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Alroy: The Prince of the Captivity

by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli · English · Gutenberg #20002 · 506,784 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Alroy: The Prince of the Captivity

Author: Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli


        
Release date: December 3, 2006 [eBook #20002]
                Most recently updated: August 26, 2016

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20002

Credits: Produced by David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALROY: THE PRINCE OF THE CAPTIVITY ***




Produced by David Widger





ALROY

OR

THE PRINCE OF THE CAPTIVITY


By Benjamin Disraeli


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[Illustration: alroy-frontis-174]

[Illustration: frontis-label]


AUTHOR’S PREFACE

Being at Jerusalem in the year 1831, and visiting the traditionary
tombs of the Kings of Israel, my thoughts recurred to a personage whose
marvellous career had, even in boyhood, attracted my attention, as
one fraught with the richest materials of poetic fiction. And I then
commenced these pages that should commemorate the name of Alroy. In the
twelfth century, when he arose, this was the political condition of the
East:

The Caliphate was in a state of rapid decay. The Seljukian Sultans, who
had been called to the assistance of the Commanders of the Faithful, had
become, like the Mayors of the palace in France, the real sovereigns of
the Empire. Out of the dominions of the successors of the Prophet,
they had carved four kingdoms, which conferred titles on four Seljukian
Princes, to wit, the Sultan of Bagdad, the Sultan of Persia, the Sultan
of Syria, and the Sultan of Roum, or Asia Minor.

But these warlike princes, in the relaxed discipline and doubtful
conduct of their armies, began themselves to evince the natural effects
of luxury and indulgence. They were no longer the same invincible
and irresistible warriors who had poured forth from the shores of the
Caspian over the fairest regions of the East; and although they still
contrived to preserve order in their dominions, they witnessed with
ill-concealed apprehension the rising power of the Kings of Karasmé,
whose conquests daily made their territories more contiguous.

With regard to the Hebrew people, it should be known that, after the
destruction of Jerusalem, the Eastern Jews, while they acknowledged
the supremacy of their conquerors, gathered themselves together for all
purposes of jurisdiction, under the control of a native ruler, a reputed
descendant of David, whom they dignified with the title of ‘The Prince
of the Captivity.’ If we are to credit the enthusiastic annalists of
this imaginative people, there were periods of prosperity when the
Princes of the Captivity assumed scarcely less state and enjoyed
scarcely less power than the ancient Kings of Judah themselves. Certain
it is that their power increased always in an exact proportion to the
weakness of the Caliphate, and, without doubt, in some of the most
distracted periods of the Arabian rule, the Hebrew Princes rose into
some degree of local and temporary importance. Their chief residence was
Bagdad, where they remained until the eleventh century, an age fatal
in Oriental history, from the disasters of which the Princes of the
Captivity were not exempt. They are heard of even in the twelfth
century. I have ventured to place one at Hamadan, which was a favourite
residence of the Hebrews, from being the burial-place of Esther and
Mordecai.

With regard to the supernatural machinery of this romance, it is
Cabalistical and correct. From the Spirits of the Tombs to the sceptre
of Solomon, authority may be found in the traditions of the Hebrews for
the introduction of all these spiritual agencies.

Grosvenor Gate: July, 1845.





A L R O Y

[Illustration: page001]


CHAPTER I.

    _A Great Day for Israel._

THE cornets sounded a final flourish as the Prince of the Captivity
dismounted from his white mule; his train shouted as if they were once
more a people; and, had it not been for the contemptuous leer which
played upon the countenances of the Moslem bystanders, it might have
been taken for a day of triumph rather than of tribute.

‘The glory has not departed!’ exclaimed the venerable Bostenay, as he
entered the hall of his mansion. ‘It is not as the visit of Sheba unto
Solomon; nevertheless the glory has not yet departed. You have done
well, faithful Caleb.’ The old man’s courage waxed more vigorous, as
each step within his own walls the more assured him against the recent
causes of his fear, the audible curses and the threatened missiles of
the unbelieving mob.

‘It shall be a day of rejoicing and thanksgiving!’ continued the Prince;
‘and look, my faithful Caleb, that the trumpeters be well served. That
last flourish was bravely done. It was not as the blast before Jericho;
nevertheless, it told that the Lord of Hosts was for us. How the
accursed Ishmaelites started! Did you mark, Caleb, that tall Turk in
green upon my left? By the sceptre of Jacob, he turned pale! Oh! it
shall be a day of rejoicing and thanksgiving! And spare not the wine,
nor the flesh-pots for the people. Look you to this, my child, for the
people shouted bravely and with a stout voice. It was not as the great
shout in the camp when the ark returned; nevertheless, it was boldly
done, and showed that the glory had not yet departed. So spare not the
wine, my son, and drink to the desolation of Ishmael in the juice which
he dare not quaff.’

‘It has indeed been a great day for Israel!’ exclaimed Caleb, echoing
his master’s exultation.

‘Had the procession been forbidden,’ continued Bostenay, ‘had it been
reserved for me of all the princes to have dragged the accursed tribute
upon foot, without trumpets and without guards, by this sceptre, my good
Caleb, I really think that, sluggishly as this old blood now runs, I
would---- But it is needless now to talk; the God of our fathers hath
been our refuge.’

‘Verily, my lord, we were as David in the wilderness of Ziph; but now we
are as the Lord’s anointed in the stronghold of Engedi!’

‘The glory truly has not yet utterly departed,’ resumed the Prince in a
more subdued tone; ‘yet if---- I tell you what, Caleb; praise the Lord
that you are young.’

‘My Prince too may yet live to see the good day.’

‘Nay, my child, you misinterpret me. Your Prince has lived to see the
evil day. ‘Twas not of the coming that I thought when I bid you praise
the Lord because you were young, the more my sin. I was thinking, Caleb,
that if your hair was as mine, if you could recollect, like me, the
days that are gone by, the days when it needed no bride to prove we
were princes,«the glorious days when we led captivity captive; I was
thinking, I say, my son, what a gainful heritage it is to be born after
the joys that have passed away.’

‘My father lived at Babylon,’ said Caleb. ‘Oh! name it not! name it
not!’ exclaimed the old chieftain. ‘Dark was the day that we lost that
second Zion! We were then also slaves to the Egyptian; but verily we
ruled over the realm of Pharaoh. Why, Caleb, Caleb, you who know all,
the days of toil, the nights restless as a love-sick boy’s, which it has
cost your Prince to gain permission to grace our tribute-day with
the paltry presence of half-a-dozen guards; you who know all my
difficulties, who have witnessed all my mortifications, what would you
say to the purse of dirhems, surrounded by seven thousand scimitars?’

‘Seven thousand scimitars!’ ‘Not one less; my father flourished one.’
‘It was indeed a great day for Israel!’ ‘Nay, that is nothing. When old
Alroy was prince, old David Alroy, for thirty years, good Caleb, thirty
long years we paid _no_ tribute to the Caliph.’

‘No tribute! no tribute for thirty years! What marvel then, my Prince,
that the Philistines have of late exacted interest?’

‘Nay, that is nothing,’ continued old Bostenay, unmindful of his
servant’s ejaculations. ‘When Moctador was Caliph, he sent to the same
Prince David, to know why the dirhems were not brought up, and David
immediately called to horse, and, attended by all the chief people, rode
to the palace, and told the Caliph that tribute was an acknowledgment
made from the weak to the strong to insure protection and support; and,
inasmuch as he and his people had garrisoned the city for ten years
against the Seljuks, he held the Caliph in arrear.’

‘We shall yet see an ass mount a ladder,’ [1] exclaimed Caleb, with
uplifted eyes of wonder.

‘It is true, though,’ continued the Prince; ‘often have I heard my
father tell the tale. He was then a child, and his mother held him up to
see the procession return, and all the people shouted “The sceptre has
not gone out of Jacob.”’

‘It was indeed a great day for Israel.’

