_The Learned Rabbi Zimri._
A SCORCHING sun, a blue and burning sky, on every side lofty ranges of
black and barren mountains, dark ravines, deep caverns, unfathomable
gorges! A solitary being moved in the distance. Faint and toiling, a
pilgrim slowly clambered up the steep and stony track.
The sultry hours moved on; the pilgrim at length gained the summit of
the mountain, a small and rugged table-land, strewn with huge masses
of loose and heated, rock. All around was desolation: no spring, no
herbage; the bird and the insect were alike mute. Still it was the
summit: no loftier peaks frowned in the distance; the pilgrim stopped,
and breathed with more facility, and a faint smile played over his
languid and solemn countenance.
He rested a few minutes; he took from his wallet some locusts and wild
honey, and a small skin of water. His meal was short as well as simple.
An ardent desire to reach his place of destination before nightfall
urged him to proceed. He soon passed over the table-land, and commenced
the descent of the mountain. A straggling olive-tree occasionally
appeared, and then a group, and soon the groups swelled into a grove.
His way wound through the grateful and unaccustomed shade. He emerged
from the grove, and found that he had proceeded down more than half
the side of the mountain. It ended precipitously in a dark and narrow
ravine, formed on the other side by an opposite mountain, the lofty
steep of which was crested by a city gently rising on a gradual slope.
Nothing could be conceived more barren, wild, and terrible than the
surrounding scenery, unillumined by a single trace of culture. The city
stood like the last gladiator in an amphitheatre of desolation.
It was surrounded by a lofty turreted wall, of an architecture to which
the pilgrim was unaccustomed: gates with drawbridge and portcullis,
square towers, and loopholes for the archer. Sentinels, clothed in steel
and shining in the sunset, paced, at regular intervals, the cautious
wall, and on a lofty tower a standard waved, a snowy standard, with a
red, red cross!
The Prince of the Captivity at length beheld the lost capital of his
fathers.[35]
A few months back, and such a spectacle would have called forth all the
latent passion of Alroy; but time and suffering, and sharp experience,
had already somewhat curbed the fiery spirit of the Hebrew Prince. He
gazed upon Jerusalem, he beheld the City of David garrisoned by the
puissant warriors of Christendom, and threatened by the innumerable
armies of the Crescent. The two great divisions of the world seemed
contending for a prize, which he, a lonely wanderer, had crossed the
desert to rescue.
If his faith restrained him from doubting the possibility of his
enterprise, he was at least deeply conscious that the world was a very
different existence from what he had fancied amid the gardens of
Hamadan and the rocks of Caucasus, and that if his purpose could be
accomplished, it could only be effected by one means. Calm, perhaps
somewhat depressed, but full of pious humiliation, and not deserted by
holy hope, he descended into the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and so, slaking
his thirst at Siloah, and mounting the opposite height, David Alroy
entered Jerusalem by the gate of Zion.[36]
He had been instructed that the quarter allotted to his people was near
this entrance. He inquired the direction of the sentinel, who did not
condescend to answer him. An old man, in shabby robes, who was passing,
beckoned to him.
‘What want you, friend?’ inquired Alroy.
‘You were asking for the quarter of our people. You must be à stranger,
indeed, in Jerusalem, to suppose that a Frank would speak to a Jew. You
were lucky to get neither kicked nor cursed.’
‘Kicked and cursed! Why, these dogs----’
‘Hush! hush! for the love of God,’ said his new companion, much alarmed.
‘Have you lent money to their captain that you speak thus? In Jerusalem
our people speak only in a whisper.’
‘No matter: the cure is not by words. Where is our quarter?’
‘Was the like ever seen! Why, he speaks as if he were a Frank. I save
him from having his head broken by a gauntlet, and----’
‘My friend, I am tired. Our quarter?’
‘Whom may you want?’
‘The Chief Rabbi.’
‘You bear letters to him?’
‘What is that to you?’
‘Hush! hush! You do not know what Jerusalem is, young man. You must not
think of going on in this way. Where do you come from?’
‘Bagdad.’
‘Bagdad! Jerusalem is not Bagdad. A Turk is a brute, but a Christian is
a demon.’
‘But our quarter, our quarter?’
‘Hush! you want the Chief Rabbi?’
‘Ay! ay!’
‘Rabbi Zimri?’
‘It may be so. I neither know nor care.’
