THE NET IS RENT
Saulus plied the oars with a steady stroke that would have done credit to
more mature muscles, and the light shallop with its precious freight
glided rapidly over the mirror‐like surface of the Cydnus. The air was
laden with fragrant exhalations from spicy shrubs, the bending branches of
which hung over the water on either bank; the grounds immediately upon the
river being generally laid out in gardens, which, like those of Benoni,
extended to the water’s edge. The lily and rose‐tree, the oleander and
mulberry, each made its contribution of sweet odors, while their misty
shadows quivered upon the surface of the water as the two moved gently by.
Out of the thick foliage, here and there, came the song of a nightingale,
the soft whistle of a quail, or the cooing of a turtle‐dove calling its
mate, perchance disturbed by the plash of the oars.
The poetic inspiration and openness to nature’s voices, so prominent
during the former days of Jewish psalmody and prophecy, had greatly
decayed under the influence of a harsh formalism. The children of Benoni,
while not indifferent to the beauty about them, were rather dwelling amid
vague visions of the future.
The full moon was now almost overhead. The evening air, while calm, had a
preternatural closeness and intensity. A portentous pause prevailed—a
lingering as if on the brink of fateful destiny. Nature seemed
prophetically to be holding her breath. But the reveries of the scions of
Benoni were not disturbed by portentous signs. Nothing so motionless could
cause them to forget the riches of ancient Hebrew lore, or obscure the
bright plans in the near future for Saulus. As each was wrapped in
meditation, some time passed without a word being spoken. But at length
strains of music in the far distance came floating over the water, and
Saulus was aroused by their suggestiveness.
“Attune thy lute, my sister, and sing one of the songs of Israel. If thou
wilt, let it be the song of Miriam.”
Rebecca took up her favorite instrument, and soon the echoes of her pure
voice with its dulcet accompaniment floated out over the waves.
“‘Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously;
The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.’”
Other songs and chants of the Chosen People followed; and then the Holy
City, the Temple, and its services formed the theme of converse.
The time had flown swiftly.
“Peace be with thee, my brother! Have we not come far? Let us turn
homeward.”
“The evening is well spent; but the Cydnus is serene, and the current
favors our return.”
The shallop was quickly put about, and Saulus grasped the oars for a
steady pull; but, as they turned their gaze down the river, the white
roofs and towers of the city were hidden by a great black curtain.
“O my Rebecca! a tempest is at hand!”
Saulus bent to the oars with an energy born of desperation. Soon a
blinding flash of lightning illumined the broad expanse, followed by a
heavy peal of thunder.
“The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob will be with and keep us, my
brother. ‘Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor
sleep.’”
The storm came on apace. The density of the darkness was intensified by
the lightning‐flashes which like great darting serpents thrust themselves
athwart the sky. The fierce roar of the wind was now mingled with the
thunder; and although Saulus struggled heroically to keep the sharp prow
to the wind, the little craft was borne uncontrollably along, barely being
kept upright.
“O God of our fathers! Thou who didst bring Israel through the Red Sea,
save us, or we perish!” exclaimed Rebecca.
They were swept along; and when the boat was just about to fill, it was
dashed violently upon the shore. The momentum which crushed their frail
bark as it struck landed them suddenly upon the ground.
The children of Benoni were saved. Partially stunned, but otherwise
unharmed, they arose, and in each other’s embrace looked up, and thanked
the God of Israel for deliverance. Turning to explore their landing‐place,
they found themselves in the yard of a large house or palace, which was
brilliantly lighted, and from which issued the confused noise of voices,
mingled with music and laughter.
“We have fallen among the Gentiles,” said Saulus.
On either side of the yard was a high wall, and nothing remained but to
knock at the Cydnus gate of the palace for admission and relief. They were
kindly received in the basement by the slaves in attendance, who took them
in, and administered warmth and refreshment.
At length Chloe, the head female slave, who had informed Marcius of their
sad plight, received a message from him. She turned to Rebecca.
“O my fair Jewess! Marcius, the master, craves an audience with thee in
the hall above.”
Chloe then conducted her up‐stairs into the presence of the Roman, and
Saulus followed unbidden.
Marcius advanced with a gracious bow, taking no notice of the boy.
“Methinks thou art an unexpected, but very welcome guest.”
Rebecca gave no answer, but drew back with a shudder.
“Come, my fair one! It becometh us to dispense with formality. Thou hast
escaped the waves, and we give thee shelter and protection. Welcome to
these fair halls. As the poet hath sung:—
‘And no god on heaven or earth—
Not the Paphian Queen of Mirth,
Nor the vivid Lord of Light,
Nor the triple Maid of Night,
Nor the Thunderer’s self, shall be
Blest and honor’d more than thee!’”
“O thou noble Roman!” said the Hebrew lad, opening his eyes wide upon
Marcius. “We thank thee for thy hospitality to the children of Benoni; and
now we will depart. Peace be with thee!”
“My young son of Israel! The tempest still rages without. The night is
chill and boisterous for thy fair sister.”
“We mind not the storm, and the God of our fathers will be with us. I pray
thee, let us depart in peace.”
The Roman deigned no reply.
The color came and went in the face of the young Jew; for though but a
youth, he penetrated the smooth mask of the Roman, and divined his
treachery and cruelty.
Marcius again addressed himself to Rebecca.
“My fair Jewess! Thou shouldst thank the gods—or thy Hebrew Jehovah—for
thy deliverance from the cold embrace of the Cydnus. We offer thee warmth
and music and poetry and wine, and—be it so—love, whose cup we may gently
quaff.”
Rebecca cast a beseeching look.