‘Nay, that is nothing. I could tell you such things! But we prattle; our
business is not yet done. You to the people; the widow and the orphan
are waiting. Give freely, good Caleb, give freely; the spoils of the
Canaanite are no longer ours, nevertheless the Lord is still our God,
and, after all, even this is a great day for Israel. And, Caleb, Caleb,
bid my nephew, David Alroy, know that I would speak with him.’

‘I will do all promptly, good master! We wondered that our honoured
lord, your nephew, went not up with the donation this day.’

‘Who bade you wonder? Begone, sir! How long are you to idle here? Away!

‘They wonder he went not up with the tribute to-day. Ay! surely, a
common talk. This boy will be our ruin, a prudent hand to wield our
shattered sceptre. I have observed him from his infancy; he should have
lived in Babylon. The old Alroy blood flows in his veins, a stiff-necked
race. When I was a youth, his grandsire was my friend; I had some
fancies then myself. Dreams, dreams! we have fallen on evil days, and
yet we prosper. I have lived long enough to feel that a rich caravan,
laden with the shawls of India and the stuffs of Samarcand, if not
exactly like dancing before the ark, is still a goodly sight. And our
hard-hearted rulers, with all their pride, can they subsist without us?
Still we wax rich. I have lived to see the haughty Caliph sink into a
slave viler far than Israel. And the victorious and voluptuous Seljuks,
even now they tremble at the dim mention of the distant name of Arslan.
Yet I, Bostenay, and the frail remnant of our scattered tribes, still
we exist, and still, thanks to our God! we prosper. But the age of power
has passed; it is by prudence now that we must flourish. The gibe and
jest, the curse, perchance the blow, Israel now must bear, and with a
calm or even smiling visage. What then? For every gibe and jest, for
every curse, I’ll have a dirhem; and for every blow, let him look to it
who is my debtor, or wills to be so. But see, he comes, my nephew! His
grandsire was my friend. Methinks I look upon him now: the same Alroy
that was the partner of my boyish hours. And yet that fragile form and
girlish face but ill consort with the dark passions and the dangerous
fancies, which, I fear, lie hidden in that tender breast. Well, sir?’

‘You want me, uncle?’

‘What then? Uncles often want what nephews seldom offer.’

‘I at least can refuse nothing; for I have naught to give.’

‘You have a jewel which I greatly covet.’ ‘A jewel! See my chaplet! You
gave it me, my uncle; it is yours.’

‘I thank you. Many a blazing ruby, many a soft and shadowy pearl, and
many an emerald glowing like a star in the far desert, I behold, my
child. They are choice stones, and yet I miss a jewel far more precious,
which, when I gave you this rich chaplet, David, I deemed you did
possess.’ ‘How do you call it, sir?’ ‘Obedience.’

‘A word of doubtful import; for to obey, when duty is disgrace, is not a
virtue.’

‘I see you read my thought. In a word, I sent for you to know, wherefore
you joined me not to-day in offering our--our----’

‘Tribute.’

‘Be it so: tribute. Why were you absent?’ ‘Because it was a tribute; I
pay none.’ ‘But that the dreary course of seventy winters has not erased
the memory of my boyish follies, David, I should esteem you mad. Think
you, because I am old, I am enamoured of disgrace, and love a house of
bondage? If life were a mere question between freedom and slavery, glory
and dishonour, all could decide. Trust me, there needs but little spirit
to be a moody patriot in a sullen home, and vent your heroic spleen upon
your fellow-sufferers, whose sufferings you cannot remedy. But of such
stuff your race were ever made. Such deliverers ever abounded in the
house of Alroy. And what has been the result? I found you and your
sister orphan infants, your sceptre broken, and your tribes dispersed.
The tribute, which now at least we pay like princes, was then exacted
with the scourge and offered in chains. I collected our scattered
people, I re-established our ancient throne, and this day, which you
look upon as a day of humiliation and of mourning, is rightly considered
by all a day of triumph and of feasting; for, has it not proved in the
very teeth of the Ishmaelites, that the sceptre has not yet departed
from Jacob?’

‘I pray you, uncle, speak not of these things. I would not willingly
forget you are my kinsman, and a kind one. Let there not be strife
between us. What my feelings are is nothing. They are my own: I cannot
change them. And for my ancestors, if they pondered much, and achieved
little, why then ‘twould seem our pedigree is pure, and I am their true
son. At least one was a hero.’

‘Ah! the great Alroy; you may well be proud of such an ancestor.’

‘I am ashamed, uncle, ashamed, ashamed.’

‘His sceptre still exists. At least, I have not betrayed him. And this
brings me to the real purport of our interview. That sceptre I would
return.’

‘To whom?’

‘To its right owner, to yourself.’

‘Oh! no, no, no; I pray you, I pray you not. I do entreat you, sir,
forget that I have a right as utterly as I disclaim it. That sceptre
you have wielded it wisely and well; I beseech you keep it. Indeed, good
uncle, I have no sort of talent for all the busy duties of this post.’

‘You sigh for glory, yet you fly from toil.’

‘Toil without glory is a menial’s lot.’

‘You are a boy; you may yet live to learn that the sweetest lot of life
consists in tranquil duties and well-earned repose.’

‘If my lot be repose, I’ll find it in a lair.’

‘Ah! David, David, there is a wildness in your temper, boy, that makes
me often tremble. You are already too much alone, child. And for this,
as well as weightier reasons, I am desirous that you should at length
assume the office you inherit. What my poor experience can afford to aid
you, as your counsellor, I shall ever proffer; and, for the rest, our
God will not desert you, an orphan child, and born of royal blood.’

‘Pr’ythee, no more, kind uncle. I have but little heart to mount a
throne, which only ranks me as the first of slaves.’

‘Pooh, pooh, you are young. Live we like slaves? Is this hall a servile
chamber? These costly carpets, and these rich divans, in what proud
harem shall we find their match? I feel not like a slave. My coffers are
full of dirhems. Is that slavish? The wealthiest company of the caravan
is ever Bostenay’s. Is that to be a slave? Walk the bazaar of Bagdad,
and you will find my name more potent than the Caliph’s. Is that a badge
of slavery?’

‘Uncle, you toil for others.’

‘So do we all, so does the bee, yet he is free and happy.’

‘At least he has a sting.’

‘Which he can use but once, and when he stings----’

‘He dies, and like a hero. Such a death is sweeter than his honey.’

‘Well, well, you are young, you are young. I once, too, had fancies.
Dreams all, dreams all. I willingly would see you happy, child. Come,
let that face brighten; after all, to-day is a great day. If you had
seen what I have seen, David, you too would feel grateful. Come, let
us feast. The Ishmaelite, the accursed child of Hagar, he does confess
to-day that you are a prince; this day also you complete your eighteenth
year. The custom of our people now requires that you should assume the
attributes of manhood. To-day, then, your reign commences; and at
our festival I will present the elders to their prince. For a while,
farewell, my child. Array that face in smiles. I shall most anxiously
await your presence.’

‘Farewell, sir.’

He turned his head and watched his uncle as he departed: the bitter
expression of his countenance gradually melted away as Bostenay
disappeared: dejection succeeded to sarcasm; he sighed, he threw himself
upon a couch and buried his face in his hands.

Suddenly he arose and paced the chamber with an irregular and moody
step. He stopped, and leant against a column. He spoke in a tremulous
and smothered voice:

‘Oh! my heart is full of care, and my soul is dark with sorrow! What
am I? What is all this? A cloud hangs heavy o’er my life. God of my
fathers, let it burst!

‘I know not what I feel, yet what I feel is madness. Thus to be is not
to live, if life be what I sometimes dream, and dare to think it might
be. To breathe, to feed, to sleep, to wake and breathe again, again to
feel existence without hope; if this be life, why then these brooding
thoughts that whisper death were better?

‘Away! The demon tempts me. But to what? What nameless deed shall
desecrate this hand? It must not be: the royal blood of twice two
thousand years, it must not die, die like a dream. Oh! my heart is full
of care, and my soul is dark with sorrow!

‘Hark! the trumpets that sound our dishonour. Oh, that they but sounded
to battle! Lord of Hosts, let me conquer or die! Let me conquer like
David; or die, Lord, like Saul!

