. A portion of the troops were at the same
time employed in undermining the northern gate, but in this attempt
they could make no progress; and nothing remained but to apply the
ladders and storm the cloisters. They met with no resistance in
mounting to the platform at the summit of the wall; but the moment
they reached it, the Jews hurled them violently down, or slew them
before they had time to cover themselves with their shields. In many
places the ladders were overturned when crowded with men, and they
fell backward on the marble pavement, and were dashed to pieces. The
crash of the falling armour, the groans of the wounded and dying, and
the shouts of the combatants, were mingled wildly and fearfully
together; while above all these sounds, the regular and uninterrupted
strokes of the engines were heard to fall on the walls and buttresses
with an overpowering and thundering shock.
Many distinguished soldiers fell among the Romans in this assault,
and the Jews also lost several of their bravest men; but they
succeeded in repulsing the enemy from the top of the wall, and
considered themselves victorious: they therefore sought a brief
repose after the toils of the conflict, and hoped for greater success
on the morrow.
This had been a day of awful suffering to poor Naomi. When she
repaired early in the morning to her mother's chamber, she thought
she perceived an evident alteration in her countenance; and Deborah
also confirmed her in the belief that Salome had not many days,
perhaps not many hours to live. Zadok lingered near her, for he felt
that he had not long to enjoy her much-beloved presence; and it was
with an agonizing effort that he tore himself away, when Javan sent
hastily to summon him to the temple. He felt it his duty to repair
to the holy place when he heard that the walls were being stormed,
and every arm was called for that could be lifted in its defence.
Sadly he took leave of his dying wife, who smiled sweetly at him, and
whispered a blessing as he kissed her marble brow. He dreaded that
it might be the last smile he should ever see on that loved
countenance; but he charged Naomi to send one of the domestics who
were left to guard the house, with all speed to the temple, if any
further change should take place, that he might hasten home and
receive her parting breath.
All day the fearful sounds of the assault struck mournfully on the
ears of Salome and her afflicted attendants, mingled with the
shriller blast of the trumpets, and the cries of agony or rage.
Naomi stood by her mother's couch, and saw her wasted form quiver at
each piercing sound, while her clasped hands were convulsively
pressed together, and her eyes looked fervently upward, as if to seek
strength and comfort where only in that dreadful hour they could be
found. At midday Zadok and Javan returned together from the scene of
conflict to ascertain her state, and they found her greatly revived,
notwithstanding the constant alarm she was suffering. They
endeavoured to cheer her by assurances that the enemy had not yet
obtained any advantage, and that the Jews were bravely repulsing them
from the battlements. They could not tarry long, for their presence
was urgently required by Simon; but Zadok's heart was somewhat
relieved, for he felt assured that Salome would yet linger for
several days.
It was a hot and sultry day: the sun had looked with unclouded
brightness on that once lovely scene, and not a breath of air came
through the open casements to cool Salome's parched lips, and fan her
pallid cheek. At length he sank in radiant glory behind the western
hills, and a refreshing breeze came over the Mount of Olives, and
Naomi perceived that it revived the languid spirits of her mother.
She had spoken very little during the day, and had seemed to wish to
be left undisturbed; but now she turned to her daughter, and bade her
pray for her speedy and happy release. Naomi complied with her wish,
and Salome's eye beamed with pleasure as she thanked her
affectionately for this, and every act of kindness that she had so
unweariedly bestowed upon her throughout her illness.
"You have been to me a blessing from the Lord, my Naomi: you have
watched my poor sinking frame, and ministered to all its wants, and
soothed all its sufferings with your gentle hand. But greater far
have been the blessings that you have rendered to my soul: you have
charmed its fears to rest, and taught it to meet the last enemy with
composure, yes, even with joy. Naomi, my child, I am going to the
presence of God; and it is you who have pointed out the way."
