THE CHARIOTS OF ISRAEL AND THE HORSEMEN THEREOF.
The rich yellow sunlight that shone so constantly and so beautifully
through the pure air of the Land of Ophir, as it shone nowhere else,
not even at Jerusalem, was rising upon the proud city of Ophir on what
her inhabitants deemed her proudest day.
The preliminary pleasures, festivals, and contests had been concluded.
The terms of the chariot races had been made known to the people, and
accepted by them as most just and liberal. All persons so desiring
might enter the first day’s contest.
The ten wise ex-judges should award the palm to the victor. From one
wing of the royal stable, containing stalls for fifty horses, the
winners might choose four horses to which the queen would add the gift
of the most splendid chariot that could be built by the workmen of
Ophir.
Loud applause greeted this announcement from the queen; but as the
prize for each succeeding day was named the populace was wild with
enthusiasm. The second day’s prize was to be a talent of pure silver,
and that of the third day ten talents of pure gold. Each day’s prize
was a fresh token of thoughtfulness in the queen, and a substantial
proof of her liberality to her people. One should receive a fine flock
of sheep from the royal pasture, another a generous herd of cattle,
and so the occasion was ushered in joyously and everything proceeded
hilariously.
Each successful contestant was debarred from the contest on the
following days, and together were to hold themselves in readiness for
the grand contest on the final day of the joyous games. To the six
contestants thus made eligible to enter this race the queen would add
the name of herself as the seventh, to strive for the championship of
all the land. Should the queen be so fortunate as to succeed, as she
had no wish to do further than to add zest to their sports, she should
as her most valued guerdon beg the continual love and obedience of her
people. Should one of the others be successful, as she had no doubt
they would, and as she most earnestly desired they should be, the prize
should be one befitting him who should prove himself so consummate
a horseman, and it would give their humble sovereign great pleasure
to give to the fortunate one the care of all the royal stables and
equipages, which her feminine highness knew would be a very desirable
prize in the eyes of the contestants, those who entered the race from
love of horses and horsemanship, while she knew equally well that it
would be a stab to the heart at Rebecca’s ambitions, whom she regarded
as the one most likely to succeed, should she herself fail. If this
last prize was offered from a desire to enrage and chagrin her rival
she would have thought she had succeeded could she have heard her
furious enemy rave when she was safe in the privacy of her apartments,
and Isidor alone was her listener.
“The she-dog of Elim!” she hissed through her teeth, “how long will our
people swallow her flatteries and be blind to her devilish intrigues?
See to it, Isidor, that not a hair of our horses but is in order for
the morrow’s trial. Dost thou trust thy brother Abram entirely, or will
he fail us at the critical moment?”
“Nay, beloved mistress, I lay my life on his faithfulness; and if thou
and Father Levi will come to the stables at midnight thou shalt see for
thyself that he is faithful as the moon in the heavens, and as prompt
to the moment.”
“It is well, then,” said Rebecca, somewhat assured, “for as sure as the
sun has set this night, neither he nor thee will ever see it rise again
if you play me false,” she added, thrusting a hand in her bosom, and
drawing from her girdle a gleaming little diamond-hilted dagger, which
she toyed with lovingly a moment, felt its keen edge, and then replaced
it without noticing the sullen look that came into the eyes of Isidor a
moment, as he assured her:
“Then I have no fear for my life, for it is devoted only to yours.”
He descended to his quarters muttering a curse on the heart of a woman
who should doubt a devotion so entire as his, but laughed hoarsely to
himself at the idea of failing when such a price was offered for his
successful efforts.
The only additional condition attached to this offer was that where,
as in the preliminary contests on the five days preceding the grand
ultimatum, each charioteer was permitted to guide his steeds with bit
and bridle, in this final test only the word of command to guide and
control should be used.