‘Why do I live? Ah! could the thought that lurks within my secret heart
but answer, not that trumpet’s blast could speak as loud or clear.
The votary of a false idea, I linger in this shadowy life, and feed on
silent images which no eye but mine can gaze upon, till at length they
are invested with all the terrible circumstance of life, and breathe,
and act, and form a stirring world of fate and beauty, time, and death,
and glory. And then, from out this dazzling wilderness of deeds, I
wander forth and wake, and find myself in this dull house of bondage,
even as I do now. Horrible! horrible!

‘God, of my fathers! for indeed I dare not style thee God of their
wretched sons; yet, by the memory of Sinai, let me tell thee that some
of the antique blood yet beats within these pulses, and there yet is one
who fain would commune with thee face to face, commune and conquer.

‘And if the promise unto which we cling be not a cheat, why, let him
come, come, and come quickly, for thy servant Israel, Lord, is now a
slave so infamous, so woe-begone, and so contemned, that even when our
fathers hung their harps by the sad waters of the Babylonian stream,
why, it was paradise compared with what we suffer.

‘Alas! they do not suffer; they endure and do not feel. Or by this time
our shadowy cherubim would guard again the ark. It is the will that is
the father to the deed, and he who broods over some long idea, however
wild, will find his dream was but the prophecy of coming fate.

‘And even now a vivid flash darts through the darkness of my mind.
Methinks, methinks--ah! worst of woes to dream of glory in despair. No,
no; I live and die a most ignoble thing; beauty and love, and fame and
mighty deeds, the smile of women and the gaze of men, and the ennobling
consciousness of worth, and all the fiery course of the creative
passions, these are not for me, and I, Alroy, the descendant of sacred
kings, and with a soul that pants for empire, I stand here extending my
vain arm for my lost sceptre, a most dishonoured slave! And do I still
exist? Exist! ay, merrily. Hark! Festivity holds her fair revel in these
light-hearted walls. We are gay to-day; and yet, ere yon proud sun,
whose mighty course was stayed before our swords that now he even does
not deign to shine upon; ere yon proud sun shall, like a hero from a
glorious field, enter the bright pavilion of his rest, there shall a
deed be done.

‘My fathers, my heroic fathers, if this feeble arm cannot redeem your
heritage; if the foul boar must still wallow in thy sweet vineyard,
Israel, at least I will not disgrace you. No! let me perish. The house
of David is no more; no more our sacred seed shall lurk and linger, like
a blighted thing, in this degenerate earth. If we cannot flourish, ‘why,
then, we will die!’

‘Oh! say not so, my brother!’

He turns, he gazes on a face beauteous as a starry night; his heart is
full, his voice is low.

‘Ah, Miriam! thou queller of dark spirits! is it thou? Why art thou
here?’

‘Why am I here? Are you not here? and need I urge a stronger plea? Oh!
brother dear, I pray you come, and mingle in our festival. Our walls are
hung with flowers you love;[2] I culled them by the fountain’s side; the
holy lamps are trimmed and set, and you must raise their earliest flame.
Without the gate, my maidens wait, to offer you a robe of state. Then,
brother dear, I pray you come and mingle in our festival.’

‘Why should we feast?’

‘Ah! is it not in thy dear name these lamps are lit, these garlands
hung? To-day to us a prince is given, to-day----’

‘A prince without a kingdom.’

‘But not without that which makes kingdoms precious, and which full many
a royal heart has sighed for, willing subjects, David.’

‘Slaves, Miriam, fellow-slaves.’

‘What we are, my brother, our God has willed; and let us bow and
tremble.’

‘I will not bow, I cannot tremble.’

‘Hush, David, hush! It was this haughty spirit that called the vengeance
of the Lord upon us.’

‘It was this haughty spirit that conquered Canaan.’

‘Oh, my brother, my dear brother! they told me the dark spirit had
fallen on thee, and I came, and hoped that Miriam might have charmed it.
What we may have been, Alroy, is a bright dream; and what we may be, at
least as bright a hope; and for what we are, thou art my brother. In thy
love I find present felicity, and value more thy chance embraces and thy
scanty smiles than all the vanished splendour of our race, our gorgeous
gardens, and our glittering halls.’

‘Who waits without there?’

‘Caleb.’

‘Caleb!’

‘My lord.’

‘Go tell my uncle that I will presently join the banquet. Leave me a
moment, Miriam. Nay, dry those tears.’

‘Oh, Alroy! they are not tears of sorrow.’

‘God be with thee! Thou art the charm and consolation of my life.
Farewell! farewell!

‘I do observe the influence of women very potent over me. ‘Tis not
of such stuff that they make heroes. I know not love, save that pure
affection which doth subsist between me and this girl, an orphan and my
sister. We are so alike, that when, last Passover, in mimicry she twined
my turban round her head, our uncle called her David.

‘The daughters of my tribe, they please me not, though they are passing
fair. Were our sons as brave as they are beautiful, we still might dance
on Sion. Yet have I often thought that, could I pillow this moody brow
upon some snowy bosom that were my own, and dwell in the wilderness,
far from the sight and ken of man, and all the care and toil and
wretchedness that groan and sweat and sigh about me, I might haply lose
this deep sensation of overwhelming woe that broods upon by being. No
matter! Life is but a dream, and mine must be a dull one.’

Without the gates of Hamadan, a short distance from the city, was
an enclosed piece of elevated ground, in the centre of which rose an
ancient sepulchre, the traditionary tomb of Esther and Mordecai.[3] This
solemn and solitary spot was an accustomed haunt of Alroy, and thither,
escaping from the banquet, about an hour before sunset, he this day
repaired.

As he unlocked the massy gate of the burial-place, he heard behind him
the trampling of a horse; and before he had again secured the entrance,
some one shouted to him.

He looked up, and recognised the youthful and voluptuous Alschiroch, the
governor of the city, and brother of the sultan of the Seljuks. He
was attended only by a single running footman, an Arab, a detested
favourite, and notorious minister of his pleasures.

‘Dog!’ exclaimed the irritated Alschiroch, ‘art thou deaf, or obstinate,
or both? Are we to call twice to our slaves? Unlock that gate!’
‘Wherefore?’ inquired Alroy.

‘Wherefore! By the holy Prophet, he bandies questions with us! Unlock
that gate, or thy head shall answer for it!’

‘Who art thou,’ inquired Alroy, ‘whose voice is so loud? Art thou some
holiday Turk, who hath transgressed the orders of thy Prophet, and
drunken aught but water? Go to, or I will summon thee before thy Cadi;’
and, so saying, he turned towards the tomb.

‘By the eyes of my mother, the dog jeers us! But that we are already
late, and this horse is like an untamed tiger, I would impale him on the
spot. Speak to the dog, Mustapha! manage him!’

‘Worthy Hebrew,’ said the silky Mustapha, advancing, ‘apparently you are
not aware that this is our Lord Alschiroch. His highness would fain walk
his horse through the burial-ground of thy excellent people, as he is
obliged to repair, on urgent matters, to a holy Santon, who sojourns on
the other side of the hill, and time presses.’

‘If this be our Lord Alschiroch, thou doubtless art his faithful slave,
Mustapha.’

‘I am, indeed, his poor slave. What then, young master?’

‘Deem thyself lucky that the gate is closed. It was but yesterday thou
didst insult the sister of a servant of my house. I would not willingly
sully my hands with such miserable blood as thine, out away, wretch,
away!’

‘Holy Prophet! who is this dog?’ exclaimed the astonished governor.

‘‘Tis the young Alroy,’ whispered Mustapha, who had not at first
recognised him; ‘he they call their Prince; a most headstrong youth. My
lord, we had better proceed.’

‘The young Alroy! I mark him. They must have a prince too! The young
Alroy! Well, let us away, and, dog!’ shouted Alschiroch, rising in his
stirrups, and shaking his hand with a threatening air, ‘dog! remember
thy tribute!’

Alroy rushed to the gate, but the massy lock was slow to open; and ere
he could succeed, the fiery steed had borne Alschiroch beyond pursuit.