Naomi had learnt to bear the thought of her mother's death; she had
learned to restrain her tears and still her beating heart, while she
watched her panting breath, or while she joined with her in prayers
that cut her to the soul. But she could not bear this touching
expression of her mother's gratitude, and she burst into tears of
mingled joy and grief. But she quickly recovered her wonted command
over her feelings, and Salome continued,
"You must not weep for me, Naomi, for I have only cause to thank my
gracious Father, who is so gently removing me from the evils to come.
The heaviest weight that now presses on my mind is the fear of what
may be your fate, my child; and the anxious doubts I feel as to your
father's spiritual state, and that of my poor Javan. But even these
cares I am able to cast on my Redeemer, remembering that he careth
for us."
"What joy it is to me, my dear mother, to hear you speak so
peacefully, and to see the calmness that now pervades your
countenance! I trusted that it would be so, and that God would give
you this perfect peace before he called you to himself."
"He is very merciful, Naomi. I hope and believe that He has heard my
prayers, and will give me grace and strength to make a good
confession to the last. I wish to bear testimony with my latest
breath to the power of our most holy faith, and the goodness and
mercy of our Redeemer. If my belief in Him, and my confidence of
being pardoned through his merits alone, sustain me in the hour of
death, it will prove to Zadok that our faith is no vain delusion, but
an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast. I only hope that the many
painful doubts which I have experienced of my own personal interest
in His great atonement may not return, when the shades of death
gather round my soul, to obscure the blessed hope of eternal life
that now sustains me."
"It may be, mother, that our great enemy may try to shake your faith
in the hour of weakness. But should any doubts arise in your mind,
be not troubled. Remember that your security rests not in the degree
of confidence which you may be enabled to feel, but in the great
things which the Lord Jesus has done for your soul. He has once
suffered, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God. He
has borne the penalty of all our sins, and it cannot be that we shall
be made to bear it again. Our God is faithful and true, and He must
fulfil the promise he has made that not one of those who come to him
in the name of his Son shall ever perish."
"I know it, Naomi, I know it; and on that blessed promise I rest my
dying hope. When first I believed in Jesus as the Son of God and the
Saviour of men, I often doubted whether I was one of his flock, one
of those whom he would own as a disciple. But now that beautiful
promise spoken by his own lips, and which you so often repeat to me,
is able to banish these doubts I whisper to myself, 'All that the
Father giveth me shall come to me, and him that cometh to me I will
in no wise cast out;' and I am at peace. I know that I am a vile
unworthy sinner; but I know that he is the unchangeable Jehovah, who
keepeth his promise for ever."
"Oh, my dear mother," exclaimed Naomi, "I bless and glorify God for
his goodness to us, in having removed all your fears, and given you
this victory. Now you experience the truth of his promises, and find
that though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, yet
his rod and his staff they comfort you. Soon the short passage will
be passed, and you will be in the presence of him who has loved you,
and washed you from your sins in his own blood. How thankfully do I
feel that I could lay down my head in death, and follow you to that
blessed home! Were it not for my father's sake, my spirit would
yearn to leave this world, so full of sorrow and of crime; but while
I can try to soothe his grief, or hope to lead him to the foot of
Jesus' cross, life will still be valuable."
"If I did not depend on you to be the solace and support of your dear
father when I am gone," replied Salome, with a tremulous voice,
"death would be much more terrible to me. I hope and believe that
yet many years of happiness are reserved for you; and that, united to
Marcellus, you will live an ornament to the Christian profession.
Zadok will see the power and beauty of your religion, and he too will
embrace the Saviour. O Naomi, my soul looks on through many fancied
scenes of life, and rests with joy in the prospect of greeting all I
love on the threshold of heaven! Yes, all--I cannot believe that one
will be missing."
"God grant it, my mother. How many of our family have already been
called to the faith of Christ! and we may hope that his mercy will
yet be extended to those who now reject him. May He prolong the
lives of my father and brother, and give them time and grace to
repent. I tremble every hour while this bloody siege continues, lest
they should be suddenly called into eternity before they have sought
pardon through Jesus Christ."