‘Neither knows nor cares! This will never do; you must not go on in this
way at Jerusalem. You must not think of it.’
‘Fellow, I see thou art a miserable prattler. Show me our quarter, and I
will pay thee well, or be off.’
‘Be off! Art thou a Hebrew? to say “be off” to any one. You come from
Bagdad! I tell you what, go back to Bagdad. You will never do for
Jerusalem.’
‘Your grizzled beard protects you. Old fool, I am a pilgrim just
arrived, wearied beyond expression, and you keep me here listening to
your flat talk!’
‘Flat talk! Why! what would you?’
‘Lead me to the Rabbi Zimri, if that be his name.’
‘If that be his name! Why, every one knows Rabbi Zimri, the Chief Rabbi
of Jerusalem, the successor of Aaron. We have our temple yet, say what
they like. A very learned doctor is Rabbi Zimri.’
‘Wretched driveller. I am ashamed to lose my patience with such a
dotard.’
‘Driveller! dotard! Why, who are you?’
‘One you cannot comprehend. Without another word, lead me to your
chief.’
‘Chief! you have not far to go. I know no one of the nation who holds
his head higher than I do here, and they call me Zimri.’
‘What, the Chief Rabbi, that very learned doctor?’
‘No less; I thought you had heard of him.’
‘Let us forget the past, good Zimri. When great men play the incognito,
they must sometimes hear rough phrases. It is the Caliph’s lot as well
as yours. I am glad to make the acquaintance of so great a doctor.
Though young, and roughly habited, I have seen the world a little, and
may offer next Sabbath in the synagogue more dirhems than you would
perhaps suppose. Good and learned Zimri, I would be your guest.’
‘A very worshipful young man! And he speaks low and soft now! But it was
lucky I was at hand. Good, what’s your name?’
‘David.’
‘A very honest name, good David. It was lucky I was at hand when you
spoke to the sentinel, though. A Jew speak to a Frank, and a sentinel
too! Hah! hah! hah! that is good. How Rabbi Maimon will laugh! Faith it
was very lucky, now, was not it?’
‘Indeed, most fortunate.’
‘Well that is candid! Here! this way. ‘Tis not far. We number few, sir,
of our brethren here, but a better time will come, a better time will
come.’
‘I think so. This is your door?’
‘An humble one. Jerusalem is not Bagdad, but you are welcome.’
‘King Pirgandicus[37] entered them,’ said Rabbi Maimon, ‘but no one
since.’
‘And when did he live?’ inquired Alroy. ‘His reign is recorded in the
Talmud,’ answered Rabbi Zimri, ‘but in the Talmud there are no dates.’
‘A long while ago?’ asked Alroy. ‘Since the Captivity,’ answered Rabbi
Maimon. ‘I doubt that,’ said Rabbi Zimri, ‘or why should he be called
king?’
‘Was he of the house of David?’ said Alroy.
‘Without doubt,’ said Rabbi Maimon; ‘he was one of our greatest kings,
and conquered Julius Caesar.’[38]
‘His kingdom was in the northernmost parts of Africa,’ said Rabbi Zimri,
‘and exists to this day, if we could but find it.’
‘Ay, truly,’ added Rabbi Maimon, ‘the sceptre has never departed out of
Judah; and he rode always upon a white elephant.’
‘Covered with cloth of gold,’ added Rabbi Zimri. ‘And he visited the
Tombs of the Kings?’[39] inquired Alroy.
‘Without doubt,’ said Rabbi Maimon. ‘The whole account is in the
Talmud.’
‘And no one can now find them?’ ‘No one,’ replied Rabbi Zimri: ‘but,
according to that learned doctor, Moses Hallevy, they are in a valley in
the mountains of Lebanon, which was sealed up by the Archangel Michael.’
‘The illustrious Doctor Abarbanel, of Babylon,’ said Rabbi Maimon,
‘gives one hundred and twenty reasons in his commentary on the Gemara to
prove that they sunk under the earth at the taking of the Temple.’
‘No one reasons like Abarbanel of Babylon,’ said Rabbi Zimri.
‘The great Rabbi Akiba, of Pundebita, has answered them all,’ said Rabbi
Maimon, ‘and holds that they were taken up to heaven.’
‘And which is right?’ inquired Rabbi Zimri.
‘Neither,’ said Rabbi Maimon.