An expression of baffled rage remained for a moment on his countenance;
for a moment he remained with his eager eye fixed on the route of his
vanished enemy, and then he walked slowly towards the tomb; but his
excited temper was now little in unison with the still reverie in
which he had repaired to the sepulchre to indulge. He was restless and
disquieted, and at length he wandered into the woods, which rose on the
summit of the burial-place.

He found himself upon a brow crested with young pine-trees, in the midst
of which rose a mighty cedar. He threw himself beneath its thick and
shadowy branches, and looked upon a valley small and green; in the midst
of which was a marble fountain, the richly-carved cupola,[4] supported
by twisted columns, and banded by a broad inscription in Hebrew
characters. The bases of the white pillars were covered with wild
flowers, or hidden by beds of variegated gourds. The transparent sunset
flung over the whole scene a soft but brilliant light.

The tranquil hour, the beauteous scene, the sweetness and the stillness
blending their odour and serenity, the gentle breeze that softly rose,
and summoned forth the languid birds to cool their plumage in the
twilight air, and wave their radiant wings in skies as bright---- Ah!
what stern spirit will not yield to the soft genius of subduing eve?

And Alroy gazed upon the silent loneliness of earth, and a tear stole
down his haughty cheek.

‘‘Tis singular! but when I am thus alone at this still hour, I ever
fancy I gaze upon the Land of Promise. And often, in my dreams, some
sunny spot, the bright memorial of a roving hour, will rise upon my
sight, and, when I wake, I feel as if I had been in Canaan. Why am I
not? The caravan that bears my uncle’s goods across the Desert would
bear me too. But I rest here, my miserable life running to seed in
the dull misery of this wretched city, and do nothing. Why, the old
captivity was empire to our inglorious bondage. We have no Esther now
to share their thrones, no politic Mordecai, no purple-vested Daniel. O
Jerusalem, Jerusalem! I do believe one sight of thee would nerve me
to the sticking-point. And yet to gaze upon thy fallen state, my uncle
tells me that of the Temple not a stone remains. ‘Tis horrible. Is there
no hope?’

‘_The bricks are fallen, but we will rebuild with marble; the sycamores
are cut down, but we will replace them with cedars._’

‘The chorus of our maidens, as they pay their evening visit to the
fountain’s side.[5] The burden is prophetic.

‘Hark again! How beautifully, upon the soft and flowing air, their sweet
and mingled voices blend and float!’

‘_YET AGAIN I WILL BUILD THEE, AND THOU SHALT BE BUILT, O VIRGIN OF
ISRAEL! YET AGAIN SHALT THOU DECK THYSELF WITH THY TABRETS, AND GO
FORTH IN THE DANCE OF THOSE THAT MAKE MERRY. YET AGAIN SHALT THOU PLANT
VINEYARDS ON THE MOUNTAINS OF SAMARIA._’

‘See! their white forms break through the sparkling foliage of the sunny
shrubs as they descend, with measured step, that mild declivity. A
fair society in bright procession: each one clothed in solemn drapery,
veiling her shadowy face with modest hand, and bearing on her graceful
head a graceful vase. Their leader is my sister.

‘And now they reach the fountain’s side, and dip their vases in the
water, pure and beauteous as themselves. Some repose beneath the marble
pillars; some, seated ‘mid the flowers, gather sweets, and twine them
into garlands; and that wild girl, now that the order is broken, touches
with light fingers her moist vase, and showers startling drops of
glittering light on her serener sisters. Hark! again they sing.’

‘_O VINE OF SIBMAH! UPON THY SUMMER FRUITS, AND UPON THY VINTAGE, A
SPOILER HATH FALLEN!_’

A scream, a shriek, a long wild shriek, confusion, flight, despair!
Behold! from out the woods a tur-baned man rushes, and seizes the leader
of the chorus. Her companions fly on all sides, Miriam alone is left in
the arms of Alschiroch.

The water column wildly rising from the breast of summer ocean, in some
warm tropic clime, when the sudden clouds too well discover that the
holiday of heaven is over, and the shrieking sea-birds tell a time of
fierce commotion, the column rising from the sea, it was not so wild as
he, the young Alroy.

Pallid and mad, he swift upsprang, and he tore up a tree by its lusty
roots, and down the declivity, dashing with rapid leaps, panting
and wild, he struck the ravisher on the temple with the mighty pine.
Alschiroch fell lifeless on the sod, and Miriam fainting into her
brother’s arms.

And there he stood, fixed and immovable, gazing upon his sister’s
deathly face, and himself exhausted by passion and his exploit,
supporting her cherished but senseless body.

One of the fugitive maidens appeared reconnoitring in the distance.
When she observed her mistress in the arms of one of her own people, her
courage revived, and, desirous of rallying her scattered companions, she
raised her voice, and sang:

_‘HASTE, DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM; O! HASTE, FOR THE LORD HAS AVENGED US,
AND THE SPOILER IS SPOILED._’

And soon the verse was responded to from various quarters of the woods,
and soon the virgins reassembled, singing,

‘_WE COME, O DAUGHTER OF JERUSALEM! WE COME; FOR THE LORD HAS AVENGED
US, AND THE SPOILER IS SPOILED_.’

They gathered round their mistress, and one loosened her veil, and
another brought water from the fountain, and sprinkled her reviving
countenance. And Miriam opened her eyes, and said, ‘My brother!’ And he
answered, ‘I am here.’ And she replied in a low voice, ‘Fly, David, fly;
for the man you have stricken is a prince among the people.’

‘He will be merciful, my sister; and, doubtless, since he first erred,
by this time he has forgotten my offence.’

‘Justice and mercy! Oh, my brother, what can these foul tyrants know
of either! Already he has perhaps doomed you to some refined and
procrastinated torture, already---- Ah! what unutterable woe is mine!
fly, my brother, fly!’

‘Fly, fly, fly!’

‘There is no fear, my Miriam; would all his accursed race could trouble
us as little as their sometime ruler. See, he sleeps soundly. But his
carcass shall not defile our fresh fountain and our fragrant flowers.
I’ll stow it in the woods, and stroll here at night to listen to the
jackals at their banquet.’

‘You speak wildly, David. What! No! It is impossible! He is not dead!
You have not slain him!

He sleeps, he is afraid. He mimics death that we may leave his side,
and he may rise again in safety. Girls, look to him. David, you do not
answer. Brother, dear brother, surely he has swooned! I thought he had
fled. Bear water, maidens, to that terrible man. I dare not look upon
him.’

‘Away! I’ll look on him, and I’ll triumph. Dead! Alschiroch dead! Why,
but a moment since, this clotted carcass was a prince, my tyrant! So we
can rid ourselves of them, eh? If the prince fall, why not the people?
Dead, absolutely dead, and I his slayer! Hah! at length I am a man.
This, this indeed is life. Let me live slaying!’

‘Woe! woe, our house is fallen! The wildness of his gestures frightens
me. David, David, I pray thee cease. He hears me not; my voice,
perchance, is thin. I am very faint. Maidens, kneel to your Prince, and
soothe the madness of his passion.’

‘_SWEET IS THE VOICE OF A SISTER IN THE SEASON OF SORROW, AND WISE IS
THE COUNSEL OF THOSE WHO LOVE US_.’

‘Why, this is my Goliath! a pebble or a stick, it is the same. The Lord
of Hosts is with us. Rightly am I called David.’

‘_DELIVER US FROM OUR ENEMIES, O LORD! FROM THOSE WHO RISE UP AGAINST
US, AND THOSE WHO LIE IN WAIT FOR US_.’

[Illustration: page020]

‘Were but this blow multiplied, were but the servants of my uncle’s
house to do the same, why, we should see again the days of Elah! The
Philistine, the foul, lascivious, damnable Philistine! and he must touch
my sister! Oh! that all his tribe were here, all, all! I’d tie such
firebrands to their foxes’ tails, the blaze should light to freedom!’

While he spoke, a maiden, who had not yet rejoined the company, came
running towards them swiftly with an agitated countenance.

‘Fly,’ she exclaimed, ‘they come, they come!’