"It is a fearful thought," replied Salome. "And when the conquering
arms of Rome have found an entrance into our wretched city, what will
be their fate? Perhaps to be slain with the sword--perhaps to be led
away captive into a heathen land, where the Saviour's name will not
be heard. Oh, I must banish these dreadful thoughts, for they pierce
my soul with agony. Naomi, bring your harp, and sing to me that hymn
which has so often soothed me to repose. I am weary, and this has
been a long, long day to me. I marvel that your father does not
return, for the sounds of war have died away while we have been
conversing."
It was true; the battle had ceased for that day, and the exhausted
combatants had retired as daylight departed, to prepare for a fiercer
conflict on the morrow. No sounds now fell on Salome's ear but the
sighing of the evening breeze and the hoarse cry of the vultures as
they hovered over the pestilent streets. The gusts of air that
entered the open casements of her chamber were tainted with the foul
vapours of the city, though Naomi had placed her vases of blooming
flowers within the window, in the hope of excluding the noxious
odour. In the midst of all her other cares and anxieties, these
favourite plants were watched and tended for her mother's sake, and
their bright blossoms, so pure and fragrant in the midst of death and
corruption, were an emblem of the purity of Naomi's spirit and the
beauty of her holy faith, that remained unsullied amid the depravity
that surrounded her, and only grew brighter and more lovely as the
path in which she walked became darker. Nothing but that faith could
have supported the Jewish maid under her present trials, or have
enabled her to bear the prospect of those which she anticipated.
Nothing but the firm assurance that her Redeemer's eye was upon her,
and His arm sustaining her, and that all things would work together
for good to those who loved God, could have enabled her to maintain a
calm and almost a cheerful spirit in that time of matchless woe.
Nothing but a perfect confidence that her mother's soul was about to
wing its way to a realm of unutterable bliss, and that the same faith
which opened the portals of heaven to Salome's ransomed spirit, would
also enable her to join her there, could have taught her to look on
the dying and beloved form before her and not feel that her heart was
breaking.
Naomi took her harp, which was once her greatest pleasure and most
frequent occupation, but now was never touched except when Salome
wished to be soothed by its plaintive sound. She seated herself near
the open casement, where she could look out on the Mount of Olives
and the more distant Hills of Judgment, now illuminated by the rising
moon, and in a low sweet voice she sang her mother's favourite hymn.
"Mother, let thy spirit rest in peace:
He who died for thee is watching near.
Jesus bids thine anxious doubts to cease,
And gently whispers, 'Wherefore dost thou fear.'
Mother, trust thy soul to him,
Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
The crucified, the holy one,
God's only well-beloved Son!
He has bid the weary sinner come,
He calls the heavy-laden to his breast.
Oh, vainly may the troubled spirit roam,
Until at Jesu's feet it sinks to rest.
Then, mother, cast thy cares on him,
Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
The crucified, the holy one,
God's only, well-beloved Son!
He hath said that he will ne'er cast out
In any wise the soul that comes to him.
He will not crush thy faith, though mixed with doubt,
Or quench thy heavenly hopes, however dim.
Mother, fix thy hopes on him,
Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
The crucified, the holy one,
God's only, well-beloved Son!
And when he sets thy ransomed spirit free
From earthly trials--earthly care and woe,
I will not murmur at the sad decree.
Would I detain thee?--dearest mother, no!
In glory thou wilt dwell with him,
Lord of the hosts of Seraphim;
The crucified, the holy one,
God's only, well-beloved Son!"
When Zadok and his son left the temple to proceed towards their home,
their attention was attracted by a strong light which arose from that
part of the upper city where the great prison was situated. They
paused to watch it for a moment, and they soon perceived that the
prison was on fire; and from the distant clamour and the shouts that
proceeded from the spot, they suspected that it was an act
intentionally committed by some of the wild insurgents. Javan
hastily summoned a party of his own men who were assembled in the
temple court, and then begging his father to return home without him,
he added,
"I must hasten to the prison; there is one within those walls who
must not perish thus."
