And it was the seventh night of Solomon’s great love.
Strangely quiet and deeply tender were the caresses of the king and
Sulamith on this night. Some pensive melancholy, some cautious timidity,
some distant premonition, seemed to have cast a slight shadow over their
words, their kisses and embraces.
Gazing through the window at the sky, where night was already
vanquishing the sinking flame of the evening, Sulamith let her eyes rest
upon a bright, bluish star that trembled meekly and tenderly.
“What is that star called, my beloved?” she asked.
“That is the star Sopdit,” answered the king. “It is a sacred star.
Assyrian magi tell us that the souls of all men dwell upon it after the
death of the body.”
“Dost thou believe it, my king?”
Solomon made no reply. His right hand was under Sulamith’s head, and his
left did embrace her; and she felt his aromatic breath upon her,--upon
her hair, upon her temple.
“Mayhap we shall see each other there, my king, after we have died?”
asked Sulamith uneasily.
The king again kept silence.
“Give me some answer, beloved,” timidly implored Sulamith.
Whereupon the king said:
“Brief is the life of man, but time is without end, and matter hath no
death. Man dieth and maketh the earth fertile with the corruption of his
body; the earth nourisheth the blade; the blade bringeth forth grain;
man consumeth bread, and feedeth his body therewith. Multitudes, and
multitudes upon multitudes, of ages shall pass; all things in the
universe repeat themselves,--men, beasts, stones, plants,--all repeat
themselves. In the multiform vortex of time and matter we, too, are
repeated, my beloved. It is just as true as that, if thou and I were to
fill a large bag up to the top with sea gravel, and were to cast therein
but one precious sapphire,--though we were to take pebbles out of the bag
many, many times, we still would, sooner or later, draw out the precious
stone as well. Thou and I will meet, Sulamith, nor shall we know each
other; but our hearts, with rapture and yearning, will strive to meet,
for thou and I have already met,--my meek, my fair Sulamith,--though we
remember it not.”
“Nay, my king, nay! I remember. When thou didst stand beneath the window
and didst call to me: ‘My fair, come out, for my locks are filled with
the drops of the night!’ I knew thee, I remembered thee; and fear and
joy possessed my heart. Tell me, my king,--tell me, Solomon: if I were,
say, to die on the morrow, wouldst thou recall thy swarthy maiden of the
vineyard, thy Sulamith?”
And the king, pressing her to his breast, whispered in emotion:
“Never speak thus.... Speak not thus, O Sulamith! Thou art chosen of God,
thou art the veritable one, thou art the queen of my soul.... Death
shall not touch thee....”
The strident sound of brass suddenly soared over Jerusalem. For long it
trembled mournfully and wavered in the air, and when it had grown silent
its quavering echoes still floated on for a long while.
“This marks the ending of the mystery in the temple of Isis,” said the
king.
“I am afraid, my comely one,” whispered Sulamith. “A dark terror has
penetrated into my soul.... I do not want to die.... I have not yet had
time to enjoy my fill of thy embraces.... Embrace me.... Press me closer
to thee.... Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm!...”
“Fear not death, Sulamith! For love is strong as death.... Drive sad
thoughts from thee.... Wouldst have me tell thee of the wars of David,
of the feasts and hunts of the Pharaoh Shishak? Wouldst hear one of
those fairy tales that come from the land of Ophir?... Wouldst have me
tell thee of the wonders of Bakramaditiah?”
“Yea, my king. Thou dost know thyself that when I hearken to thee, my
heart doth expand from happiness! But I would ask a boon of thee....”
“O Sulamith, all that thou dost desire! Ask my life of me,--I shall
render it up to thee with delight. I shall only regret having paid too
small a price for thy love.”
[Illustration]
Then Sulamith smiled in the darkness for happiness, and, entwining the
king with her arms, whispered in his ear:
“I beseech thee, when the morning cometh let us go together there ... to
the vineyard.... There, where it is green, and the cypresses are, and
the cedars; where, nigh the stone wall, thou didst take my soul with thy
hands.... I beseech thee to do this, my beloved.... There will I give
thee my loves anew....”
In a transport of delight the king kissed the lips of his love.
But Sulamith suddenly raised herself up on the couch and hearkened.
“What is it, my child?... What hath frightened thee?” asked Solomon.
“Stay, my beloved.... Some one is coming hither.... Yea ... I hear
steps.”
She became silent. And the stillness was such that they marked the beating
of their hearts.
A slight rustling was heard beyond the door, and it was suddenly thrown
ajar, quickly and without a sound.
“Who is there?” cried out Solomon.
But Sulamith had already sprung up from the bed, and with one move
dashed toward the dark figure of a man with a gleaming sword in his
hand. And immediately, stricken through by a short, quick stroke, she
fell down to the floor with a faint cry, as though of wonder.
Solomon shattered with his hand the screen of carnelian that shaded the
light of the night-lamp. He beheld Eliab, who was standing near the
door, stooping a little over the body of the girl, swaying like one in
wine. The young warrior raised his head under Solomon’s gaze, and, when
his eyes met the wrathful, awesome eyes of the king, he blanched and
groaned. An expression of despair and terror distorted his features. And
suddenly, stooping, hiding his face in his mantle, he began timidly,
like a frightened jackal, to slink out of the room. But the king stayed
him, saying but three words:
“Who compelled thee?”