‘One hundred and twenty reasons are strong proof,’ said Rabbi Zimri.
‘The most learned and illustrious Doctor Aaron Mendola, of Granada,’
said Rabbi Maimon, ‘has shown that we must look for the Tombs of the
Kings in the south of Spain.’
‘All that Mendola writes is worth attention,’ said Rabbi Zimri.
‘Rabbi Hillel,[40] of Samaria, is worth two Mendolas any day,’ said
Rabbi Maimon.
‘‘Tis a most learned doctor,’ said Rabbi Zimri; ‘and what thinks he?’
‘Hillel proves that there are two Tombs of the Kings,’ said Rabbi
Maimon, ‘and that neither of them are the right ones.’
‘What a learned doctor!’ exclaimed Rabbi Zimri.
‘And very satisfactory,’ remarked Alroy.
‘These are high subjects,’ continued Maimon, his blear eyes twinkling
with complacency. ‘Your guest, Rabbi Zimri, must read the treatise of
the learned Shimei, of Damascus, on “Effecting Impossibilities.”’
‘That is a work!’ exclaimed Zimri.
‘I never slept for three nights after reading that work,’ said Rabbi
Maimon. ‘It contains twelve thousand five hundred and thirty-seven
quotations from the Pentateuch, and not a single original observation.’
‘There were giants in those days,’ said Rabbi Zimri; ‘we are children
now.’
‘The first chapter makes equal sense, read backward or forward,’
continued Rabbi Maimon. ‘Ichabod!’ exclaimed Rabbi Zimri. ‘And the
initial letter of every section is a cabalistical type of a king of
Judah.’
‘The temple will yet be built,’ said Rabbi Zimri. ‘Ay, ay! that is
learning!’ exclaimed Rabbi Maimon; ‘but what is the great treatise on
“Effecting Impossibilities” to that profound, admirable, and----’
‘Holy Rabbi!’ said a youthful reader of the synagogue, who now entered,
‘the hour is at hand.’
‘You don’t say so! Learned Miamon, I must to the synagogue. I could sit
here all day listening to you. Come, David, the people await us.’
Zimri and Alroy quitted the house, and proceeded along the narrow hilly
streets to the chief temple of the Hebrews.
‘It grieves the venerable Maimon much that he cannot join us,’ said
Rabbi Zimri. ‘You have doubtless heard of him at Bagdad; a most learned
doctor.’ Alroy bowed in silence.
‘He bears his years well. You would hardly believe that he was my
master.’
‘I perceive that you inherit much of his erudition.’
‘You are kind. If he have breathed one year, Rabbi Maimon will be a
hundred and ten next Passover.’
‘I doubt it not.’
‘When he is gathered to his fathers, a great light will be extinguished
in Israel. You wanted to know something about the Tombs of the Kings; I
told you he was your man. How full he was! His mind, sir, is an egg.’
‘A somewhat ancient one. I fear his guidance will hardly bring me the
enviable fortune of King Pirgandicus.’
‘Between ourselves, good David, talking of King Pirgandicus, I cannot
help fancying that the learned Maimon made a slight mistake. I hold
Pirgandicus was only a prince. It was after the Captivity, and I know no
authority for any of our rulers since the destruction assuming a higher
title. Clearly a prince, eh? But, though I would whisper it to no
one but you, I think our worthy friend grows a little old. We should
remember his years, sir. A hundred and ten next Passover. ‘Tis a great
burden.’
‘Ay! with his learning added, a very fearful burden indeed!’
‘You have been a week in Jerusalem, and have not yet visited our
synagogue. It is not of cedar and ivory, but it is still a temple. This
way. It is only a week that you have been here? Why, you look another
man! I shall never forget our first meeting: you did not know me. That
was good, eh? And when I told you I was the chief Rabbi Zimri, how you
changed! You have quite regained your appetite. Ah! ‘tis pleasant to
mix once more with our own people. To the left. So! we must descend a
little. We hold our meetings in an ancient cemetery. You have a finer
temple, I warrant me, in Bagdad. Jerusalem is not Bagdad. But this has
its conveniences. ‘Tis safe, and we are not very rich, nor wish to seem
so.’