"Of whom do you speak, Javan?" replied his father. "All the best and
most valuable men in our city have already passed from the prisons to
death; and who remains for whom you feel so keen an interest?
Whoever it may be, I will go with you to rescue him from the dreadful
fate that seems to threaten all the captives."
"Come then, my father," said Javan; "let us lose no time, and you may
yet see one whom you never thought to behold again on earth.
Theophilus lives in that blazing pile, and we may save him."
"Theophilus lives!" cried Zadok. "Oh let us fly to preserve him!
When he is safe I will hear all you have to tell of him--but now let
us not waste a moment."
They hurried through the streets followed by their armed attendants,
and soon reached the area in front of the prison. It presented a
scene of confusion and uproar that baffled description. The building
had been set on fire by a party of Zealots, who had previously made
an ineffectual attempt to force open the gates and release the
prisoners, many of whom were criminals of their own faction, confined
by order of Simon. These wretches now appeared at the grated windows
of their cells, and with frantic gestures and cries of terror,
besought their comrades to burst open the door and set them free
before the fire should spread through the building. A multitude of
both factions were collected in the square, and a fierce struggle was
going on near the gates; the Zealots endeavouring to tear them down,
and those of Simon's parry striving to repulse them. Meanwhile
flames were raging furiously, and volumes of smoke and fire came down
upon the crowd; while the shrieks of the prisoners, the shouts of the
combatants, and the crash of falling timbers combined to increase the
horror of the scene.
Javan was bold and resolute in the highest degree. No danger ever
deterred him from prosecuting an object which he earnestly desired to
accomplish. Collecting his followers into a compact body, he placed
himself at their head; and accompanied by his no less courageous
father, he forced his way through the crowd, and reached a small door
in the outer wall of the prison. To Zadok's surprise he produced a
key which instantly opened this door, and they entered the
court-yard. The same key admitted them into the building, which they
found filled with a dense smoke and intensely heated by the
rapidly-increasing flames. Nevertheless, Javan and Zadok rushed
forward; and as they reached the door which led to Theophilus's cell
they saw that all the further extremity of the passage was enveloped
in a sheet of fire. They entered the cell, which was partially
illuminated by the light of the flames which had seized the opposite
side of the court. On the ground near the narrow window Theophilus
was on his knees: his hands, from which hung heavy chains, were
clasped in the attitude of fervent prayer, and his pale countenance
was turned towards Heaven with an expression of heroic and saintlike
resignation. The creaking of the massy door aroused his attention,
and in a moment his eyes met those of Zadok, and he felt himself
embraced with warm affection by his uncle. Javan stood aloof. He
had visited Theophilus many times in that solitary cell, and his
appearance did not awaken any fresh emotions in his stern breast.
"Come, my father," he cried, "this is no time for greetings or
explanations. The flames are drawing nearer, and even now our
passage may be stopped."
Zadok caught the arm of Theophilus, and supported him while they
passed swiftly through the narrow gallery, and retraced the way by
which he and Javan had entered. In the court they met the rushing
crowd from without, for the great gates had now been burnt down, and
a free entrance was afforded to those who sought to release the
terrified captives. Through this tumultuous band they wound their
way, and at length reached the open area in safety. Onward they
pressed, and did not pause to speak or rest, though Theophilus,
weakened by long confinement and want of proper nourishment, could
scarcely keep pace with his companions. Through all the time of
famine, Javan had carefully provided for his cousin's sustenance; but
it was not in his power to obtain for him more than would barely
sustain life; and his once manly form was wasted away, and all his
natural strength had forsaken him.