All a-tremble and with teeth chattering, with eyes grown white from
fear, the young warrior let drop dully:
“Queen Astis....”
“Get thee hence,” commanded Solomon. “Tell the guard on duty to watch
thee.”
Soon people with lights commenced running through the innumerable rooms
of the palace. All the chambers were illuminated. The leeches came; the
friends and the military officers of the king gathered.
The chief leech said:
“King, neither science nor God will now avail. She will die the instant
we draw out the sword left in her breast.”
But at this moment Sulamith came to and said with a calm smile:
“I would drink.”
And when she had drunk, her eyes rested with a tender, beautiful smile
upon the king, nor did she again take them away, the while he stood upon
his knees before her couch, all naked, even as she, without perceiving
that his knees were laved in her blood, nor that his hands were
encrimsoned with the scarlet of her blood.
Thus, with difficulty, gazing upon her beloved and smiling gently, did
the beautiful Sulamith speak:
“I thank thee, my king, for all things: for thy love, for thy beauty,
for thy wisdom, to which thou didst allow me to set my lips, as to a
sweet well of living waters. Let me to kiss thy hands; take them not
away from my mouth till such time when the last breath shall have fled
from me. Never has there been, nor ever shall there be, a woman happier
than I. I thank thee, my king, my beloved, my fair. Think ever and anon
upon thy slave, upon thy Sulamith, scorched of the sun.”
And the king made answer to her, in a deep, slow voice:
“As long as men and women shall love one another; as long as beauty of
soul and body shall be the best and sweetest dream in the universe,--so
long, I swear to thee, Sulamith, shall thy name be uttered through many
ages with emotion and gratefulness.”
* * * * *
Toward morning Sulamith ceased to be.
Then did the king rise up, command the means for laving to be brought to
him, and, donning his most magnificent chiton of purple, broidered with
golden scarabæ, he placed upon his head a crown of blood-red rubies.
After this he did call Benaiah to him, and spake calmly:
“Benaiah, thou shalt go and put Eliab to death.”
But the old man covered his face with his hands and fell prostrate before
the king.
“Eliab is my grandson, O King.”
“Didst thou hear me, Benaiah?”
“Forgive me, O King,--threaten me not with thy wrath; command some other
to do this. Eliab, having come out of the palace, did run to the temple,
and caught hold on the horns of the altar. I am old, my death is nigh; I
dare not take upon my soul this two-fold crime.”
But the king retorted:
“Nevertheless, when I did instruct thee to put to death my brother
Adonijah, who had likewise caught hold on the sacred horns of the altar,
didst thou not hearken to me, Benaiah?”
“Forgive me! Spare me, King!”
“Lift up thy face,” commanded Solomon.
And when Benaiah did raise up his face, and beheld the king’s eyes, he
quickly rose up from the floor and obediently made his way to the exit.
Then, turning to Ahishar, who was the seneschal, and over the household,
he commanded:
“I do not want to give the queen up to death; let her live as she
wishes, and die when she wishes. But nevermore shall she behold my
countenance. This day, Ahishar, thou shalt fit out a caravan and escort
the queen to the harbour at Jaffa; and thence to Ægypt, to the Pharaoh
Shishak. Now let all get hence.”
And, left alone face to face with the body of Sulamith, he long
contemplated her beautiful features. Her face was pale, and never had it
been so fair during her life. The half-parted lips that Solomon had been
kissing but half an hour ago were smiling enigmatically and beautifully;
and her teeth, still humid, gleamed very faintly from between them.
For long did the king gaze upon his dead leman; then, he softly touched
with his fingers her brow, already losing the warmth of life, and with
slow steps withdrew from the chamber.
Beyond the doors the high priest Azariah, son of Zadok, was awaiting
him. Approaching the king, he asked:
“What shall we do with the body of this woman? It is now the Sabbath.”
And the king recalled how, many years ere this, his father had expired
and lay upon the sand, already beginning to decompose rapidly. Dogs,
drawn by the scent of carrion, were already prowling about with eyes
glaring from hunger and greediness. And, even as now, the high priest,
a decrepit old man, the father of Azariah, had then asked him:
“Here lieth thy father; the dogs may rend his corpse.... What are we to
do? Honour the memory of the king and profane the Sabbath; or observe
the Sabbath but leave the corpse of thy father to be devoured of dogs?”
Thereupon Solomon made answer:
“Leave him. A living dog is better than a dead lion.”
And when now, after the words of the high priest, he did recall this,
his heart did contract from sadness and fear.
Having made no answer to the high priest, he went on, into the Hall of
Judgment.
As always of mornings, two of his scribes, Elihoreph and Ahiah, were
already reclining upon mats, one on either side of the throne, holding
in readiness their inks, reeds, and rolls of papyrus. Upon the king’s
entrance they arose and salaamed to the ground before him. And the king
sat down upon his throne of ivory with ornaments of gold, leant his
elbow upon the back of a golden lion, and, bowing his head upon his
palm, commanded:
“Write!
“Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a ring upon thy hand; for love is
strong as death; jealousy is cruel as hell: the arrows thereof are arrows
of fire.”
And, having kept a silence so prolonged that the scribes held their
breath in alarm, he said:
“Leave me to myself.”
And all day, till the first shadows of evening, did the king remain
alone with his thoughts; nor durst any enter the vast, empty Hall of
Judgment.
_Tamam Shud_