This rather exacting condition, sprung upon them, as some asserted, at
the eleventh hour, was, however, accepted cheerfully by the majority of
the contestants, for the example the queen had set in that direction
had been largely followed by all the owners of chariots in Ophir, and
the murmur of discontent came mostly from those who with their flocks
and herds were obliged to seek pasturage remote from the city, and had,
therefore, not been aware of the progress made by the dwellers of Ophir
in horsemanship.
Six ambitious and elated charioteers appeared upon the great public
racecourse built by order of Corinthia, and nominally at her expense,
though it was only a pittance returned to her people with one hand,
while the other was receiving fabulous amounts of “royal treasure,” the
results of toil, but not hers.
The morning was as bright and fresh as the fabled climate of their
home at Jerusalem could have been where away down the dim vista of the
centuries their ancestors had lived and worshiped, and followed out
their ambitious plans of life, as if the scattered dust of Jerusalem of
to-day, that had once been the high-beating heart of some Israelitish
king swelling with the pride of place and power, was more alive to
sensations of joy and sorrow, successes and failures, than the native
dust of Ophir in the midst of the sagebrush and cactus of Ophir’s
plains.
Corinthia’s chariot soon joined the others, moving to the sound of wild
applause from the greatest throng that had ever assembled in these new
days of Israel’s glory. Around the magnificent course that in modern
vernacular was full eight furlongs in circumference was a substantial
wall of sun-dried brick covered with cement, and within this, and
attached to it were seats that rose tier on tier, and extended entirely
around it, giving comfortable seating to the vast throng.
Abram had forgotten no trifle that would make Corinthia’s equipage
complete. At his suggestion the horses were covered on that eventful
morning with richly-embroidered cloths, wrought in gold and silver
threads into gay flowers and scrolls and studded with precious stones,
for which a fabulous price was paid first, as the thoughtful trainer
said, that the faithful but high-mettled creatures might be mercifully
protected from the stinging insects that tortured unprotected horses,
and second, that her devoted people might thus distinguish the royal
chariot, and mark its progress, which would be very gratifying to their
feeling of affectionate concern.
If Corinthia had been deemed beautiful before, her admirers were now
beside themselves with extravagant adulation of her supreme loveliness.
Her robe of the famous Tyrean purple hue was glittering with precious
stones, and her shapely head bore a beautiful golden crown surmounted
by a delicate silver crescent typifying and blending in her lovely
person of temporal and spiritual power, the crown in itself the
insignia of royalty to all the world, the gold an emblem of that yellow
luminary whom the Elimites worshiped as the God of the universe, and
the silver crescent being a badge of her relationship with the moon, of
which she was the goddess, and to whom the people were beginning to pay
homage as such.
As she guided her prancing chargers lightly with the rein to the point
where the ten judges sat to award the palm of victory to one of the
seven candidates for the great prize, the people rent the air with
their shouts, and many of the poor ignorant Jews, led by the designing
influence of the Elimites, fell on their knees and worshiped at the
shrine of beauty, mistaking the color for the substance, forgetting
that the spotless exterior of the sepulcher but rendered more repulsive
the rottenness of the dead men’s bones within.
Groveling servants ran before her chariot to clear the way, and Abram
sat on a low seat in the rear of the carriage ordering his animals here
and there in a tone that commanded their greatest efforts; he scowled
sullenly on the crowd as if he resented their fond gaze upon the queen,
so zealous a servant, so devoted a slave was he.
They drew up by the other chariots, and by chance, close to that of
Rebecca and her chief horseman, Isidor. Corinthia greeted her rival
with a sneer that might have dispelled the illusion from the minds
of the rabble, could they have caught its full import of hate and
defiance, and Rebecca’s strong gaze in return was proof enough that
she did not share the belief of her deluded countrymen in Corinthia’s
divinity, but might easily have been interpreted to disclose that she
thought her the arch Princess Diabolis.