When they had descended the eminence on which the prison stood, they
entered one of the most frequented streets. How changed was all
around since Theophilus had beheld that once splendid part of the
city! The houses in ruins, or wearing an air of desolation that
eloquently told of the miseries of their inhabitants; and the street
that was wont to be crowded with passengers, and animated with the
hum of many voices, now silent and deserted--peopled only with livid
corpses, and a few straggling wretches, whose forms and countenances
were scarcely less spectral than those that lay stiff and cold
beneath their feet. In the frequent visits which Javan had paid to
his cousin's cell, he had informed him of the progress of the war,
and the cruel factions that divided the city; but Theophilus had not
pictured to himself a scene of such utter desolation as that which
now met his view in the clear cold light of the moon. He eagerly
questioned Zadok as to the welfare of his family and friends amid the
general misery that seemed to prevail; and he learned with deep
distress of the hopeless state to which his aunt was reduced, and the
sufferings and privations to which all the family had been subjected.
Zadok also learned from him the particulars of his preservation,
which though they had been told to both Naomi and her mother, had
been purposely concealed by Javan from his father, lest he should
interfere to procure his liberation. It had been only under a solemn
promise of secrecy that the happy intelligence of Theophilus's safety
had been confided to Naomi and Salome; and thus Javan had been
enabled to pursue his plans without interruption.
It was the restoration of his cousin to the Jewish religion, and not
his death, that had actuated Javan after he had once secured his
person; and in the hope of obtaining this object, he had contrived to
substitute another condemned criminal in the place of Theophilus on
the dreadful day of execution. The malefactor was clothed in the
vest and robe of him whom he was appointed to personate; and none of
those who felt any interest in the transaction had the slightest
suspicion of the change that had been made. Executions and murders
were events of too common occurrence to excite much attention from
the self-constituted authorities that tyrannised over the city; and
Javan's artifice was known only to the jailor, who was a faithful and
devoted adherent of his own. For a considerable time Javan had
visited the Christian captive daily, and patiently argued with him on
what he considered his fatal errors. But latterly his time had been
too much occupied with the business of this siege, to allow of his
devoting many hours to what had hitherto been a fruitless labour; and
he had seldom seen Theophilus. Still he felt a strong desire that he
should live to behold that glorious advent of the Messiah which he
was himself daily expecting--he wished that, since all his arguments
had failed, that awful event might break on the eyes of his deluded
cousin, and at once dispel his errors, and convince him that until
that moment the true Messiah had never appeared on earth. Therefore
he took every precaution for his being provided with food, and
frequently denied himself that Theophilus might be preserved from
dying in the state of hopeless apostasy in which he believed him to
be sunk.
It was with the same feeling that he had this evening hazarded his
own life to rescue the man whom he had so deeply injured from a
dreadful death; and as he strode rapidly before his father and
Theophilus, his soul was occupied in contemplations of approaching
triumph and prosperity, in which he believed that all who shared the
pure blood of Aaron, that ran in his own veins, would take a
distinguished part.
He led the way through dark and narrow streets with which he was well
acquainted, and which at length brought them to the private entrance,
at the back of Zadok's house, near the city wall. They entered the
door, and immediately met old Deborah, whose astonishment and terror,
at the sight of one whom she had so long believed to be dead, were
extreme. She thought it must be a spectre, and would have hurried
away trembling with fear, had not Zadok detained her, and briefly
informed her of the truth. With some difficulty he and Javan
detached the fetters from the hands of Theophilus, and he then passed
out on the terrace, followed by the two young men, as he wished to
enter Salome's chamber alone, and leave them without until he had
prepared her to meet Theophilus. With a gentle step he approached
towards the open casement, which was his usual mode of entrance, and
as he heard the sound of Naomi's harp, he felt assured that all was
well, He paused to listen, and to contemplate the scene which met his
view within the apartment, as the dark shadow of the wall concealed
him from observation: and Naomi continued her song, with all the
feeling and tender expression of devotion with which the words
inspired her.
Javan and Theophilus drew near to Zadok, and with various feelings
they heard the song of Christian faith which Naomi had composed for
her mother's consolation. In Theophilus's breast it inspired a
sensation of delighted surprise and gratitude; in Javan's, of zealous
indignation, which almost prompted him to rush forward and interrupt
the blasphemous strain. In Zadok's heart were many mingled feelings
that held him motionless and almost breathless, until the last chord
died away on the harp of Naomi, and all was profound silence.