A long passage brought them to a number of small, square, low
chambers[41] leading into each other. They were lighted by brass lamps,
placed at intervals in vacant niches, that once held corpses, and
which were now soiled by the smoky flame. Between two and three
hundred individuals were assembled in these chambers, at first scarcely
distinguishable by those who descended from the broad daylight; but
by degrees the eyesight became accustomed to the dim and vaporous
atmosphere, and Al-roy recognised in the final and more illumined
chamber a high cedar cabinet, the type of the ark, and which held the
sacred vessels and the sanctified copy of the law.
Standing in lines, with their heads mystically covered,[42] the forlorn
remnant of Israel, captives in their ancient city, avowed, in spite of
all their sufferings, their fidelity to their God, and, notwithstanding
all the bitterness of hope delayed, their faith in the fulfilment of his
promises. Their simple service was completed, their prayers were
read, their responses made, their law exhibited, and their charitable
offerings announced by their high priest. After the service, the
venerable Zimri, opening a volume of the Talmud, and fortified by the
opinions of all those illustrious and learned doctors, the heroes of
his erudite conversations with the aged Maimon, expounded the law to the
congregation of the people.[43]
‘It is written,’ said the Rabbi, ‘“Thou shalt have none other God but
me.” Now know ye what our father Abraham said when Nimrod ordered him to
worship fire? “Why not water,” answered Abraham, “which can put out fire?
why not clouds, which can pour forth water? why not the winds, which can
produce clouds? why not God, which can create winds?”’
A murmur of approbation sounded throughout the congregation.
‘Eliezer,’ said Zimri, addressing himself to a young Rabbi, ‘it is
written, that he took a rib from Adam when he was asleep. Is God then a
robber?’
The young Rabbi looked puzzled, and cast his eyes on the ground. The
congregation was perplexed and a little alarmed.
‘Is there no answer?’ said Zimri.
‘Rabbi,’ said a stranger, a tall, swarthy African pilgrim, standing in
a corner, and enveloped in a red mantle, over which a lamp threw a
flickering light; ‘Rabbi, some robbers broke into my house last night,
and stole an earthen pipkin, but they left a golden vase in its stead.’
‘It is well said; it is well said,’ exclaimed the congregation. The
applause was loud.
‘Learned Zimri,’ continued the African, ‘it is written in the Gemara,
that there was a youth in Jerusalem who fell in love with a beautiful
damsel, and she scorned him. And the youth was so stricken with his
passion that he could not speak; but when he beheld her, he looked at
her imploringly, and she laughed. And one day the youth, not knowing
what to do with himself, went out into the desert; and towards night
he returned home, but the gates of the city were shut. And he went down
into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and entered the tomb of Absalom and
slept;[44] and he dreamed a dream; and next morning he came into the
city smiling. And the maiden met him, and she said, “Is that thou; art
thou a laugher?” and he answered, “Behold, yesterday being disconsolate,
I went out of the city into the desert, and I returned home, and
the gates of the city were shut, and I went down into the valley of
Jehoshaphat, and I entered the tomb of Absalom, and I slept, and I
dreamed a dream, and ever since then I have laughed.” And the damsel
said, “Tell me thy dream.” And he answered and said, “I may not tell my
dream only to my wife, for it regards her honour.” And the maiden grew
sad and curious, and said, “I am thy wife, tell me thy dream.” And
straightway they went and were married and ever after they both laughed.
Now, learned Zimri, what means this tale, an idle jest for a master of
the law, yet it is written by the greatest doctor of the Captivity?’
‘It passeth my comprehension,’ said the chief Rabbi.
Rabbi Eliezer was silent; the congregation groaned.
‘Now hear the interpretation,’ said the African. ‘The youth is our
people, and the damsel is our lost Sion, and the tomb of Absalom proves
that salvation can only come from the house of David. Dost thou hear
this, young man?’ said the African, coming forward and laying his hand
on Alroy. ‘I speak to thee, because I have observed a deep attention in
thy conduct.’
The Prince of the Captivity started, and shot a glance at the dark
visage before him, but the glance read nothing. The upper part of the
countenance of the African was half concealed by masses of dark matted
hair, and the lower by his uncouth robes. A flashing eye was its only
characteristic, which darted forth like lightning out of a black cloud.
‘Is my attention the only reason that induces you to address me?’
inquired Alroy.
‘Whoever gave all his reasons?’ replied the African, with a laughing
sneer.
‘I seek not to learn them. Suffice it, stranger, that how much soever
you may mean, as much I can understand.’