“O Roman citizen of Tarsus! I pray thee bid us to depart. We fear not the
storm. The hearts of our father and mother will be made glad by our
return. The Romans have honor! We will now go in peace.”
A sullen frown was the only reply.
With compressed lip and fiery blood coursing through every vein, Saulus
bent his gaze upon the Roman, but was silent from the very intensity of
his thoughts.
Marcius, heated by the wine which he had drunk with Leander, gradually
became more harsh and pitiless.
“Doth the beautiful Jewess scorn the devotion of a patrician? Ah! The
divinity of the son of Aphrodite is supreme! The Jewish life is poor and
barren! The Roman is rich, and offers thee jewels and banquets, and slaves
for thy service. Away with thine indifference, and join the revelry with
me in yonder banquet‐hall.”
“Thou base and brutal Roman!” cried Saulus. “Thou uncircumcised heathen
and idolater! The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob will smite thee, and
deliver us out of thy hand.”
“Hebrew stripling of the house of Benoni! Thy tongue is sharp! Start not!
I only ask thy sister in marriage. Think of an alliance with patrician
blood! Remain in the palace with slaves to do thy bidding! We will train
thee in all the graces of Greek and Roman art, poetry, and music.”
Seeing at a glance that he had made no impression, he resumed in a
sarcastic tone,—
“Thy body and that of the fair one will be vainly sought, far below, amid
the drift‐wood that will be thrown upon the shore by the swollen Cydnus.
In such a tempest, all trace of the children of Benoni will be lost,
_lost_, rash boy!”
Again assuming a blandness which but illy concealed the fierce passions
which were burning behind it, he continued,—
“Foolish captives! To the knowledge of your tribe, the Jewess and her
small brother have been swallowed up by the tempest, and so they will
remain! Be it so. But I promise, if ye be willing captives, every luxury
shall be heaped upon you. Consider well! The Roman builds his palace with
massive walls.”
The children of Benoni read their fate as in an open book. A Tarsian house
of iniquity had closed around them. As they glanced about, every statue
and picture and idol seemed to mock them, and every mirror duplicated the
mockery. O cruel fate! Bare, jagged prison‐walls would have seemed more
hospitable!
Did this strange hour belong to the same evening in which they had started
for a joyous moonlight excursion on the Cydnus? Where were all the happy
dreams of three short hours ago? Where were now the bright pictures of the
Holy City, the Temple, and the school of the great Rabban? Were _they_ not
the reality and this a mere hideous dream?
But for the heat of the wine, it seemed as though Marcius must have
quailed before the pure indignation of the Hebrew children.
The tempest still raged without.
Saulus held his sister tightly by the hand; and though but a lad in
stature, he stood firmly erect, and his eyes shot defiant glances at
Marcius. Stirred to the depths of his young soul by the baseness of the
Roman, he seemed to live through years of experience in a short hour.
Marcius seated himself, and with an impatient scowl waited for their
submission. He could afford to give a little time, because there could be
but one possible outcome. But, though master of the palace, with all to do
his will, he glanced uneasily about, as if the walls might have ears. He
looked into the next room where Leander, though but partially stunned by
his blow, was lying in a stupor of intoxication. He then resumed his seat,
and again turned towards Rebecca.
“My sweet caged bird, why ruffle thy plumage more? Give thy Roman lord
some gracious favor, and thou shalt want for nothing. The tempest which
rages without, and also that slight commotion which disturbs thine own
mind, will soon be stilled and forgotten.”
Rebecca covered her face with her hands, while Saulus exclaimed with a
strong gesture,—
“Jehovah will deliver his children! We are his chosen people!”
Then, looking upward, he cried,—
“_We await thy salvation!_”
“By Bacchus! Who is the God of Israel? But, my impetuous infant, I will
proceed with order and dignity. Willing or unwilling captives? Ha! Now for
a final, sagacious answer before the sand runs through this small
glass.”(3)
The moments slipped away, and only the roar outside broke the stillness.
The surging of human passion, the constancy of affection, the happiness
and misery of common life, the epochs of trial and triumph, and the
mystery of fate, all span the wide chasms of time and space. Human life is
one. Its outward circumstances may be never so varied, but within there is
a universal correspondence. Through some shape, in the evolution of
character, the same battles must be fought and the same victories won.
Customs, races, languages, and governments come and go; but love, hate,
friendship, passion, vice, and virtue remain. The Present is only the Past
with a new countenance.
The Hebrew maiden and her young brother remained firmly unconquerable.
They even became calm and confident with assurance. They had an
unmistakable vision of deliverance, and felt that it was at hand. Its form
or manner they could not divine. There is an intrinsic faculty which
awakens in some souls, and takes hold upon the future. It feels coming
events as though they were already present. That it is not commonly
developed by no means proves its non‐existence. It deals with great crises
or turning‐points, rather than their details.
Marcius sat watching the tiny stream of sand as it passed through the
small orifice. The last grain had fallen.
“Captives! willing or unwilling?”
The answer came from an unexpected quarter. A flash of forked lightning
illumined the palace, and rent it from roof to foundation. Marcius was
prostrated and lay as one dead. The Hebrew children, though stunned and
momentarily unconscious, soon aroused themselves. There was a panic in the
palace, and a hurrying to and fro of all who had escaped unharmed. A part
of the slaves, thinking the building was about to fall, unbarred the front
portal and hurried into the street. Saulus and Rebecca, hand in hand, fled
down the broad stairway, where they met Chloe, who was hastily gathering
up a few valuables before making her escape.
“The gods demanded your release,” said she; and guiding them through an
intricate passage‐way to the front portal, they soon found themselves in
the street.