Salome's couch was near the window, and the rich curtains of Tyrian
purple had been drawn aside to admit the refreshing evening breeze.
She lay calm and still, listening to her daughter's voice, while a
sweet smile rested on her deathlike countenance. Her eyes were
closed, and she did not see the tears that ran unchecked down Naomi's
cheek while she sang her mother's dirge of death. Deep emotion had
called up a bright and hectic flush to that usually pallid cheek; but
when her song was done, and she leaned silently upon her harp, the
transient colour faded rapidly away, like the last brilliant rays of
the setting sun dying on the cold summit of a snow-capped mountain.
Theophilus was deeply moved. When last he parted from his cousin she
was in the pride of youth and beauty, and the animation of her soul
looked forth from her beaming eyes. But never had she looked so
lovely as now, in her sorrow and resignation. She seemed a being too
pure and unearthly to tarry in this world of sin and woe, and as if
she were only waiting for her summons to that heavenly home where her
heart and her treasure were already laid up.
After a pause of some duration, Zadok approached the window and
entered the apartment. Naomi met him without embarrassment, for she
had ceased to fear that he would rebuke her for speaking of Jesus to
her mother, and she saw in his countenance no traces of displeasure.
Salome too looked up with a peaceful smile, and asked whether he had
heard any part of Naomi's song. He did not reply to the question,
but affectionately inquired how she had passed the day since he had
seen her, and spoke of the prison being on fire as the cause of his
long delay in returning to her. Salome knew that it was the prison
in which Theophilus had been confined, and she listened with
returning animation to the account of his rescue and safe arrival at
his uncle's house. She begged to see him immediately, and Theophilus
was quickly at her side. The near approach of death had already
destroyed the keenness of her sensibilities, and she met him with
much greater composure than he could command; while Naomi was hardly
able to control her feelings at the recollection of all that she and
her cousin and poor Claudia had undergone, since their last meeting
in the prison. Javan did not join them until they had had time to
converse on the past and the future; and mutually to relate the
events and the feelings that had marked the period since they parted.
It was with sincere delight that Theophilus heard of Claudia's pious
resignation and strengthened faith; and he blessed God for all that
they had suffered, since it had been the means of confirming her
faith and proving its sincerity. Long the cousins discoursed
together, while Zadok remained by Salome's side, and saw with
satisfaction that she sank into a deep and tranquil slumber. Still
there was an altered appearance in her countenance that spoke
fearfully to his heart, and he would not leave the room to seek the
repose which he so much needed.
Javan and Theophilus retired, but Naomi took her place by her father,
and together they watched in silence while Salome slept. Deborah
also tarried, and gazed with tearful eyes on her beloved mistress,
who she plainly saw would very soon be taken from their sight. About
midnight she awoke, and appeared so much revived that a faint gleam
of hope arose in Zadok's breast that he was not so soon to lose her.
But it was only the last light of an expiring lamp ere it sinks to
darkness.
"Zadok, my beloved," she said, and she laid her cold hand on his,
"the hour is fast approaching when I must close my eyes for ever, and
look on your face no more in this world. Call my son and Theophilus
hither, that with my latest breath I may bear witness to the truth."
Deborah quickly summoned the two young men, and in breathless
attention they all stood round the couch.
"I bless the Lord, my dear Theophilus," continued Salome, in a low
but distinct voice, "that He has permitted me to see you once more,
and given me this opportunity of telling you how much I owe to your
noble example in awakening my interest towards the religion which
supported you, and proving to me that it was indeed from Heaven. I
am now on the verge of that eternity into which I so long believed
that you had entered; and here, in the presence of God, and of those
who are dearest to me on earth, I testify that Jesus of Nazareth is
the true Messiah. He has revealed himself to my soul, as the only
Saviour from sin and condemnation; and in His name I meet death
without a fear. Oh, my dearest husband, and you too, my son, let my
dying voice persuade you to seek the refuge which I have found, and
save your souls alive."