Isidor busied himself in the care of his mistress’ team which were
champing their bits impatiently and moving uneasily a little closer
to Corinthia’s. While he stood by their heads on the side nearest to
Corinthia’s equipage one of the latter’s horses began pawing the earth
and raised a cloud of dust that almost suffocated him. He turned in a
rage and struck the beast with the palm of his hand, cursing it roundly
for an awkward brute, when Abram sprang toward him and drawing a dagger
as he ran and exclaiming: “Dog of a hell-born Jew, dost thou presume
to strike the queen’s horse? By the wisdom of Solomon, I’ll disembowel
thee here in the sight of all Ophir.”
The voice of Corinthia recalled Abram to his calmer self, and soothed
the plunging and rearing horse.
“A shame on thee, Abram, to so belittle thyself and companion before
Israel. Are there not many ways in which you and I can take sweet
vengeance on yonder stone image and her plebeian horseman? What ails my
beauteous little mare Vidella to-day? Never has she shown such fiery
spirit.”
Abram walked to the head of the excited mare, and patted her on the
neck and spoke to her very low, and stilled her as if by magic.
When the tumult caused by this incident had subsided the judges sent
a trumpeter around the course to warn the vast throng that they must
now look to their safety, as the race would begin. The chariots were
ranged side by side, the attendants busied themselves in removing rein
and bit and bridle, under the supervision of the judges, and after the
usual parley, and the usual impatience on the part of the rabble who
blackened all the great stretch of the raised pavilion, the word was
given to go.
Abram’s eyes watched like a hawk for the signal, and it was hardly
uttered before he sprang toward his mistress and uttered the cry used
by Corinthia to halt her team; but they sprang away like an arrow from
a bow, along with the others, but in a direction diagonal slightly, to
the general course; Corinthia sought to turn them to the left with her
wonted signal, but they veered sharply to the right instead, and neck
and neck with Rebecca’s flying steeds they soon cleared themselves of
the other competitors.
But Rebecca’s position was the inner one, and the advantage was on her
side, for the closer they crowded upon her the closer she hemmed the
inner limit of the course, and gradually drew past her opponent, who
was so disconcerted by her misfortunes on starting that she sat with
set teeth and closed lips in a kind of lethargy of horror to see her
opponent steadily leaving her behind, which fact she noted at the same
time was all that could save her from a collision with her enemy and a
frightful ending of all her dreams of triumph.
Rousing herself with a mighty resolve yet to retrieve her fortunes, she
urged her horses to the left, but in vain. They swerved again to the
right, and were now directly behind the other chariot and within a few
feet of it.
She screamed angrily to her excited team again, to turn back, but they
had gone mad, and only turned still further from her chosen course till
they left the course itself. In her wild fury and embarrassment, she
struck Vidella, the inner mare, a savage blow with the whip, causing
her to spring forward madly, and turn the course of the other somewhat
toward the right one. Again, encouraged to take desperate chances, she
applied the whip again and again, till the horses were maddened beyond
all hope of control, heedless of their driver’s voice they flew toward
the western gate of the course which was open.
Seeing this, Corinthia with white set face and grinding rage, gave
reluctantly the signal to halt, hoping by her voice to quiet and
control them, but iteration and reiteration seemed only to arouse them
anew, and the queen sank back upon her luxurious cushions in helpless
fright.
Out into the streets of the city they flew, away toward the plains they
carried the helpless representative of regal power. God of Abram! they
approach the hovels of the lepers’ quarters. They are in the midst of
them; lift up thy voice to the God of Elim now, fair Corinthia, call
upon the sun and moon in thine extremity. Exalt the worship of the
Incas, and put thy graceful foot upon the neck of Judaism, for thy time
is brief among the powers of earth. O Golden Image of Palenque! what a
sight is that. See! a miserable leper lies sweltering in the loathsome
virus upon the ground. His disease-dimmed eye sees the danger, his
shredded limbs attempt to flee from it, but alas too late. He totters
to his feet as the hot breath of the panting horses smites him. They
snort and spring aside, but too late again. Vidella tries to spring
past him, but strikes him down with her hoofs, and veers savagely as
the stench of the leprosy rises to her nostrils. The chariot cannot
follow the sharp curve described by the frightened horse; it overturns,
and Corinthia the adored, to whom but a few moments ago thousands
kneeled as to deity himself, is saved from death by being flung
mercifully upon the prostrate form of the miserable leper. Mercifully?