Miriam was reclining in an attendant’s arms, feeble and faint, but the
moment her quick ear caught these words she sprang up, and seized her
brother’s arm.

‘Alroy! David! brother, dear brother! I beseech thee, listen, I am thy
sister, thy Miriam; they come, they come, the hard-hearted, wicked men,
they come, to kill, perhaps to torture thee, my tender brother. Rouse
thyself, David; rouse thyself from this wild, fierce dream: save
thyself, fly!’

‘Ah! is it thou, Miriam? Thou seest he sleepeth soundly. I was dreaming
of noble purposes and mighty hopes. Tis over now. I am myself again.
What wouldst thou?’

‘They come, the fierce retainers of this fallen man; they come to seize
thee. Fly, David!’

‘And leave thee?’

‘I and my maidens, we have yet time to escape by the private way we
entered, our uncle’s garden. When in his house, we are for a moment
safe, as safe as our poor race can ever be. Bostenay is so rich, so
wise, so prudent, so learned in man’s ways, and knows so well the
character and spirit of these men, all will go right; I fear nothing.
But thou, if thou art here, or to be found, thy blood alone will satiate
them. If they be persuaded that thou hast escaped, as I yet pray thou
mayest, their late master here, whom they could scarcely love, why, give
me thy arm an instant, sweet Beruna. So, that’s well. I was saying, if
well bribed,--and they may have all my jewels,--why, very soon, he will
be as little in their memories as he is now in life. I can scarcely
speak; I feel my words wander, or seem to wander; I could swoon, but
will not; nay! do not fear. I will reach home. These maidens are my
charge. ‘Tis in these crises we should show the worth of royal blood.
I’ll see them safe, or die with them.’

‘O! my sister, methinks I never knew I was a brother until this hour. My
precious Miriam, what is life? what is revenge, or even fame and freedom
without thee? I’ll stay.’

‘_SWEET IS THE VOICE OF A SISTER IN THE SEASON OF SORROW, AND WISE IS
THE COUNSEL OF THOSE WHO LOVE US_.’

‘Fly, David, fly!’

‘Fly! whither and how?’

The neigh of a horse sounded from the thicket.

‘Ah! they come!’ exclaimed the distracted Miriam.

‘_ALL THIS HAS COME UPON US, O LORD! YET HAVE WE NOT FORGOTTEN THEE,
NEITHER HAVE WE DEALT FALSELY IN THY COVENANT_.’

‘Hark! again it neighs! It is a horse that calleth to its rider. I see
it. Courage, Miriam! it is no enemy, but a very present friend in time
of trouble. It is Alschiroch’s courser. He passed me on it by the tomb
ere sunset. I marked it well, a very princely steed.’

_‘BEHOLD, BEHOLD, A RAM IS CAUGHT IN THE THICKET BY HIS HORNS._’

‘Our God hath not forgotten us! Quick, maidens, bring forth the goodly
steed. What! do you tremble? I’ll be his groom.’

‘Nay! Miriam, beware, beware. It is an untamed beast, wild as the
whirlwind. Let me deal with him.’

He ran after her, dashed into the thicket, and brought forth the horse.

Short time I ween that stately steed had parted from his desert home;
his haughty crest, his eye of fire, the glory of his snorting nostril,
betoken well his conscious pride, and pure nobility of race. His colour
was like the sable night shining with a thousand stars, and he pawed the
ground with his delicate hoof, like an eagle flapping its wing.

Alroy vaulted on his back, and reined him with a master’s hand.

‘Hah!’ he exclaimed, ‘I feel more like a hero than a fugitive. Farewell,
my sister; farewell, ye gentle maidens; fare ye well, and cherish
my precious Miriam. One embrace, sweet sister,’ and he bent down and
whispered, ‘Tell the good Bostenay not to spare his gold, for I have a
deep persuasion that, ere a year shall roll its heavy course, I shall
return and make our masters here pay for this hurried ride and bitter
parting. Now for the desert!’




CHAPTER II.

     _The Slaying of an Ishmaelite_

SPEED, fleetly speed, thou courser bold, and track the desert’s
trackless way. Beneath thee is the boundless earth, above thee is the
boundless heaven, an iron soil and brazen sky. Speed, swiftly speed,
thou courser bold, and track the desert’s trackless way. Ah! dost thou
deem these salty plains[6] lead to thy Yemen’s happy groves, and
dost thou scent on the hot breeze the spicy breath of Araby? A sweet
delusion, noble steed, for this briny wilderness leads not to the happy
groves of Yemen, and the breath thou scentest on the coming breeze is
not the spicy breath of Araby.

The day has died, the stars have risen, with all the splendour of a
desert sky, and now the Night descending brings solace on her dewy wings
to the fainting form and pallid cheek of the youthful Hebrew Prince.

Still the courser onward rushes, still his mighty heart supports him.
Season and space, the glowing soil, the burning ray, yield to the
tempest of his frame, the thunder of his nerves, and lightning of his
veins.

Food or water they have none. No genial fount, no graceful tree, rise
with their pleasant company. Never a beast or bird is there, in that
hoary desert bare. Nothing breaks the almighty stillness. Even the
jackal’s felon cry might seem a soothing melody. A grey wild rat, with
snowy whiskers, out of a withered bramble stealing, with a youthful
snake in its ivory teeth, in the moonlight grins with glee. This is
their sole society.

Morn comes, the fresh and fragrant morn, for which even the guilty sigh.
Morn comes, and all is visible. And light falls like a signet on the
earth, and its face is turned like wax beneath a seal. Before them and
also on their right was the sandy desert; but in the night they had
approached much nearer to the mountainous chain, which bounded the
desert on the left, and whither Alroy had at first guided the steed.

The mountains were a chain of the mighty Elburz; and, as the sun rose
from behind a lofty peak, the horse suddenly stopped and neighed, as if
asking for water. But Alroy, himself exhausted, could only soothe him
with caresses. And the horse, full of courage, understood his master,
and neighed again more cheerfully.

For an hour or two the Prince and his faithful companion proceeded
slowly, but, as the day advanced, the heat became so oppressive, and
the desire to drink so overwhelming, that Alroy again urged on the steed
towards the mountains, where he knew that he should find a well. The
courser dashed willingly forward, and seemed to share his master’s
desire to quit the arid and exhausting wilderness.

More than once the unhappy fugitive debated whether he should not allow
himself to drop from his seat and die; no torture that could await him
at Hamadan but seemed preferable to the prolonged and inexpressible
anguish which he now endured. As he rushed along, leaning on his
bearer’s neck, he perceived a patch of the desert that seemed of a
darker colour than the surrounding sand. Here, he believed, might
perhaps be found water. He tried to check the steed, but with difficulty
he succeeded, and with still greater difficulty dismounted. He knelt
down, and feebly raked up the sand with his hands. It was moist. He
nearly fainted over his fruitless labour. At length, when he had dug
about a foot deep, there bubbled up some water. He dashed in his hand,
but it was salt as the ocean. When the horse saw the water his ears
rose, but, when he smelt it, he turned away his head, and neighed most
piteously.

‘Alas, poor beast!’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘I am the occasion of thy
suffering, I, who would be a kind master to thee, if the world would let
me. Oh, that we were once more by my own fair fountain! The thought is
madness. And Miriam too! I fear I am sadly tender-hearted.’ He leant
against his horse’s back, with a feeling of utter exhaustion, and burst
into hysteric sobs.

And the steed softly moaned, and turned its head, and gently rubbed its
face against his arm, as if to solace him in his suffering. And strange,
but Alroy was relieved by having given way to his emotion, and, charmed
with the fondness of the faithful horse, he leant down and took water,
and threw it over its feet to cool them, and wiped the foam from its
face, and washed it, and the horse again neighed.

And now Alroy tried to remount, but his strength failed him, and the
horse immediately knelt down and received him. And the moment that the
Prince was in his seat, the horse rose, and again proceeded at a rapid
pace in their old direction. Towards sunset they were within a few miles
of the broken and rocky ground into which the mountains descended; and
afar off Alroy recognised the cupola of the long-expected well. With
re-animated courage and rallied energies he patted his courser’s neck,
and pointed in the direction of the cupola, and the horse pricked up its
ears, and increased its pace.