‘‘Tis well. Learned Zimri, is this thy pupil? I congratulate thee.
I will match him against the hopeful Eliezer.’ So saying, the lofty
African stalked out of the chamber. The assembly also broke up. Alroy
would willingly have immediately followed the African, and held some
further and more private conversation with him; but some minutes
elapsed, owing to the officious attentions of Zimri, before he could
escape; and, when he did, his search after the stranger was vain. He
inquired among the congregation, but none knew the African. He was no
man’s guest and no man’s debtor, and apparently had never before been
seen.
The trumpet was sounding to close the gates, as Alroy passed the Zion
entrance. The temptation was irresistible. He rushed out, and ran for
more than one hundred yards without looking back, and when he did, he
had the satisfaction of ascertaining that he was fairly shut out for the
night. The sun had set, still the Mount of Olives was flushed with the
reflection of his dying beams, but Jehoshaphat at its feet was in deep
shadow.
He wandered among the mountains for some time, beholding Jerusalem from
a hundred different points of view, and watching the single planets and
clustering constellations that gradually burst into beauty, or gathered
into light. At length, somewhat exhausted, he descended into the vale.
The scanty rill of Siloah[45] looked like a thread of silver winding in
the moonlight. Some houseless wretches were slumbering under the arch
of its fountain. Several isolated tombs of considerable size[46] rose at
the base of Olivet, and the largest of these Alroy entered. Proceeding
through a narrow passage, he entered a small square chamber. On each
side was an empty sarcophagus of granite, one with its lid broken.
Between these the Prince of the Captivity laid his robe, and, wearied by
his ramble, soon soundly slept.
After some hours he woke. He fancied that he had been wakened by the
sound of voices. The chamber was not quite dark. A straggling moonbeam
fought its way through an open fretwork pattern in the top of the tomb,
and just revealed the dim interior. Suddenly a voice spoke, a strange
and singular voice.
‘Brother, brother, the sounds of the night begin.’
Another voice answered,
‘Brother, brother, I hear them, too.’
‘The woman in labour!’
‘The thief at his craft!’
‘The sentinel’s challenge!’
‘The murderer’s step!’
‘Oh! the merry sounds of the night!’
‘Brother, brother, let us come forth and wander about the world.’
‘We have seen all things. I’ll lie here and listen to the baying hound.
‘Tis music for a tomb.’
‘Choice and rare. You are idle. I like to sport in the starry air. Our
hours are few, they should be fair.’
‘What shall we see, Heaven or Earth?’ ‘Hell for me, ‘tis more amusing.’
‘As for me, I am sick of Hades.’ ‘Let us visit Solomon!’ ‘In his unknown
metropolis?’
‘That will be rare.’
‘But where, oh! where?’
‘Even a spirit cannot tell. But they say, but they say, I dare not
whisper what they say.’
‘Who told you?’
‘No one. I overheard an Afrite whispering to a female Ghoul he wanted to
seduce.’
‘Hah! hah! hah! hah! choice pair, choice pair! We are more ethereal.’
‘She was a beauty in her way. Her eyes were luminous, though somewhat
dank, and her cheek tinged with carnation caught from infant blood.’
‘Oh! gay; oh! gay; what said they?’
‘He was a deserter without leave from Solomon’s body-guard. The trull
wriggled the secret out.’
‘Tell me, kind brother.’
‘I’ll show, not tell.’
‘I pr’ythee tell me.’
‘Well, then, well. In Genthesma’s gloomy cave there is a river none has
reached, and you must sail, and you must sail---- Brother!’
‘Ay.’
‘Methinks I smell something too earthly.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The breath of man.’
‘Scent more fatal than the morning air! Away, away!’
In the range of mountains that lead from Olivet to the river Jordan is
the great cavern of Genthesma, a mighty excavation formed by the
combined and immemorial work of Nature and of Art; for on the high
basaltic columns are cut strange characters and unearthly forms,[47] and
in many places the natural ornaments have been completed by the hands of
the sculptor into symmetrical entablatures and fanciful capitals, the
work, they say, of captive Dives and conquered Afrites for the great
king.
It was midnight; the cold full moon showered it brilliancy upon this
narrow valley, shut in on all sides by black and barren mountains. A
single being stood at the entrance of the cave.
