“The Jews, like their bigoted sires of yore,
By gazing on the clouds, their God adore:
Our Roman customs they contemn and jeer,
But learn and keep their country rites with fear.
That worship only they in reverence have,
Which in dark volumes their great Moses gave.
So they are taught, and do it to obey
Their fathers, who observe the Sabbath-day.”
JUVENAL.
The morrow was the Sabbath of the Lord. Unused to labour, the toil-worn
Hebrew slaves hailed its approach with joy. Even a Roman enemy had
respected the sacred day of rest, but the bosom of Nero was a stranger
to the generous feelings of Titus. The boon the prisoners confidently
expected he would concede to them was peremptorily refused, and the work
was commanded to be carried on as on other days. The Hebrews looked upon
each other in silence, and with dejected countenances took up their
tools, groaning within themselves, yet preparing to obey the mandate of
the emperor. Adonijah contemplated these preparations with a glance, in
which pity, indignation, surprise, and contempt were strangely blended.
The burning blush of shame overspread his fine countenance as he cried,
“Will ye indeed sin against the Lord, my brethren, and disobey his
commandment at the bidding of a heathen master?”
Some of the captives sighed and pointed to their chains; others boldly
averred “that it was useless to serve a God who had utterly forsaken
them;” the timid reminded Adonijah that resistance would be vain, that
they must obey Cæsar or perish miserably.
“Better is it for ye to die, O house of Israel, than to suffer such
bitter bondage. Death is to be chosen rather than sacrilege. The Lord of
Hosts perchance hath only hidden his face from us for a little while,
and may yet turn our captivity as the rivers in the south. We are too
many to be given up to the sword; the tyrant cannot spare our labours
from his vain attempt.” The ardent youth paused and looked around him
upon his countrymen, hoping to excite a kindred feeling among the
children of his people.
Sighs and groans alone met his ear, like the last wail of crushed and
broken hearts—hearts that felt their degradation, but that could not
yet resolve to die.
“Hearken to me, my countrymen,” continued the speaker; “this Nero, whom
ye fear more than Jehovah, hath nearly filled up the measure of his
crimes. I saw him last night, when the terror of the Lord was upon him,
driven forth to wander like the impious king of Babylon in madness and
misery, and will ye obey such a one rather than God?”
The sullen Jews gave him no reply, but silently resumed their detested
tasks.
Burning tears of indignation filled the eyes of the devoted and
enthusiastic Adonijah. He threw himself upon the earth, exclaiming as he
did so, “Here will I hallow the Sabbath of the Lord, even in the midst
of this idolatrous land will I glorify His name.”
“What are you about to do, rash man?” said a military tribune,
approaching Adonijah, and accosting him through the medium of the Greek
tongue.
“To die,” replied the Hebrew, undauntedly regarding the interrogator.
“For what?” remarked Lucius Claudius sarcastically, “for a mere
superstitious observance that doubtless took its rise from an indolent
love of ease.”
“No, Roman, no,” returned the captive, “our Sabbath was hallowed and
ordained by God Himself when He rested from all His works upon the
seventh day, and pronounced them good. The first Sabbath was celebrated
by the holy angels, for it is written, ‘The morning stars sang together,
and all the sons of God shouted for joy.’”
Lucius Claudius put back with his hand the lictors who approached to
seize Adonijah, and then drawing nearer to the Hebrew, said in a low
voice, “I have heard strange things respecting the worship ye pay some
unknown god in the temple at Jerusalem. ’Tis said that Antiochus
Epiphanes found there the image of a vile animal in the secret place ye
call the Holy of Holies.”
“Roman, ’tis false,” replied the slave. “We worship the great First
Cause, the Source of light and life—the creative and preserving Power
who formed the universe and all that is therein, and continually
sustaineth by His good providence the things that He hath made, and we
worship Him under no similitude, for nothing is worthy in heaven above,
nor earth beneath, to typify His glorious majesty.”
The tribune listened to this description of the only true God with the
ear of a man who hears surprising truths for the first time in his life,
which he neither rejects altogether, nor receives. Like Felix, he
contented himself with saying, “I will hear thee again on this matter;”
adding, “Take the counsel of a Roman who wishes you well, resume your
labours, which it shall be the care of Lucius Claudius to lighten, and
look for better times.” Thus saying, he placed the tools that lay near
Adonijah in that daring Hebrew’s hand, with the air of a man more
accustomed to command than persuade.