Just us the sun set, they reached the well. Alroy jumped off the horse,
and would have led it to the fountain, but the animal would not advance.
It stood shivering with a glassy eye, and then with a groan fell down
and died.

Night brings rest; night brings solace; rest to the weary, solace to the
sad. And to the desperate night brings despair.

The moon has sunk to early rest; but a thousand stars are in the sky.
The mighty mountains rise severe in the clear and silent air. In the
forest all is still. The tired wind no longer roams, but has lightly
dropped on its leafy couch, and sleeps like man. Silent all but the
fountain’s drip. And by the fountain’s side a youth is lying.

Suddenly a creature steals through the black and broken rocks. Ha, ha!
the jackal smells from afar the rich corruption of the courser’s clay.
Suddenly and silently it steals, and stops, and smells. Brave banqueting
I ween to-night for all that goodly company. Jackal, and fox, and
marten-cat, haste ye now, ere morning’s break shall call the vulture to
his feast and rob you of your prey.

The jackal lapped the courser’s blood, and moaned with exquisite
delight. And in a moment, a faint bark was heard in the distance. And
the jackal peeled the flesh from one of the ribs, and again burst into a
shriek of mournful ecstasy.

Hark, their quick tramp! First six, and then three, galloping with
ungodly glee. And a marten-cat came rushing down from the woods; but
the jackals, fierce in their number, drove her away, and there she stood
without the circle, panting, beautiful, and baffled, with her white
teeth and glossy skin, and sparkling eyes of rabid rage.[7]

Suddenly as one of the half-gorged jackals retired from the main corpse,
dragging along a stray member by some still palpitating nerves, the
marten-cat made a spring at her enemy, carried off his prey, and rushed
into the woods.

Her wild scream of triumph woke a lion from his lair. His mighty form,
black as ebony, moved on a distant eminence, his tail flowed like a
serpent. He roared, and the jackals trembled, and immediately ceased
from their banquet, turning their heads in the direction of their
sovereign’s voice. He advanced; he stalked towards them. They retired;
he bent his head, examined the carcass with condescending curiosity,
and instantly quitted it with royal disdain. The jackals again collected
around their garbage. The lion advanced to the fountain to drink. He
beheld a man. His mane rose, his tail was wildly agitated, he bent over
the sleeping Prince, he uttered an awful roar, which awoke Alroy.

He awoke; his gaze met the flaming eyes of the enormous beast fixed upon
him with a blended feeling of desire and surprise. He awoke, and from a
swoon; but the dreamless trance had refreshed the exhausted energies of
the desolate wanderer; in an instant he collected his senses, remembered
all that had passed, and comprehended his present situation. He returned
the lion a glance as imperious, and fierce, and scrutinsing, as his own.
For a moment, their flashing orbs vied in regal rivalry; but at length
the spirit of the mere animal yielded to the genius of the man. The
lion, cowed, slunk away, stalked with haughty timidity through the
rocks, and then sprang into the forest.

Morn breaks; a silver light is shed over the blue and starry sky.
Pleasant to feel is the breath of dawn. Night brings repose, but day
brings joy.

The carol of a lonely bird singing in the wilderness! A lonely bird that
sings with glee! Sunny and sweet, and light and clear, its airy notes
float through the sky, and trill with innocent revelry.

The lonely youth on the lonely bird upgazes from the fountain’s side.
High in the air it proudly floats, balancing its crimson wings, and its
snowy tail, long, delicate, and thin, shines like a sparkling meteor in
the sun.

The carol of a lonely bird singing in the wilderness! Suddenly it
downward dashes, and thrice with circling grace it flies around the head
of the Hebrew Prince. Then by his side it gently drops a bunch of fresh
and fragrant dates.

‘Tis gone, ‘tis gone! that cheerful stranger, gone to the palmy land it
loves; gone like a bright and pleasant dream. A moment since and it was
there, glancing in the sunny air, and now the sky is without a guest.
Alas, alas! no more is heard the carol of that lonely bird singing in
the wilderness.

‘As thou didst feed Elijah, so also hast thou fed me, God of my
fathers!’ And Alroy arose, and he took his turban and unfolded it,
and knelt and prayed. And then he ate of the dates, and drank of the
fountain, and, full of confidence in the God of Israel, the descendant
of David pursued his flight.

He now commenced the ascent of the mountainous chain, a wearisome and
painful toil. Two hours past noon he reached the summit of the first
ridge, and looked over a wild and chaotic waste full of precipices
and ravines, and dark unfathomable gorges. The surrounding hills were
ploughed in all directions by the courses of dried-up cataracts, and
here and there a few savage goats browsed on an occasional patch of
lean and sour pasture. This waste extended for many miles; the distance
formed by a more elevated range of mountains, and beyond these, high in
the blue sky, rose the loftiest peaks of Elburz,[8] shining with sharp
glaciers of eternal snow.

It was apparent that Alroy was no stranger in the scene of his flight.
He had never hesitated as to his course, and now, after having rested
for a short time on the summit, he descended towards the left by a
natural but intricate path, until his progress was arrested by a black
ravine. Scarcely half a dozen yards divided him from the opposite
precipice by which it was formed, but the gulf beneath, no one could
shoot a glance at its invisible termination without drawing back with a
cold shudder.

The Prince knelt down and examined the surrounding ground with great
care. At length he raised a small square stone which covered a metallic
plate, and, taking from his vest a carnelian talisman covered with
strange characters, he knocked thrice upon the plate with the signet.
A low solemn murmur sounded around. Presently the plate flew off, and
Alroy pulled forth several yards of an iron chain, which he threw over
to the opposite precipice. The chain fastened without difficulty to
the rock, and was evidently constrained by some magnetic influence.
The Prince, seizing the chain with both his hands, now swung across
the ravine. As he landed, the chain parted from the rock, swiftly
disappeared down the opposite aperture, and its covering closed with the
same low, solemn murmur as before.

Alroy proceeded for about a hundred paces through a natural cloister
of basalt until he arrived at a large uncovered court of the same
formation, which a stranger might easily have been excused for believing
to have been formed and smoothed by art. In its centre bubbled up a
perpetual spring, icy cold; the stream had worn a channel through the
pavement, and might be traced for some time wandering among the rocks,
until at length it leaped from a precipice into a gorge below, in a
gauzy shower of variegated spray. Crossing the court, Alroy now entered
a vast cavern.

The cavern was nearly circular in form, lighted from a large aperture
in the top. Yet a burning lamp, in a distant and murky corner, indicated
that its inhabitant did not trust merely to this natural source of the
great blessing of existence. In the centre of the cave was a circular
and brazen table, sculptured with strange characters and mysterious
figures: near it was a couch, on which lay several volumes.[9] Suspended
from the walls were a shield, some bows and arrows, and other arms.

As the Prince of the Captivity knelt down and kissed the vacant couch, a
figure advanced from the extremity of the cavern into the light. He
was a man of middle age, considerably above the common height, with
a remarkably athletic frame, and a strongly-marked but majestic
countenance. His black beard descended to his waist, over a dark red
robe, encircled by a black girdle embroidered with yellow characters,
like those sculptured on the brazen table. Black also was his turban,
and black his large and luminous eye.

The stranger advanced so softly, that Alroy did not perceive him, until
the Prince again rose.

‘Jabaster!’ exclaimed the Prince.

‘Sacred seed of David,’ answered the Cabalist,[10] ‘thou art expected. I
read of thee in the stars last night. They spoke of trouble.’

‘Trouble or triumph, Time must prove which it is, great master. At
present I am a fugitive and exhausted. The bloodhounds track me, but
methinks I have baffled them now. I have slain an Ishmaelite.’




CHAPTER III

     _The Hope of Israel_

IT WAS midnight. Alroy slept upon the couch: his sleep was troubled.
Jabaster stood by his side motionless, and gazing intently upon his
slumbering guest.

