Hiram, the Phœnician, was short, dark, and compactly built. His hair
was curled and oily; his body, dressed in richest silks, and in linens
forbidden to the Jews, exhaled an arresting fragrance. He walked in the
garden with Judith and her nurse, Sarah, as evening was falling.
“Redder roses than these,” he said, “bloom in the gardens of Tyre. The
serpent priestesses of Astarte, the Kedeshoth, wear them in their hair
at the festival of their goddess, who reigns in Sidon as the deity of
cows, but in Tyre as the goddess of doves.”
He had about him an air of the world, of cities by the shores of seas,
of mountains far away. As he stood on the terrace at Gath-Hepher, his
dark, shrewd eyes seemed to behold in the distance the white domes of
Tyre, shining above the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean.
“He reminds me of a man I knew long ago,” said Sarah to Judith in a low
voice; “he was a camel driver, and he had been everywhere.”
The Phœnician went on to describe the wonders of his country; the
mighty trees of Lebanon, from which Solomon’s Temple had been built,
the markets of Acre, with their silks, fruits, and ivory, the Temple of
Melcarth, Baal of Tyre, with its two great pillars of marble and gold.
He told them of the spacious Temple of Atareatis at Ascalon, with its
pool in which floated sacred fish adorned with ornaments of gold.
“At Aphaca,” he said, “there is a temple dedicated to Astarte, with a
pool into which gifts are thrown by her worshippers. Once a year this
pool is visited by the goddess in the form of a falling star. It is a
marvelous sight and makes one very thoughtful.”
“How strange,” said Judith. “And how I should love to see such a thing.”
Hiram looked at her proudly. “You can understand,” he said, “that your
temples do not compare with ours. In the first place, ours is a very
old country. And then, our religion is not like yours. Our gods have
faces you can look at, and love.”
“Yes,” said Judith, thinking of her little silver dove.
“What is more,” continued Hiram, “you who live inland cannot imagine
the wonders of the great sea-coast cities. This is all very well;
you have a pleasant garden here. But it is nothing compared to the
terraces above the harbor at Tyre, looking out over the sea. There is
magnificence for you. Well, you see, ships have come from all over the
world to decorate them.”
Sarah sighed. “I’d have seen them,” she said, “if I had gone as I was
bid.”
The Phœnician gave Sarah a wise look. “Perhaps you will see them after
all,” he said. And he glanced for a moment at Judith as he turned away.
“Oh,” said Sarah.
Overhead the sky had grown dull with evening, green in the west, where
the evening star, planet of love, hung silver over the hills. Shadows
drew down about the garden, the wind rose and moved among the trees,
the scent of flowers in the slow-falling dew ascended from the earth
and mingled with the fragrance of pines.
“How you would love the markets,” said Hiram, “with their bales of silk
and rich stuffs, the strange fruits from the West and South, the gold
and ivory. And such an enchanting odor of spices in the air.”
“Just imagine,” said Judith.
Hiram continued: “All the nations of the earth trade with my city.
The masts of our ships rise like a forest along the sea wall, and
their sails in the harbor are like orange and yellow moons. Ophir and
Egypt, the colonies of Carthage, the isles of the barbaric Greeks with
golden hair, all send their produce to us, in exchange for our linens,
cedarwood, and dyes. It is a wonderful sight to see the ships come in,
loaded with so much wealth.”
Judith sighed. “How I should love that,” she said. And she looked
around her at her uncle’s simple garden.
“That is life, isn’t it?” she said; “to live in the world, in a great
city with ships, and strange things to wear, and interesting sights to
see.”
“It is the life of a Phœnician,” said Hiram simply.
And he added, “This sort of thing is all very well, but where does it
lead to? You spend your life in a rose garden, between some low hills,
among ignorant people.”
“You would never believe how ignorant some of these people are,” said
Sarah, nodding her head.
“The life of a merchant,” said Hiram, “is another thing entirely. Take
myself, for example; I travel a great deal. And it is really amazing
how much information one is able to pick up here and there. I have been
to Crete, where I went to look at the sewers. They are made out of
stone, and very interesting. But perhaps sewers do not appeal to you?”
“Oh, yes,” said Judith, “they appeal to me very much. But tell me
something about your own city. What do the women wear? I suppose they
are very beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Hiram slowly, with his eyes on Judith, “they are beautiful.
But to tell you the truth, I have never bothered much with women. How
do they dress? With jewels, of course, and silks.... I hardly know. I
am too busy most of the time to notice such things.”
“Well,” said Sarah firmly, “I am sure you’ve seen no one in your city,
or in any other city, for that matter, to compare with our young lady.”
“No,” said Hiram, with a smile, “that is true.”
Judith blushed a fiery red. “Why,” she cried, “I am not even pretty.”
“You see,” said Sarah in Hiram’s ear, “she is not at all spoiled. What
a jewel.”
“The life of a merchant,” said Hiram thoughtfully, “is the most
interesting life in the world. There is nothing like commerce to give
one a liberal education. For one thing, the merchant has to travel a
great deal, because naturally he has to see what he is buying; he has
to visit other countries, in order to know what to sell. As you can
imagine, it is a delightful way to occupy oneself.”
“It’s quite another thing from living in a stable,” said Sarah.
“Why, Sarah,” exclaimed Judith indignantly, “we don’t live in a stable.”
“Maybe not,” the nurse admitted. “But we might just as well.”
“In the morning,” said Hiram, “I go down to the docks, to see what
ships are in. Several of the captains are known to me, and we discuss
some matters of importance. Then I visit the markets, to see for
myself what people are buying, because that is the only way to make a
success of business. It is very interesting, all of it. One has to be
perspicacious, to be a merchant. For instance, if people wish to buy
silk in Damascus, it is useless to send them sandalwood, or betel-nut,
even though I, personally, might prefer such things.
“In the evening one goes for a stroll on the terraces above the water,
to drink syrups, and watch the sun go down in the sea.
“On festival occasions the streets are gayly decorated with flowers and
rugs, and processions carrying the god pass among the houses, and meet
at the Temple. Then there is music in the evening on the terraces, and
bands of priests and worshippers perform the dances in honor of the
deity.”
Judith heaved a deep sigh. “How exciting that must be,” she said. And
she gazed before her with parted lips and dreamy eyes. But the breeze,
cold with dew, soon made her shiver.
“Let me bring you a shawl,” said Hiram. And he returned to the house
for a shawl of heavy silk, dyed in Tyrian purple, with a holy fringe,
which he had brought along with him as a gift to Judith. When he was
gone, Sarah remarked,
“That is the sort of man I like; one who has made a success in the
world and who says right out what he means.
“What a wonderful life he leads. You can see that he knows how to live.
A merchant--yes; that’s the life for a person.”
Judith did not answer. When the Phœnician returned with the shawl, and
drew it around her shoulders, she thanked him faintly; she would not
even have noticed how beautiful it was, if it had not been for Sarah.
The last birds were singing before night; the sky shone with the blue
of evening. Far off beyond the hills lay the great ocean, wide as the
world, with its sails, like orange moons, blowing home from barbarous
lands. And over it, terrace on terrace, the queenly city with its
laughing festivals, its temples, its sacred pools.... She closed her
eyes ... such beauty, such dignity to life, so much to see and hear of;
her young heart, dry with curiosity, filled like a pool with longing
and despair; her pure and ignorant mind gave itself up in abandon to
excitement, to happiness, to festivals with music, to syrup on the
terraces as the sun went down ... to ships and wonder....
“Oh, how I should like to be a merchant,” she cried.
Hiram of Tyre bent his dark head humbly upon her hand.