The king had a vineyard at Baal-hamon, upon the southern slope of
Bath-El-Khav, to the south of the idol-temple of Moloch; thither
did the king love to withdraw in the hours of his great meditations.
Pomegranate,--olive,--and wild apple-trees, interspersed with cedars and
cypresses, bordered it on three sides upon the mountain, while on the
fourth it was fenced off from the road by a high stone wall. And other
vineyards, lying about, also belonged to Solomon; he let them out unto
keepers, each one for a thousand pieces of silver.
Only with the dawn came to an end in the palace the magnificent feast
which the King of Israel was giving in honour of the emissaries of the
King of Assyria, the good Tiglath-Pileser. Despite his fatigue, Solomon
could not fall asleep this morn. Neither wine nor hippocras had befogged
the stout heads of the Assyrians, nor loosened their canny tongues. But
the penetrating mind of the wise king had already forestalled their
plans, and was, in its turn, already weaving a fine political net,
wherein he would enmesh these proud men with supercilious eyes and of
flattering speech. Solomon would be able to preserve the necessary amity
with the potentate of Assyria, yet at the same time, for the sake of
his eternal friendship with Hiram of Tyre, would save from pillage the
latter’s kingdom, which, with its countless riches, hid in subterranean
vaults underneath narrow streets, had for a long time drawn the covetous
gazes of oriental sovereigns.
And so at dawn Solomon had commanded himself to be borne to Mount
Bath-El-Khav; had left the litter far down the road, and is now seated
alone upon a simple wooden bench, above the vineyard, under the shade of
the trees, still hiding in their branches the dewy chill of night. The
king has on a simple white mantle, fastened at the right shoulder and
at the left side by two Ægyptian clasps of green gold, in the shape of
curled crocodiles,--the symbol of the god Sebekh. The hands of the king
lie motionless upon his knees, while his eyes, overshadowed by deep
thought, unwinking, are directed toward the east, in the direction of
the Dead Sea,--there, where from the rounded summit of Anaze the sun is
rising in the flame of dawn.
The morning wind is blowing from the east and spreads the fragrance of
the grape in blossom,--a delicate fragrance, like that of mignonette and
mulled wine. The dark cypresses sway their slender tops pompously and
pour out their resinous breath. The silvery-green leaves of the olives
hurriedly converse among themselves.
But now Solomon arises and hearkens carefully. An endearing feminine
voice, clear and pure as this dewy morn, is singing somewhere not far
off, beyond the trees. The simple and tender motive runs on and on, of
its own accord, like a ringing rill in the mountains, repeating the five
or six notes, always the same. And its unpretentious, exquisite charm
calls forth a smile in the eyes of the touched king.
Nearer and nearer sounds the voice. Now it is already here, alongside,
behind the spreading cedars, behind the dark verdure of the junipers.
Then the king cautiously parts the branches with his hands, quietly
makes his way between the prickly branches, and comes out upon an open
place.
Before him, beyond the low wall, rudely built of great yellow stones,
the vineyard spreads upward. A girl, in a light garment of blue, walks
between the rows of vines, bending down over something below, and again
straightening up, and she is singing. Her ruddy hair flames in the sun:
The breath of the day is coolness,
And the shadows flee away.
Turn, my beloved,
And be thou like a roe or a young hart,
Within the clefts of the rocks....
Thus sings she, tying up the grapevines, and slowly descends, nearer and
nearer the stone wall behind which the king is standing. She is alone,
none sees nor hears her; the scent of the grapes in blossom, the joyous
freshness of the morning, and the warm blood in her heart are like
wine unto her, and now the words of the naïve little song are born
spontaneously upon her lips and are carried away by the wind, to be
forgotten forever:
Take us the foxes,
The little foxes
That spoil the vines:
For our vines have tender grapes.
In this manner does she reach the very wall, and, without noticing the
king, turns about and walks on, climbing the hill lightly, along the
neighbouring row of vines. Now her song sounds less distinctly:
Make haste, my beloved,
And be thou like to a roe or a young hart
Upon the mountains of spices.
But suddenly she grows silent and bends so low to the ground that she
can not be seen behind the vines.
Then Solomon utters in a voice that caresses the ear:
“Maiden, show me thy face; let me hear thy voice anew.”
She straightens up quickly and turns her face to the king. A strong wind
arises at this second and flutters the light garment upon her, suddenly
making it cling tightly around her body and between her legs. And the
king, for an instant, until she turns her back to the wind, sees all of
her beneath the raiment, as though naked,--tall and graceful, in the
vigorous bloom of thirteen years; sees her little, round, firm breasts
and the elevations of her nipples, from which the cloth spreads out in
rays; and the virginal abdomen, round as a bason; and the deep line that
divides her legs from the bottom to the top, and there parts in two,
toward the rounded hips.
