At nightfall Sulamith went to that spot in the old city where, in long
rows, stretched the shops of the moneychangers, usurers, and dealers
in sweet-smelling condiments. There she sold to a jeweller for three
drachmas and one dinar her only valuable,--her earrings for festal days;
of silver, in the form of rings, each with a little golden star.
Then she paid a visit to a seller of perfumes. In the deep, dark,
stone niche, in the midst of jars with gray Arabian amber, packets of
frankincense from Lebanon, bunches of aromatic herbs, and phials with
oils, was sitting an Ægyptian, a castrate,--old, obese, wrinkled,
immobile, all fragrant himself; his legs tucked under him, and blinking
his lazy eyes. He carefully counted out of a Phoenician flask into a
little clay flagon just as many drops of myrrh as there were dinarii
among all the moneys of Sulamith; and when he had finished this task he
said, gathering up with the stopper the remnant of the oil around the
neck of the bottle, and laughing slyly:
“Swarthy maiden, beautiful maiden! When this day thy beloved shall kiss
thee between thy breasts and say: ‘How fragrant is thy body, O my
beloved!’--recall me at that moment. I have poured over three extra
drops for thee.”
And so, when night had come, and the moon had risen over Siloam,
blending the blue whiteness of its houses with the black blueness of the
shadows and the dull green of the trees, Sulamith did arise from her
humble couch of goats’-wool and hearkened. All was quiet in the house.
Her sister was breathing evenly upon the floor, nigh the wall. Only
outside, in the wayside bushes, the cicadas chirped stridently and
passionately; and the blood throbbed noisily in her ears. The shadow of
the window-lattice, etched by the light of the moon, lay, sharp and
oblique, upon the floor.
Trembling with timidity, expectation, and happiness, Sulamith loosened
her garments, let them down to her feet, and, stepping over them, was
left naked in the middle of the room, facing the window, in the light of
the moon falling through the bars of the lattice. She poured the thick,
sweet-smelling myrrh upon her shoulders, upon her bosom, upon her
abdomen; and, fearing to lose even one precious drop, began to rub
the oil over her legs, under her armpits, and about her neck. And
the smooth, slippery touch of her palms and elbows against her body
compelled her to shiver with sweet anticipation. And, smiling and
trembling, she gazed out of the window, where, beyond the lattice, two
poplars showed,--dark on one side, silvered on the other,--and whispered
to herself:
“This is for thee, my love; this is for thee, my beloved. My beloved is
the chiefest among ten thousand, his head is as the most fine gold, his
locks are bushy, and black as a raven. His lips are most sweet; yea, he
is all desire. This is my beloved, and this is my brother, O daughters
of Jerusalem!...”
And now, fragrant with myrrh, she lay down upon her couch. Her face is
turned toward the window; her hands, like a child, she has squeezed
between her knees; her heart fills the room with its loud beating. Much
time passes. Scarce closing her eyes, she is plunged into dozing, but
her heart keeps vigil. As in a dream, it seems to her that her dear is
lying beside her. In a joyous fright she casts off her drowsiness; she
seeks her beloved near her on the couch, but finds no one. The moon’s
design upon the floor has crept nearer the wall, is dwindled and more
oblique. The cicadas are calling; the Brook of Kidron babbles on
monotonously; the doleful chant of a night watchman is heard in the city.
“What if he comes not to-day?” thinks Sulamith; “I did implore him,--and
what if he hath suddenly obeyed me?... I charge you, O ye daughters of
Jerusalem, by the roses and lilies of the field: awake not love till it
come.... But now my love hath come to me. Make haste, my beloved! Thy
bride awaits thee. Make haste like to a young hart upon the mountains of
spices.”
The sand crunches in the yard under light steps. And the soul of the
maiden deserts her. A cautious hand knocks at the window. A dark face
shows on the other side of the lattice. The low voice of her beloved is
heard:
“Open to me, my sister, my dove, my undefiled! For my head is filled
with dew.”
But a charmed numbness has suddenly taken possession of Sulamith’s body.
She wants to rise, and can not; wants to move her hand, and can not.
And, without understanding what is taking place with her, she whispers,
gazing through the window:
“Ah, his locks are filled with the drops of the night! But I have put
off my chiton. How shall I put it on?”
“Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. The morn is nigh, flowers
appear on the earth, and the vines with the tender grape give a goodly
smell; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the
turtle dove is heard from the mountains.”
“I have washed my feet,” whispers Sulamith; “how shall I defile them?”
The dark head disappears from the window-lattice; the resounding steps
pass around the house and cease at the door. The beloved cautiously puts
in his hand by the hole of the door. His fingers can be heard groping
for the inner bolt.
Then does Sulamith rise up, pressing her palms hard against her breasts,
and whispers in affright:
“My sister sleeps--I fear to awaken her.”
She irresolutely dons her sandals, puts a light chiton upon her naked
body, throws a vail over it, and opens the door, leaving marks of myrrh
upon the handles of the lock. But there is no longer anyone upon the
road that glimmers whitely in its solitude between the dark bushes in
the gray murk of morning. The beloved had not waited, and was gone; not
even his steps were to be heard. The moon has dwindled and paled, and
floats on high. In the east, above the waves of the mountains, the sky
is putting on a chilly pink before the dawn. In the distance the walls
and towers of Jerusalem glimmer whitely.
“My beloved! King of my life!” Sulamith calls into the humid darkness.
“I am here. I await thee.... Return!”
But none responds.