Flung at least into merciful unconsciousness of the horror of darkness
that had fallen upon her.
All is commotion and consternation in the surging crowd of
pleasure-seekers. Rebecca has triumphed; but there is none to grace her
triumph, unless, indeed, it be the venerable and unselfish servant of
the people, Levi, who sees in the light of her present success a gleam
of the future glory.
But what of Jokim? What are the feelings of exquisite pain that racks
his ambitious heart to see his patron queen utterly defeated, and
perhaps, mangled, bleeding, dying by the roadside? From his commanding
position he watches with care-strained eyes in the direction where
a cloud of dust alone indicates the direction and progress of the
runaways. Now they are in sight once more, on the rising ground. “Now
may all the gods of Israel and Elim protect her,” he exclaims, as he
sees, with a gasp of fear that the horses are in the midst of the
lepers. “Jehovah, have mercy, she is thrown into the very midst of
them!” is his next cry. “Quick Isidor! Here slaves! my chariot! Now
Isidor, drive as though the fiends pursued, and angels beckoned,” he
commanded. They were off like a flash, but even then with all their
haste, with all the speed of their fresh spirited horses there was one
chariot that was a hundred paces in the lead. The foam was flying from
their flanks and the froth from their mouths.
’Tis the victor’s chariot, but Abram drives alone. Is it concern for
the fate of his queen and employer that urges him onward? Is it the
tender feelings of humanity in the beautiful Jewess that sends him on
this mission?
He was the first in all that throng to act in the presence of appalling
disaster. Scarcely has Rebecca driven triumphantly beneath the arch
that proclaimed her the victor, and checked the headlong speed of her
chargers, before Abram is at her side and mutters: “Quick, and the game
is ours.” Assisting her, as he spoke, to alight, and springing into the
chariot, he dashed away as we have seen, the leader of a wild stampede
toward the scene of disaster.
How can Abram be supposed to know that his mistress has been so
ruthlessly dethroned from her flying seat of power? What more natural
than for him to rivet his eye upon the receding dust cloud, and to
expect to find his beloved mistress in the wreckage of the chariot when
the final disaster shall come?
It has come! Away on the plains yonder he sees with distinctness
the horses and chariot suddenly collapse apparently, into an
undistinguishable heap.
Wings were too slow to bear him to the spot. Rays of light could not
keep pace with his burning desire to reach that goal. Far in advance
of the crowd, yet it seemed to him that time must end, and eternity
dawn ere the panting horses drew up beside the heap of ruin made up of
struggling horses and fragments of a royal chariot. Did he pause to
seek for the body of his queen among the _débris_? Not he. He springs
to the ground, draws from his girdle a package of subtle powder, and a
keen pointed little lance. Some of the horses are dead, or dying; some
of them are struggling to free themselves from the trammel of harness,
and dead carcasses. They threaten every moment to free themselves.
Abram springs like a panther upon the neck of Vidella who is neighing
in affright, and making a desperate fight for freedom.
A dexterous thrust of the lancet, a skillful injection of a tiny bit
of the powder, and in a moment the struggles of the mare began to grow
feebler. One more survivor of the catastrophe is treated to a similar
dose, and by that time Vidella ceases to struggle.
“Dead horses tell no lies,” he muttered, deliberately remounting
the chariot and driving backward to the City of Lepers, coolly and
smilingly, until he sees a crowd collected in the distance a little
way from the hovels of lepers, when he again urges his horses to their
utmost, again distorts his countenance with anguished concern for the
fate of Corinthia.
As he drew nearer his woes broke forth in a wail: “Where is the glory
of Israel? Where is the wise queen and gentle friend of Ophir?”
He was the picture of distress, the ideal of a distracted and devoted
servant in an agony of suspense as to the fate of one he regarded more
than his own worthless life.