“For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance comely,” says Solomon.
She draws nearer and gazes upon the king with trembling and with
rapture. Her swarthy and vivid face is inexpressibly beautiful. Her
heavy, thick, dark-red hair, into which she has stuck two flowers of the
scarlet poppy, covers her shoulders in countless resilient ringlets and
spreads over her back, and, transpierced by the rays of the sun, glows
in flame, like aureate purple. A necklace which she had made herself out
of some red, dried berries, naïvely winds twice about her long, dark,
slender neck.
“I did not notice thee!” she says gently, and her voice sounds like the
song of a flute. “Whence didst thou come?”
“Thou sangst so well, maiden!”
She bashfully casts down her eyes and turns red, but beneath her long
lashes and in the corners of her lips trembles a secret smile.
“Thou sangst of thy dear. He is as light as a roe, as a young hart upon
the mountains. For he is very fair, thy dear,--is not that the truth,
maiden?”
Her laughter is ringing and musical, as though silver were falling upon
a golden platter.
“I have no dear. It is but a song. I have yet had no dear....”
For a minute they are silent, and intently, without smiling, gaze at
each other.... Birds loudly call one another among the trees. The
maiden’s bosom quickly rises and falls under the worn linen.
“I do believe thee, beautiful one. Thou art so fair....”
“Thou dost mock me. Behold, how black I am....”
She lifts up her small, dark arms, and the broad sleeves lightly slide
down towards her shoulders, baring her elbows, that have such a slender
and rounded outline.
And she says plaintively:
“My brethren were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the
vineyard,--and now behold how the sun hath scorched me.”
“O, nay, the sun hath made thee still more fair, thou fairest among
women. Lo, thou hast smiled,--and thy teeth are like white twin-lambs,
which come up from the washing, and none among them hath a blemish. Thy
cheeks are like the halves of a pomegranate within thy locks. Thy lips
are scarlet,--yea, pleasant to gaze upon. As for thy hair ... Dost know
what thy hair is like? Hast thou ever beheld a flock of sheep come down
from Mount Gilead at eve? It covers all the mountain, from summit to
foot, and from the light of the evening glow and from the dust it seems
even as ruddy and as wavy as thy locks. Thine eyes are as deep as the
two fishponds in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim. O, how fair art
thou! Thy neck is straight and graceful, like the tower of David!...”
“Like the tower of David!” she repeats in rapture.
“Yea, yea, thou fairest among women. A thousand bucklers hang upon the
tower of David, all shields of vanquished chieftains. Lo, I hang my
shield also upon thy tower....”
“O, speak on, speak on....”
“And when thou didst turn around in answer to my call, and the wind
arose, I did see beneath thy raiment thy two nipples and methought:
Here be two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies. This
thy stature was like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of
grapes.”
The girl cries out faintly, hides her face with her palms, and her bosom
with her elbows, and blushes so that even her ears and neck turn
crimson.
“And I saw thy hips. They are shapely, like a precious vase, the work of
the hands of a cunning workman. Take away thy hands, therefore, maiden.
Show me thy face.”
She submissively let her hands drop. A deep, golden radiance glows from
the eyes of Solomon and casts a spell over her, makes her head dizzy,
and in a sweet, warm tremour streams over the skin of her body.
“Tell me, who art thou?” she says slowly, in perplexity. “Never have I
seen any like to thee.”
“I am a shepherd, my beauty. I graze my splendid flocks of white lambs
upon the mountains, where the green grass is pied with narcissi. Wilt
thou not come with me, unto my pasture?”
But she quietly shakes her head:
“Canst thou think that I will believe this? Thy face has not grown rough
from the wind, nor is it scorched by the sun, and thy hands are white.
Thou hast on a costly chiton, and the buckle upon it is worth the yearly
rental that my brothers bring for our vineyard to Adoniram, the king’s
tax-gatherer. Thou hast come from yonder, from beyond the wall. Thou
art, surely, one of the men near to the king? Meseems I saw thee once
upon the day of a great festival; I even remember running after thy
chariot.”
[Illustration]
“Thou hast guessed it, maiden. It is hard to be hid from thee. And
verily, why shouldst thou be a wanderer nigh the flocks of the
shepherds? Yea, I am one of the king’s retinue. I am the chief cook of
the king. And thou didst see me when I rode in the chariot of Ammi-nadib
on the gala-day of Passover. But why dost thou stand distant from me?
Draw nearer, my sister! Sit down here upon the stones of the wall and
tell me something of thyself. Tell me thy name.”
“Sulamith,” she says.
“Then, Sulamith, why have thy brothers grown wroth with thee?”
“I am ashamed to speak of it. They received moneys from the sale of their
wine, and sent me to the city to buy bread and goat-cheese. But I ...”
“And thou didst lose the money?”