“I will run upon the highway; I shall, I shall overtake my beloved,”
Sulamith says to herself. “I will go about the city in the streets and
in the broad ways; I will seek him whom my soul loveth. O that thou wert
as my brother, that sucked the breast of my mother! When I should find
thee without, I would kiss thee; yea, I should not be despised. I would
lead thee, and bring thee into my mother’s house. Thou wouldst instruct
me; I would cause thee to drink of the juice of my pomegranates. I
charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell
him I am smitten by love.”
Thus does she commune with herself, and with light, docile steps runs
upon the road toward the city. At the Dung Gates near the wall, two
watchmen that had gone about the city at night are sitting and dozing
in the chill of the morning. They awaken and stare with astonishment at
the running girl. The younger arises and blocks her way with outstretched
arms.
“Stay, stay, thou fair!” exclaims he with laughter. “Whither so fast?
Thou hast passed the night on the sly in the bed of thy dear and art yet
warm from his embraces; whereas we have been chilled through by the
dampness of the night. It would be but fair if thou wert to sit a while
with us.”
The elder also arises and wants to embrace Sulamith. He does not laugh;
he breathes heavily, fast, and with wheezing; he is licking his blue
lips with his tongue. His face, made hideous by great scars of healed
leprosy, seems frightful in the pallid murk. He speaks in a voice hoarse
and snuffling:
“Yea, of a truth. What is thy beloved more than other men, sweet maiden!
Shut thy eyes, and thou canst not tell me apart from him. I am even
better, for, of a certainty, I am more experienced than he.”
They clutch at her bosom, her shoulders, her arms and raiment. But
Sulamith is lithe and strong, and her body, anointed with oil, is
slippery. She tears herself away, leaving in the hands of the watchmen
her outer vail, and runs back still faster along the same road. She has
experienced neither offense nor fear,--she is all swallowed up in
thoughts of Solomon. Passing by her house, she sees the door out of
which she had just gone still left open, a gaping black quadrangle in
the white wall. But she merely catches her breath, shrinks within
herself, like a young cat, and runs by on her tip-toes with never a sound.
She crosses the bridge of Kidron, avoids the outskirt of the village of
Siloam, and by a stony road gradually climbs the southern slope of
Beth-El-Khav, into her vineyard. Her brother is still sleeping among the
vines, wrapped up in a woolen blanket all wet from the dew. Sulamith
rouses him, but he can not awaken, enchained by the morning sleep of
youth.
As yesterday, the dawn is flaming over Anaze. A wind springs up. The
fragrance of the grape in blossom streams through the air.
“I shall come away and look upon that place of the wall where my beloved
hath stood,” Sulamith is saying. “I shall feel with my hands the stones
that he hath touched; I shall kiss the ground beneath his feet.”
She glides lightly between the vines. The dew falls from them, chilling
her feet and spattering her elbows. And now a joyous cry from Sulamith
fills the vineyard! The king is standing beyond the wall. With a radiant
face he stretches out his arms to meet her.
More lightly than a bird Sulamith surmounts the enclosure, and, without
words, with a moan of happiness, entwines the king.
Several minutes pass thus. Finally, tearing his lips away from her
mouth, Solomon speaks, enraptured, and his voice trembles:
“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair!”
“O, how fair art thou, my beloved!”
Tears of delight and gratefulness,--blessed tears,--sparkle upon
Sulamith’s pale and beautiful face. Languishing with love, she sinks to
the ground and whispers words of madness in a barely audible voice.
“Our bed is green. The beams of our house are cedars.... Kiss me with
the kisses of thy mouth--for thy love is better than wine....”
After a brief space Sulamith is lying with her head upon Solomon’s
breast. His left arm is embracing her.
Bending to her very ear, the king is whispering something to her; the
king is tenderly apologizing, and Sulamith reddens from his words and
closes her eyes. Then, with an inexpressibly lovely smile of confusion,
she says:
“My mother’s children made me the keeper of the vineyard.... But mine
own vineyard have I not kept.”
But Solomon takes her little swarthy hand and presses it fervently to
his lips.
“Thou dost not regret this, Sulamith?”
“O nay, my king, my beloved. I regret it not. Wert thou to arise this
minute and go from me, and were I condemned never to see thee after, I
would to the end of my life utter thy name with gratitude, Solomon!”
“Tell me one thing else, Sulamith.... Only, I beseech thee, speak the
truth, my undefiled.... Didst thou know who I am?”
“Nay,--even now I know it not. Methought.... But I am shamed to confess
it.... I fear thou wilt laugh at me.... They tell, that here, upon Mount
Beth-El-Khav, pagan gods do oft wander.... Many of them, it is said, are
beautiful.... And methought: art thou not Hor, the son of Osiris; or
else some other god?”
“Nay, I am but a king, beloved. But here, upon this spot, I kiss thy
dear hand, scorched of the sun, and swear to thee that never
yet--neither in the time of first love longings, nor in the days of my
glory--has my heart flamed with such an insatiable desire as that which
is awakened within me by thy mere smile, by the mere touch of thy
flaming locks,--the mere curve of thy purple lips! Thou art comely as
the tents of Kedar, as the curtains in the temple of Solomon! Thy
caresses intoxicate me. Behold thy breasts--they are fragrant. Thy
nipples are as wine!”
“O, yea,--gaze, gaze upon me, beloved. Thy eyes arouse me! O, what
joy!--for thy desire is unto me,--me! Thy locks are scented. As a bundle
of myrrh thou dost lie betwixt my breasts!”
Time ceases its current and closes over them in a solar cycle. Their bed
is the green; their roof is of cedars; and their walls are of cypresses.
And the banner over their tent is love.