Troubled eyes note his distraught figure and pitying voices cry
alas! alas! while trembling fingers point to the center of the
plague-inhabited village. His grief broke out more wildly than ever at
the sight. There, standing in the middle of a group of wonder-struck
lepers, is Corinthia, wringing her hands, tearing her hair, and rending
the royal robe, beating her head against the wall of a hovel, and
shrieking hysterically in a tone of the wildest horror.
Is there none to comfort her in the tenfold death that has befallen
her? Yes, one. A manly form approaches. It is that of the most
dignified of all the late judges of Israel--it is Jokim, her lover. His
chariot stands at a distance in the midst of the crowd that greeted
Abram. There Isidor halted and refused to drive another foot toward the
plague spot.
Jokim commanded, threatened dire punishment, which he would have
executed then and there, but for the interference of the excited crowd,
who laid hold of Jokim himself, and would have handled him roughly,
but for their curiosity to witness what transpired to Corinthia, who
was recovering consciousness, and Jokim had broken away from the mob,
pursued only by curses and jeers, some crying “kill the scheming knave
of a Gentile,” and others, “let him go to the harlot who calls herself
queen of Israel, and together they can reign over the city of lepers.”
But Jokim heeded neither threats nor taunts, but hastened to the side
of Corinthia as we have seen, just as the full realization of her
misfortunes had dawned upon her. Who so heartless as not to respect
such a friend as he? Who so utterly forlorn as not to be cheered by the
coming of a friend at such a time of direst need?
Her mind was so preoccupied by her woes that she saw him not, nor
suspected his presence until he spoke her name. Then she turned
toward him with a world of surprise and joy gushing from her eyes. He
supported her tenderly in his arms and eagerly questioned her whether
or no she was hurt.
“Hurt? dost thou ask? Is the bird that falls by the snare of the
fowler hurt? Ah! Jokim, I am hurt to the death. I am as a sparrow
alone upon the housetop. Henceforth my palace will be my prison, for
dost thou think that our people will brook the presence of one who is
contaminated?”
Jokim heard her in pained surprise. He knew that she but reveled in
a day-dream when she talked of returning to the palace. He had heard
enough in the crowd he just left to know something of their temper, but
he could not plunge her heart into greater depths of misery by telling
her that a more horrible fate awaited her, that she would never be
allowed to leave the companionship of the pitiable, loathsome wretches
who stood a little apart and watched them.
“Come,” said Corinthia, “wilt thou lend me thy assistance to thy
chariot which I see yonder in care of Isidor?”
He moved not, but regarded her with a fixed look in which pity was
the dominant feeling. “Why dost thou linger?” she said, “my strength
faileth me, I must return to the palace.”
For reply Jokim lent a supporting arm, and together they started toward
the crowd of spectators, and toward refuge from the ills of life,
toward comfort, toward hope and love, toward the place combining these
and a thousand other attractions which we have gathered into that
bouquet of joys we call home.
But scarcely do they clear themselves of the immediate presence of the
leprous wretches, barely have they progressed far enough toward the
camp of the clean to indicate their purpose, when the crowd broke into
a wild tumult of yells and curses, execrating Jokim and Corinthia as
dogs of Elim, accusing him of leading away the people after strange
gods, and her of all the abominations that Ophir had attained to, of
being in league with the devil to deceive them, warning them to go
back to the city of the lepers on pain of instant death, and many of
the men drew their bows ready to make good their threat. Corinthia,
distressed and bewildered by this demonstration, still, in her shaken
and agitated condition, failed to read the true meaning of the mob’s
demands.
“Ah! Jokim,” she said, “I am punished. The hearts of the people are
fickle as water. They have turned thus quickly to Rebecca, because
she was the conqueror and I the vanquished in the race. If these be
the sweets of royalty I will fling the scepter to Rebecca gladly, and
rejoice that my great misfortune hath shown me one royal friend which
is better than a kingdom of fickle followers.”