“Nay, still worse....”
She bends her head low and whispers:
“Besides bread and cheese I bought a little of attar of roses,--oh, so
little!--from the Ægyptians in the old city.”
“And thou didst keep this from thy brethren?”
“Yea....”
And she utters in a barely audible voice:
“Attar of roses hath so goodly a smell!”
The king caressingly strokes her little rough hand.
“Surely, thou must be lonesome, all alone in thy vineyard?”
“Nay, I work, I sing.... At noon food is brought me, and at evening one
of my brothers relieves me. At times I dig for the roots of the
mandragora, that look like little mannikins.... The Chaldæan merchants
buy them from us. It is said they make a sleeping potion out of them....
Tell me, is it true that the berries of the mandragora help in love?”
“Nay, Sulamith, only love can help in love. Tell me, hast thou a father
or a mother?”
“Only a mother. My father died two years ago. My brethren are all older
than I,--they are from the first marriage; only my sister and I have
sprung from the second.”
“Is thy sister as comely as thou?”
“She is little. She is but nine.”
The king laughs quietly, embraces Sulamith, draws her to him, and
whispers into her ear:
“Therefore, she hath no such breast as thine? A breast as proud, as
warm?...”
She is silent, burning with shame and happiness. Her eyes glow and grow
dim, with the mist of a happy smile over them. The king feels the
riotous beating of her heart within his hand.
“The warmth of thy garments hath a goodlier smell than myrrh, than
nard,” he is saying, avidly touching her ear with his lips. “And when
thou breathest, the smell of thy nostrils is like that of apples unto
me. My sister, my beloved, thou hast ravished my heart with one glance
of thy eyes, with one chain of thy neck.”
“O, gaze not upon me!” implores Sulamith. “Thine eyes stir me.”
But of her own accord she bends backward and lays her head upon
Solomon’s breast. Her lips glow over the gleaming teeth, her eyelids
tremble with intense desire. Solomon’s lips cling greedily to her
enticing mouth. He feels the flame of her lips and the slipperiness of
her teeth, and the sweet moistness of her tongue; and he is all consumed
of an unbearable desire, such as he has never yet known in his life.
Thus passes one minute; then two.
“What dost thou with me!” says Sulamith faintly, closing her eyes.
But Solomon passionately whispers near her very mouth:
“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb; honey and milk are under
thy tongue.... O, come away with me, speedily. Here, behind the wall, it
is dark and cool. None shall see us. The green is soft here underneath
the cedars.”
“Nay, nay, leave me. I desire it not, I can not.”
“Sulamith ... thou dost desire it, thou dost desire it.... Come to me,
my sister, my beloved!”
Some one’s steps resound below, upon the highway, below the wall of the
vineyard, but Solomon detains the frightened girl by her hand.
“Tell me, quickly,--where dwellest thou? This night shall I come to thee,”
he is hurriedly saying.
“Nay, nay, nay ... I shall not tell thee this. Let me go. I shall not
tell thee.”
“I shall not let thee go, Sulamith, till thou dost tell.... My desire is
unto thee!”
“It is well, I shall tell thee.... But first promise not to come this
night.... Also, come thou not the following night ... nor the night
after that ... My king! I charge thee by the roes and the hinds of the
field, that thou stir not up thy beloved till she please!”
“Yea, I pledge thee this.... Where is thy dwelling, Sulamith?”
“If on the way to the city thou dost pass over the Kidron, upon the
bridge above Siloam, thou shalt see our dwelling nigh the spring.
There are no other dwellings there.”
“And which is thy window there, Sulamith?”
“Why shouldst thou know this, beloved? O, gaze not thus upon me. Thy
gaze casts a spell over me.... Do not kiss me.... Beloved! Kiss me
again....”
“But which is thy window, my only one?”
“The window on the south side. Ah, I must not tell thee this.... A
small, high window with a lattice.”
“And doth the lattice open from within?”
“Nay, it is a fixed window. But around the corner is a door. It leads
directly into the room where I sleep with my sister. But thou hast
promised me!... My sister sleeps lightly. O, how fair art thou, my
beloved! Truly, hast thou not promised?”
Solomon quietly smoothes her hair and cheeks.
“I shall come to thee this night,” he says insistently. “At midnight I
shall come. Thus, thus shall it be. I desire it.”
“Beloved!”
“Nay. Thou shalt await me. But have no fear, and put thy trust in me. I
shall cause thee no grief. I shall give thee such joy compared with
which all things upon earth are without significance. Now farewell. I
hear them coming after me.”
“Farewell, my beloved ... O, nay, go not yet! Tell me thy name,--I know
it not.”
For a moment, as though undecided, he lowers his lashes, but immediately
raises them again.
“The King and I have the same name. I am called Solomon. Farewell. I
love thee.”