‘The only hope of Israel,’ murmured the Cabalist,’ my pupil and my
prince! I have long perceived in his young mind the seed of mighty
deeds, and o’er his future life have often mused with a prophetic hope.
The blood of David, the sacred offspring of a solemn race. There is a
magic in his flowing veins my science cannot reach.

‘When, in my youth, I raised our standard by my native Tigris, and
called our nation to restore their ark, why, we were numerous, wealthy,
potent; we were a people then, and they flocked to it boldly. Did we
lack counsel? Did we need a leader? Who can aver that Jabaster’s brain
or arm was ever wanting? And yet the dream dissolved, the glorious
vision! Oh! when I struck down Marvan, and the Caliph’s camp flung its
blazing shadow over the bloody river, ah! then indeed I lived. Twenty
years of vigil may gain a pardon that I then forgot we lacked the chief
ingredient in the spell, the blood that sleeps beside me.

‘I recall the glorious rapture of that sacred strife amid the rocks of
Caucasus. A fugitive, a proscribed and outlawed wretch, whose life is
common sport, and whom the vilest hind may slay without a bidding. I,
who would have been Messiah!

‘Burn thy books, Jabaster; break thy brazen tables; forget thy lofty
science, Cabalist, and read the stars no longer.[11] But last night
I stood upon the gulf which girds my dwelling: in one hand, I held my
sacred talisman, that bears the name ineffable; in the other, the mystic
record of our holy race. I remembered that I had evoked spirits, that I
had communed with the great departed, and that the glowing heavens were
to me a natural language. I recalled, as consolation to my gloomy soul,
that never had my science been exercised but for a sacred or a noble
purpose. And I remembered Israel, my brave, my chosen, and my antique
race, slaves, wretched slaves. I was strongly tempted to fling me down
this perilous abyss, and end my learning and my life together.

‘But, as I gazed upon the star of David, a sudden halo rose around its
rays, and ever and anon a meteor shot from out the silver veil. I read
that there was trouble in the holy seed; and now comes this boy, who has
done a deed which----’

‘The ark, the ark! I gaze upon the ark!’ ‘The slumberer speaks; the
words of sleep are sacred.’ ‘Salvation only from the house of David.’
‘A mighty truth; my life too well has proved it. ‘He is more calm. It
is the holy hour. I’ll steal into the court, and gaze upon the star that
sways the fortunes of his royal house.’

The moonbeam fell upon the fountain; the pavement of the court was a
flood of light; the rocks rose dark around. Jabaster, seated by the
spring, and holding his talisman in his left hand, shaded his sight with
the other as he gazed upon the luminous heavens.

A shriek! his name was called. Alroy, wild and panting, rushed into the
court with extended arms. The Cabalist started up, seized him, and held
him in his careful grasp, foaming and in convulsions.

‘Jabaster, Jabaster!’

‘I am here, my child.’

‘The Lord hath spoken.’

‘The Lord is our refuge. Calm thyself, son of David, and tell me all.’

‘I have been sleeping, master; is it not so?’

‘Even so, my child. Exhausted by his flight and the exciting narrative
of his exploit, my Prince lay down upon the couch and slumbered; but I
fear that slumber was not repose.’

‘Repose and I have naught in common now. Farewell for ever to that fatal
word. I am the Lord’s anointed.’

‘Drink of the fountain, David: it will restore thee.’

‘Restore the covenant, restore the ark, restore the holy city.’

‘The Spirit of the Lord hath fallen upon him. Son of David, I adjure
thee tell me all that hath passed. I am a Levite; in my hand I hold the
name ineffable.’

‘Take thy trumpet then, summon the people, bid them swiftly raise again
our temple. “The bricks have fallen, but we will rebuild with marble.”
 Didst hear that chorus, sir?’

‘Unto thy chosen ear alone it sounded.’

‘Where am I? This is not our fountain. Yet thou didst say, “the
fountain.” Think me not wild. I know thee, I know all. Thou art
not Miriam. Thou art jabaster; I am Alroy. But thou didst say, “the
fountain,” and it distracted me, and called back my memory to----

‘God of Israel, lo, I kneel before thee! Here, in the solitude of
wildest nature, my only witness here this holy man, I kneel and vow,
Lord! I will do thy bidding. I am young, O God! and weak; but thou,
Lord, art all-powerful! What God is like to thee? Doubt not my courage,
Lord; and fill me with thy spirit! but remember, remember her, O Lord!
remember Miriam. It is the only worldly thought I have, and it is pure.’

‘Still of his sister! Calm thyself, my son.’

‘Holy master, thou dost remember when I was thy pupil in this cavern.
Thou hast not forgotten those days of tranquil study, those sweet, long
wandering nights of sacred science! I was dutiful, and hung upon each
accent of thy lore with the devotion that must spring from love.’

‘I cannot weep, Alroy; but were it in my power, I would yield a tear of
homage to the memory of those days.’

‘How calmly have we sat on some high brow, and gazed upon the stars!’

‘‘Tis very true, sweet child.’

‘And if thou e’er didst chide me, ‘twas half in jest, and only for my
silence.’

‘What would he now infer? No matter, he grows calmer. How solemn is his
visage in the moonlight! And yet not Solomon, upon his youthful throne,
could look more beautiful.’

‘I never told thee an untruth, Jabaster.’

‘My life upon thy faith.’

‘Fear not the pledge, and so believe me, on the mountain brow watching
the starry heavens with thyself, I was not calmer than I feel, sir,
now.’

‘I do believe thee.’

‘Then, Jabaster, believe as fully I am the Lord’s anointed.’

‘Tell me all, my child.’

‘Know, then, that sleeping on the couch within, my sleep was troubled.
Many dreams I had, indefinite and broken. I recall none of their images,
except I feel a dim sensation ‘twas my lot to live in brighter days than
now rise on our race. Suddenly I stood upon a mountain tall and grey,
and gazed upon the stars. And, as I gazed, a trumpet sounded. Its note
thrilled through my soul. Never have I heard a sound so awful. The
thunder, when it broke over the cavern here, and shivered the peak,
whose ruins lie around us, was but a feeble worldly sound to this
almighty music. My cheek grew pale, I panted even for breath. A
flaming light spread over the sky, the stars melted away, and I beheld,
advancing from the bursting radiancy, the foremost body of a mighty
host.

‘Oh! not when Saul led forth our fighting men against the Philistine,
not when Joab numbered the warriors of my great ancestor, did human
vision gaze upon a scene of so much martial splendour. Chariots and
cavalry, and glittering trains of plumed warriors too robust to need a
courser’s solace; streams of shining spears, and banners like a sunset;
reverend priests swinging their perfumed censers, and prophets hymning
with their golden harps a most triumphant future.

‘“Joy, joy,” they say, “to Israel, for he cometh, he cometh in his
splendour and his might, the great Messiah of our ancient hopes.”

‘And, lo! a mighty chariot now appeared, drawn by strange beasts whose
forms were half obscured by the bright flames on which they seemed to
float. In that glorious car a warrior stood, proud and immovable his
form, his countenance. Hold my hand, Jabaster, while I speak; that
chieftain was myself!’

‘Proceed, proceed, my son.’

‘I started in my dream, and I awoke. I found myself upsitting on my
couch. The pageantry had vanished. Naught was seen but the bright
moonlight and the gloomy cave. And, as I sighed to think I e’er had
wakened, and mused upon the strangeness of my vision, a still small
voice descended from above and called, “Alroy!” I started, but I
answered not. Methought it was my fancy. Again my name was called, and
now I murmured, “Lord, I am here, what wouldst thou?” Naught responded,
and soon great dread came over me, and I rushed out and called to thee,
my master.’

‘It was “the Daughter of the Voice”[12] that spake. Since the Captivity
‘tis the only mode by which the saints are summoned. Oft have I heard
of it, but never in these sad degenerate days has its soft aspiration
fallen upon us. These are strange times and tidings. The building of the
temple is at hand. Son of David, my heart is full. Let us to prayer!’

Day dawned upon Jabaster, still musing in solitude among his rocks.
Within the cavern, Alroy remained in prayer.