She paused, but none replied, and after a short interval she
proceeded.
"The evil days are come upon us--those days of which the Redeemer
warned our fathers, and in the scenes which surround us we behold the
proof of his divine foreknowledge. The awful completion of his
prophecy is yet to come, for not one jot or tittle of all that he
spoke shall pass away unfulfilled. Then, when Jerusalem is trampled
down, and our holy temple cast to the ground, where will you look for
safety, Zadok? Not on the earth, for our nation will be led away
captive by the heathen, and persecuted in every land. Turn ye then
to the stronghold ordained before the world was created, as the only
sure refuge in the time of trouble. Why should ye refuse to believe
in Him who spake as never man spake, and who fulfilled all that the
prophets foretold of him?"
"Mother," cried Javan, unable any longer to listen to her with
composure, "mother, I implore you to cease, and not let your last
words be words of blasphemy! I cannot hear the majesty of Jehovah
thus insulted, and a crucified malefactor exalted to his throne, and
hold my peace. Speak no more of the Nazarene; or suffer me to
retire, ere I forget my love and reverence for you in zeal for the
honour of my God."
"Javan, Javan! are you so hardened in prejudice? I cannot cease to
tell of all that Jesus has done for my soul while yet I have strength
to speak; and I would to God that my voice might sink deep into your
heart, and leave an impression there never to be effaced. Will you
not stay and hear my testimony? Then farewell, my son, and may the
Saviour whom you despise yet look graciously on you, and bring you to
himself."
Javan took his mother's hand, which was feebly extended towards him:
he kissed her cheek with tenderness, and then hurried from the room
to hide the emotions which he could not command.
"He is gone, and may the Spirit of the Lord follow him," said Salome,
with a heavy sigh. "Zadok, you are less obdurate. I see that
conviction begins to steal upon your soul. Do not deny it; do not
take from me the hope that enables me to part from you with
resignation. When I am in my cold grave, you will remember what I
have said to you, and know that it was truth."
Again she paused to recover strength for all she wished to say, and
those who stood weeping round her couch did not attempt to interrupt
her. There was a tone of holy dignity, almost of inspiration, in
this her dying discourse, that held them in silent and reverential
attention.
"Naomi, my child," she continued, in a fainter voice, "come near and
receive my parting blessing." Naomi Rank on her knees, and stifling
the emotions that shook her trembling form, she waited in silence for
her mother's benediction.
"May the God of our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, bless thee,
my Naomi, and keep thee in all thy ways. May He reward thee a
hundredfold for all that thou hast been to me; and may he grant that
you may prove as great a blessing to your beloved father's soul as
thou hast been to mine. And oh, when thy earthly course is finished,
and thy spirit soars above, to enter the blissful mansions prepared
for thee by our Redeemer's love, may it be my happy privilege to meet
thee on the threshold, and conduct thee to the foot of the throne,
and there to testify that thy teaching and thy example first led me
into the heavenly road."
Naomi pressed her mother's hand to her lips, and bathed it with her
tears, but she could not speak; and Zadok and Theophilus knelt beside
her.
"Pray for me, Zadok," said Salome. "The shadows of death are
gathering round me, and your voice should be the last--it has ever
been the dearest--that I hear on earth."
The priest complied with his wife's request; and had his prayer been
uttered in the Saviour's name, it would have been all that Salome's
soul desired. The conclusion was consoling to her, and strengthened
her hopes of his conversion; for he prayed that he might meet his
wife in heaven, and that if there were in his own creed anything that
obstructed his heavenward course, the Lord would deign to remove his
error, and lead him into all truth. This was a concession which
neither Salome nor her daughter had expected, and they heard it with
secret thanksgiving and joy.
Salome closed her eyes, and Zadok thought she slept; but soon she
opened them again, and fixed them on his countenance with a look of
anxious affection.