It was Alroy. Desperate and determined, after listening to the spirits
in the tomb, he resolved to penetrate the mysteries of Genthesma. He
took from his girdle a flint and steel, with which he lighted a torch
and then he entered.
The cavern narrowed as he cautiously advanced, and soon he found himself
at the head of an evidently artificial gallery. A crowd of bats rushed
forward and extinguished his torch [48] He leant down to relight it and
in so doing observed that he had trod upon an artificial pavement.
The gallery was of great extent, with a gradual declination [49] Being
in a straight line with the mouth of the cavern, the moonlit scene was
long visible, but Alroy, on looking round, now perceived that the
exterior was shut out by the eminence that he had left behind him. The
sides of the gallery were covered with strange and sculptured forms.
The Prince of the Captivity proceeded along this gallery for nearly two
hours. A distant murmur of falling water, which might have been
distinguished nearly from the first, increased in sound as he advanced,
and now, from the loud roar and dash at hand, he felt that he was on the
brink of some cataract. It as very dark. His heart trembled. He felt
his footing ere he ventured to advance. The spray suddenly leaped
forward and extinguished his torch.
His eminent danger filled him with terror, and he receded some paces,
but in vain endeavoured to reillumine his torch, which was soaked with
water.
His courage deserted him. Energy and exertion seemed hopeless. He was
about to deliver himself up to despair, when and expanding lustre
attracted his attention in the opposing gloom.
A small and bright red cloud seemed sailing towards him. It opened,
discharged from its bosom as silvery star, and dissolved again into
darkness. But the star remained, the silvery star, and threw a long line
of tremulous light upon the vast and raging rapid, which now, fleet and
foaming, revealed itself on all sides to the eye of Alroy.
The beautiful interposition in his favour re-animated the adventurous
pilgrim. A dark shadow in the foreground, breaking the line of light
shed by the star upon the waters, attracted his attention. He advanced,
regained his former footing, and more nearly examined it. It was a boat,
and in the boat, mute and immovable, sat one of those vast, singular,
and hidden forms which eh had observed sculptured on the walls of the
gallery.
David Alry, committing his fortunes to the God of Israel, leapt into the
boat.
And at the same moment the Afrite, for it was one of those dread
beings,[50] raised the oars, and the barque moved. The falling waters
suddenly parted in the long line of the star’s reflection, and the
barque glided through their high and severed masses.
In this wise they proceeded for a few minutes, until they entered a
beautiful and moonlit lake. In the distance was mountainous country.
Alroy examined his companion with a feeling of curiosity not unmixed
with terror. It was remarkable that Alroy could never succeed in any way
in attracting his notice. The Afrite seemed totally unconscious of the
presence of his passenger. At length the boat reached the opposite shore
of the lake, and the Prince of the Captivity debarked.
He debarked at the head of an avenue of colossal lions of red
granite,[51] extending far as the eye could reach, and ascending the
side of the mountain, which was cut into a flight of magnificent
steps. The easy ascent was in consequence soon accomplished, and Alroy,
proceeding along the avenue of lions, soon gained the summit of the
mountain.
To his infinite astonishment he beheld Jerusalem. That strongly-marked
locality could not be mistaken: at his feet were Jehoshaphat, Kedron,
Siloah; he stood upon Olivet; before him was Zion. But in all other
respects, how different was the landscape from the one that he had gazed
upon a few days back, for the first time! The surrounding hills
sparkled with vineyards, and glowed with summer palaces, and voluptuous
pavilions, and glorious gardens of pleasure. The city, extending all
over Mount Sion, was encompassed with a wall of white marble, with
battlements of gold; a gorgeous mass of gates and pillars, and gardened
terraces; lofty piles of rarest materials, cedar, and ivory, and
precious stones; and costly columns of the richest workmanship and the
most fanciful orders, capitals of the lotus and the palm, and flowing
friezes of the olive and the vine.
And in the front a mighty Temple rose, with inspiration in its very
form; a Temple so vast, so sumptuous, that there needed no priest to
tell us that no human hand planned that sublime magnificence!
‘God of my fathers!’ said Alroy, ‘I am a poor, weak thing, and my life
has been a life of dreams and visions, and I have sometimes thought my
brain lacked a sufficient master; where am I? Do I sleep or live? Am I a
slumberer or a ghost? This trial is too much.’ He sank down, and hid
his face in his hands: his over-exerted mind appeared to desert him: he
wept.