She stood undecided what to do, as she spoke, and Jokim at last in pity
exclaimed: “Ah! sweet Corinthia, thou understandest not the diabolical
passions of this rabble. They are fickle as the wind, it is true, but
they are also cruel as the grave. You will nevermore see your beautiful
palace, never again wander in the beautiful groves, or lave thy lovely
form in the wholesome baths of the royal gardens. Its birds will dress
their gay plumage for thee no more or time their melodious harp to
charm thine ear.
“The Rose of Sharon will shed its fragrance for others, and the
spotless lily will lift its pure petals to other eyes than thine.”
“What dost thou mean, Jokim?” she said. “Thou speakest in riddles, and
though thou hast not always found me so dull to their meaning, my brain
is too sadly shaken to understand thee.”
“I mean,” said Jokim, “that we are outcasts from our beloved Ophir. We
are in the eyes of all Israel already lepers.”
All the life blood fled away from the fair features of Corinthia,
leaving them as white as the face of one of her snowy steeds. She
pushed Jokim from her and urged him to leave her to her fate. “Away,
Jokim, thou at least art surely not contaminated in the sight of
Israel. Why should we both die in misery? Why didst thou come within
these accursed limits?”
“I came because I loved thee, Corinthia.”
“And didst thou then realize and know the consequence when thou didst
come to my rescue?”
“I knew,” said Jokim briefly.
“Then,” said Corinthia, “is my sorrow not unmixed with joy. I am
content to accept the decree of heaven that denies me temporal power,
but gives me love instead. Perhaps Rebecca in her happier lot will
remember us, and send us a morsel of food from the palace as I used to
do to these poor wretches, little thinking that I should ever be to
them a companion in woe.”
The crowd was growing impatient to return to the city, but, fearful
that Jokim and Corinthia would follow them and spread contagion
everywhere, a herald was sent to warn them from a safe distance that
the decree of leprosy had been passed upon them by the eight judges
present, and who had once more found themselves invested with the regal
power to act for Israel.
Jokim replied that they accepted the decree, and Corinthia threw down
her regal headdress as a token that she resigned all claim to the
kingdom, Jokim asking only that he should be allowed with Corinthia
to seek a lonely place in the mountains where he had some flocks, and
that Abram might be sent to the city for some of their raiment, and a
few of their utensils, and that a proclamation might be made in all the
kingdom warning the people that their camp was unclean. Abram at first
refused to do the bidding of his old master, but what he would not be
persuaded to do for common humanity’s sake he was readily induced to
undertake for the sake of a goodly sum of gold which he was assured by
Jokim and Corinthia he should find in the palace on his return to them
with the desired articles, which he promptly brought, and on obtaining
the coveted information as to where he should find his reward he was
off again to the city.
Corinthia threw off all her outer garments for fear of the plague, and
donned others that Abram had brought, and together they turned their
backs upon the city of ease and luxury with the dread of a dark and
dreadful calamity hanging over them. But Corinthia, the beautiful young
queen, though exchanging riches and power for poverty and weakness,
was not entirely the loser in the transaction. She exchanged the purple
robe of a paramour for the plain garment of a loved wife. Jokim,
esteemed in all the city an illicit lover, in that sudden critical test
became the honest, true-hearted lover and protector by the severest
trial of love and fidelity. He deliberately chose almost sure death
from a loathsome, hateful disease, rather than forsake one to whom he
had been accused of being bound by ties the most sordid, bestial.
As the visions of human exaltation and human indulgence failed from
the picture she had drawn and called life, and in its place saw in the
foreground only a dusty sagebrush plain, stretching away to distant
mountains, and for a background a magnificent city resplendent with
palaces and pavements shining like silver, and dazzlingly beautiful
over all, towered the glorious Temple of the Sun, reflecting back
the glory of the sinking orb of day, a picture dear to her heart,
but receding, fading before her eyes, she turned back toward it, and
stretched out her hands helplessly, imploringly toward it. Even as she
gazed with tear-dimmed vision the glory faded, the sunlight departed;
another dream of mortal greatness faded away.