Adonijah put them back with a gesture indicative of horror. “No,
generous Roman, I cannot break a Commandment which has been hallowed by
me from my youth; I have fought for my faith and my country, I will die
as I have lived, true to the God of my forefathers.”
“You have been a warrior, and death appears less dreadful to a soul like
yours than slavery; but look around you, Hebrew, for it is no soldier’s
death that is preparing for you; to a lofty mind the shame of the
scourge and the cross is bitterer even than the torturing pangs they
inflict.”
The lofty glow of enthusiasm faded from the flushed cheek of Adonijah,
and the spirit that could have endured the sharpest pangs unmoved,
shrank in horror from the idea of disgrace; but this weakness was
momentary, the next instant he raised his majestic head and said, “Be it
so, be mine that doom of shame, for even that will I endure for the
honour of my God.”
A tear glistened in the manly eye of Lucius Claudius, but he was
evidently ashamed of the unwonted guest, for he hastily dashed away the
intruding witness of his sympathy. “Why were you not a Roman, noble
youth?” cried he; then after a pause, he added, “If I can procure your
freedom, will you cease to be an enemy to Rome.”
“Not while your idol ensigns pollute the hills of Judea can I cease to
be a foe to Rome. Released from slavery, I should again wage war with
your people, and fight or die in defence of the land that gave me
birth.”
“Then you would disdain to serve me, though the bonds of friendship
should soften those of slavery. Tell me why a haughty warrior could
submit to chains at all? I had thrown myself upon my sword; but perhaps
life then had charms.”
“Suicide is held in abomination by us Jews,” replied Adonijah, “for we
know the spirit shall survive the grave; to be united again to the body
at the resurrection, when every man shall be judged according to his
works. The Gentiles, plunged in dark idolatry, are ignorant of this
great truth, and therefore, shrinking from the trials of adversity, to
avoid the lesser evil rush upon the greater. Life for me has no charms,
though I endure its burden. Seest thou yonder tree, over which the storm
hath lately passed? In its days of strength and beauty it was a fitting
emblem of Adonijah, so now in its ruin you may behold a lively image of
his desolation. Like him it still exists, though like him it will never
renew its branches, or fulfil the glorious promise of its youth. Yet,
generous Roman, I should not refuse to serve him who would save me from
a shameful and accursed death.”
The reverence and self-devotion of Adonijah for the Supreme Being was
perfectly unintelligible to the tribune, whose mind, although it had
shaken off the superstitious idolatry of his ancestors, was deeply
infected with the atheistical philosophy of the times. Matter was the
only divinity the young soldier acknowledged; for Lucius Claudius
believed either “that there were no gods, or gods that cared not for
mankind.” The existence of the soul after death, and a future state of
reward and punishment, had never been entertained by him for a moment.
The heathen mythology indeed darkly inculcated these two great points of
faith, but Lucius Claudius derided the heathen deities whose attributes
rather gave him the idea of bad men exercising ill-gotten power than
those which his reason ascribed to divinity. Murder, rapine, lust, and
cruelty, that in life deserved, in his opinion, the scourge and cross,
had been deified by flattering men after death. Yet, though refusing to
pay any worship to the host of idols Rome with blind stupidity had
gathered from all the countries she had conquered, Lucius Claudius had
dedicated his fair young sister to the service of Vesta before his
departure for the Parthian war, either from the idea prevalent among
free-thinking men, even in our day, that women ought to be religious, or
that he thought to secure Lucia Claudia from those snares which a
corrupt city like Rome offered to her youth and beauty. Julius Claudius,
the younger brother of the tribune, was esteemed too careless and
dissolute a character to be intrusted with the guardianship of a lady of
whose family every daughter had been chaste.
Lucius bribed the lictors to delay the execution of the refractory slave
till he had spoken to the emperor, and departed to consult with his
brother respecting the means to be taken with Nero, to avert the doom of
a person whose constancy he deemed worthy even of the ancient Roman
name.