Many minutes elapsed before Alroy grew composed. His wild bursts of
weeping sank into sobs, and the sobs died off into sighs. And at length,
calm from exhaustion, he again looked up, and lo! the glorious city was
no more! Before him was a moon-lit plain, over which the avenue of
lions still advanced, and appeared to terminate only in the mountainous
distance.
This limit the Prince of the Captivity at length reached, and stood
before a stupendous portal, cut out of the solid rock, four hundred feet
in height, and supported by clusters of colossal Caryatides.[52] Upon
the portal were engraven some Hebrew characters, which upon examination
proved to be the same as those upon the talisman of Jabaster. And so,
taking from his bosom that all-precious and long-cherished deposit,
David Alroy, in obedience to his instructions, pressed the signet
against the gigantic portal.
The portal opened with a crash of thunder louder than an earthquake.
Pale, panting, and staggering, the Prince of the Captivity entered an
illimitable hall, illumined by pendulous balls of glowing metal. On each
side of the hall, sitting on golden thrones, was ranged a line of kings,
and, as the pilgrim entered, the monarchs rose, and took off their
diadems, and waved them thrice, and thrice repeated, in solemn chorus,
‘All hail, Alroy! Hail to thee, brother king! Thy crown awaits thee!’
The Prince of the Captivity stood trembling, with his eyes fixed upon
the ground, and leaning breathless against a column. And when at length
he had a little recovered himself, and dared again to look up, he found
that the monarchs were re-seated; and, from their still and vacant
visages, apparently unconscious of his presence. And this emboldened
him, and so, staring alternately at each side of the hall, but with a
firm, perhaps desperate step, Alroy advanced.
And he came to two thrones which were set apart from the others in the
middle of the hall. On one was seated a noble figure, far above the
common stature, with arms folded and downcast eyes. His feet rested upon
a broken sword and a shivered sceptre, which told that he was a monarch,
in spite of his discrowned head.
And on the opposite throne was a venerable personage, with a long
flowing beard, and dressed in white raiment. His countenance
was beautiful, although ancient. Age had stolen on without its
imperfections, and time had only invested it with a sweet dignity and
solemn grace. The countenance of the king was upraised with a seraphic
gaze, and, as he thus looked up on high, with eyes full of love, and
thanksgiving, and praise, his consecrated fingers seemed to touch the
trembling wires of a golden harp.
And further on, and far above the rest, upon a throne that stretched
across the hall, a most imperial presence straightway flashed upon the
startled vision of Alroy. Fifty steps of ivory, and each step guarded
by golden lions,[53] led to a throne of jasper. A dazzling light blazed
forth from the glittering diadem and radiant countenance of him who sat
upon the throne, one beautiful as a woman, but with the majesty of a
god. And in one hand he held a seal, and in the other a sceptre.
And when Alroy had reached the foot of the throne, he stopped, and his
heart misgave him. And he prayed for some minutes in silent devotion,
and, without daring to look up, he mounted the first step of the throne,
and the second, and the third, and so on, with slow and faltering feet,
until he reached the forty-ninth step.
The Prince of the Captivity raised his eyes. He stood before the monarch
face to face. In vain Alroy attempted to attract his attention, or to
fix his gaze. The large dark eyes, full of supernatural lustre, appeared
capable of piercing all things, and illuminating all things, but they
flashed on without shedding a ray upon Alroy.
Pale as a spectre, the pilgrim, whose pilgrimage seemed now on the point
of completion, stood cold and trembling before the object of all his
desires and all his labours. But he thought of his country, his people,
and his God; and, while his noiseless lips breathed the name of Jehovah,
solemnly he put forth his arm, and with a gentle firmness grasped the
unresisting sceptre of his great ancestor.
And, as he seized it, the whole scene vanished from his sight!
Hours or years might have passed away, so far as the sufferer was
concerned, when Alroy again returned to self-consciousness. His eyes
slowly opened, he cast around a vacant stare, he was lying in the cavern
of Genthesma. The moon had set, but the morn had not broken. A single
star glittered over the brow of the black mountains. He faintly moved
his limbs; he would have raised his hand to his bewildered brain, but
found that it grasped a sceptre. The memory of the past returned to him.
He tried to rise, and found that he was reposing in the arms of a human
being. He turned his head; he met the anxious gaze of Jabaster!