"Remember, my beloved," she whispered, "remember your promise. Read
the book of life, and believe. And I have one more request. Be very
kind to our poor Naomi when I am gone, and do not suffer her to be
reviled or harshly treated because she believes in Jesus."
"Were she less dear to me than she is," replied Zadok, "she should be
guarded and cherished as the apple of my eye for your sake, my love.
Fear not, Salome, I will be a father and a friend to her; and none
shall deal unkindly with her while Zadok lives to protect her. And
more than this--she shall tell me of this Jesus, whose name has
become so dear to your soul; and I will listen with sincerity,
remembering that it was your dying wish."
"The blessing of my Heavenly Father be upon you for these words, my
dearest husband!" exclaimed Salome, with sudden energy. "Now will my
soul depart in peace, for its fondest desires are granted. Bless
thou the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise his holy
name!"
It seemed that Salome's heart was now relieved of all its anxious
cares, for her countenance beamed with a heavenly calmness; and while
she held the hand of Zadok clasped within both her own, she fell
asleep. For some hours she lay motionless, while her low and
lengthened breathing alone declared that life was not extinct. But
there was light and conscious joy in her spirit, though its earthly
tabernacle seemed already stricken by the hand of death. At length
her lips moved, and in a voice scarcely audible she murmured,
"O grave, where is thy sting! O death, where is thy victory!"
"Tell us, dear Salome," said Theophilus, leaning over her
affectionately, "tell us, is it all peace?"
"Triumph! triumph! as far as I have gone," she replied.
"And you have no fears, no doubts, no darkness around you?" he
continued, anxious that Zadok should know how well her faith
sustained her to the last.
"Oh no!" she slowly and distinctly answered. "The valley is all
light now. I see heaven opening beyond it. I see the redeemed with
their golden harps, and almost I hear their songs of joy. There is
no darkness there, for the Lamb is the light thereof."
More she tried to say, but no sound came from her parted lips, and
her voice was never heard again on earth. So gently, so
imperceptibly her breathing died away, that none knew at what moment
her spirit fled to God. Zadok felt her hands unclasp their hold of
his, and they became cold and still. With trembling steps Deborah
approached, and drew aside the drapery that had hitherto excluded the
light of the rising sun; and as the first beams darted brightly over
the summit of Mount Olivet, they fell on the lifeless form of Salome,
and showed the hue of death on her cold features.
The agony of grief, which had been so long repressed in the bosom of
Zadok, now burst forth with somewhat of the fervent feeling for which
his race was distinguished; and he mourned over the dead with bitter
tears. Theophilus led him and his daughter from the chamber, to that
in which Javan sat gloomy and sad; and the meeting of Naomi and her
brother was deeply painful to both.
The circumstances in which the city was placed were such as to
prevent the greatest part of the ceremonies which usually followed
the death of a Jewish matron from being performed. Deborah exerted
herself, with the assistance of the other domestics, to supply every
deficiency, and Javan was zealously anxious that nothing of the
customary forms should be omitted that could possibly be attended to.
He summoned the rabbi Joazer, and concerted with him as to the
funeral of his mother, which by Zadok's desire was to take place that
very day. He would not suffer the remains of his beloved wife to be
carried out into the polluted streets, and he resolved that she
should be laid beneath the shady trees in the garden attached to his
house. The custom of the Jews forbad a priest from touching a
corpse, or even remaining in the house which contained one. Zadok
therefore went forth and wandered up and down the desolate street
while the hasty preparations were made. Then, when the body was
carried down to the simple grave that had been dug by the servants of
the household, he repaired to the terrace with Naomi; and though he
was not legally permitted to be present at a funeral, yet he stood
there to see the mortal body of his beloved wife laid in the dust;
and he was enabled to lift his eyes to Heaven with gratitude that she
had been taken away from the evil to come, and with the hope that ere
long he should rejoin her beyond the clear blue sky that now glowed
brightly over his head.
[Illustration: Tombs of the Kings]