Often and anxiously the Cabalist shot a glance at his companion, and
then again relapsed into reverie.

‘The time is come that I must to this youth reveal the secrets of my
early life. Much will he hear of glory, much of shame. Naught must I
conceal, and naught gloss over.

‘I must tell how in the plains of Tigris I upraised the sacred standard
of our chosen race, and called them from their bondage; how, despairing
of his recreant fathers, and inspired by human power alone, I vainly
claimed the mighty office for his sacred blood alone reserved. God of
my fathers, grant that future service, the humble service of a
contrite soul, may in the coming glory that awaits us, atone for past
presumption!

‘But for him great trials are impending. Not lightly must that votary
be proved, who fain would free a people. The Lord is faithful to his
promise, but the Lord will choose his season and his minister. Courage,
and faith, and deep humility, and strong endurance, and the watchful
soul temptation cannot sully, these are the fruits we lay upon his
altar, and meekly watch if some descending flame will vouchsafe to
accept and brightly bless them.

‘It is written in the dread volume of our mystic lore, that not alone
the Saviour shall spring from out our house of princes, but that none
shall rise to free us, until, alone and unassisted, he have gained the
sceptre which Solomon of old wielded within his cedar palaces.

‘That sceptre must he gain. This fragile youth, untried and delicate,
unknowing in the ways of this strange world, where every step is danger,
how much hardship, how much peril, what withering disappointment, what
dull care, what long despondency, what never-ending lures, now lie in
ambush for this gentle boy! O my countrymen, is this your hope? And I,
with all my lore, and all my courage, and all my deep intelligence of
man; unhappy Israel, why am I not thy Prince?

‘I check the blasphemous thought. Did not his great ancestor, as young
and as untried, a beardless stripling, with but a pebble, a small
smoothed stone, level a mailed giant with the ground, and save his
people?

‘He is clearly summoned. The Lord is with him. Be he with the Lord, and
we shall prosper.’

It was at sunset, on the third day after the arrival of Alroy at the
cave of the Cabalist, that the Prince of the Captivity commenced his
pilgrimage in quest of the sceptre of Solomon.

Silently the pilgrim and his master took their way to the brink of the
ravine, and there they stopped to part, perhaps forever.

‘It is a bitter moment, Alroy. Human feelings are not for beings like
us, yet they will have their way. Remember all. Cherish the talisman as
thy life: nay! welcome death with it pressing against thy heart, rather
than breathe without it. Be firm, be pious. Think of thy ancestors,
think of thy God.’

‘Doubt me not, dear master; if I seem not full of that proud spirit,
which was perhaps too much my wont, ascribe it not to fear, Jabaster,
nor even to the pain of leaving thee, dear friend. But ever since that
sweet and solemn voice summoned me so thrillingly, I know not how it is,
but a change has come over my temper; yet I am firm, oh! firmer far than
when I struck down the Ishmaelite. Indeed, indeed, fear not for me. The
Lord, that knoweth all things, knows full well I am prepared even to the
death. Thy prayers, Jabaster, and----’

‘Stop, stop. I do remember me. See this ring: ‘tis a choice emerald.
Thou mayst have wondered I should wear a bauble. Alroy, I had a brother
once: still he may live. When we parted, this was the signal of his
love: a love, my child, strong, though we greatly differed. Take it. The
hour may come that thou mayst need his aid. It will command it. If he
live, he prospers. I know his temper well. He was made for what the
worldly deem prosperity. God be with thee, sacred boy: the God of our
great fathers, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob!’

They embraced.

‘We linger,’ exclaimed the Cabalist, ‘we linger. Oh! in vain we quell
the feelings of our kind. God, God bless and be with thee! Art sure thou
hast all? thy dagger and thy wallet? That staff has seen some service.
I cut it on the Jordan. Ah! that I could be thy mate! ‘Twould be nothing
then. At the worst to die together. Such a fate seems sweeter now than
parting. I’ll watch thy star, my child. Thou weepest! And I too. Why!
what is this? Am I indeed Jabaster? One more embrace, and so----we’ll
not say farewell, but only think it.’




CHAPTER IV.

     _Alroy Falls Among Thieves_

TRADITION taught that the sceptre of Solomon could be found only in the
unknown sepulchres of the ancient Hebrew monarchs, and that none might
dare to touch it but one of their descendants. Armed with the cabalistic
talisman, which was to guide him in his awful and difficult researches,
Alroy commenced his pilgrimage to the Holy City. At this time, the love
of these sacred wanderings was a reigning passion among the Jews as well
as the Christians.

The Prince of the Captivity was to direct his course into the heart
of those great deserts which, in his flight from Hamadan, he had only
skirted. Following the track of the caravan, he was to make his way
to Babylon, or Bagdad. From the capital of the caliphs, his journey
to Jerusalem was one comparatively easy; but to reach Bagdad he must
encounter hardship and danger, the prospect of which would have
divested any one of hope, who did not conceive himself the object of an
omnipotent and particular Providence.

Clothed only in a coarse black frock, common among the Kourds, girded
round his waist by a cord which held his dagger, his head shaven, and
covered with a large white turban, which screened him from the heat, his
feet protected only by slippers, supported by his staff, and bearing on
his shoulders a bag of dried meat and parched corn, and a leathern skin
of water, behold, toiling over the glowing sands of Persia, a youth
whose life had hitherto been a long unbroken dream of domestic luxury
and innocent indulgence.

He travelled during the warm night or the early starlit morn. During the
day he rested: happy if he could recline by the side of some
charitable well, shaded by a palm-tree, or frighten a gazelle from its
resting-place among the rough bushes of some wild rocks. Were these
resources wanting, he threw himself upon the sand, and made an awning
with his staff and turban.

Three weeks had elapsed since he quitted the cavern of the Cabalist.
Hitherto he had met with no human being. The desert became less arid.
A scanty vegetation sprang up from a more genial soil; the ground broke
into gentle undulations; his senses were invigorated with the odour
of wild plants, and his sight refreshed by the glancing form of some
wandering bird, a pilgrim like himself, but more at ease.

Soon sprang up a grove of graceful palm-trees, with their tall thin
stems, and bending feathery crowns, languid and beautiful. Around, the
verdant sod gleamed like an emerald: silver streams, flowing from a
bubbling parent spring, wound their white forms within the bright green
turf. From the grove arose the softening song of doves, and showers of
gay and sparkling butterflies, borne on their tinted wings of shifting
light, danced without danger in the liquid air. A fair and fresh Oasis!

Alroy reposed in this delicious retreat for two days, feeding on the
living dates, and drinking of the fresh water. Fain would he have
lingered, nor indeed, until he rested, had he been sufficiently
conscious of his previous exertion. But the remembrance of his great
mission made him restless, and steeled him to the sufferings which yet
awaited him.

At the dawn of the second day of his journey from the Oasis he beheld to
his astonishment, faintly but distinctly traced on the far horizon, the
walls and turrets of an extensive city.[13] Animated by this unexpected
prospect, he continued his progress for several hours after sunrise. At
length, utterly exhausted, he sought refuge from the overpowering heat
beneath the cupola of the ruined tomb of some Moslem saint. At sunset
he continued his journey, and in the morning found himself within a few
miles of the city. He halted, and watched with anxiety for some evidence
of its inhabitants. None was visible. No crowds or cavalcades issued
from the gates. Not a single human being, not a solitary camel, moved in
the vicinity.

The day was too advanced for the pilgrim to proceed, but so great was
his anxiety to reach this unknown settlement, and penetrate the mystery
of its silence, that ere sunset Alroy entered the gates.

A magnificent city, of an architecture with which he was unacquainted,
offered to his entranced vision its gorgeous ruins and deserted
splendour; long streets of palaces, with their rich line of lessening
pillars, here and there broken by some fallen shaft, vast courts
surrounded by ornate and solemn temples, and luxurious baths adorned
with rare mosaics, and yet bright with antique gilding; now an arch of
triumph, still haughty with its broken friezes; now a granite obelisk
covered with strange characters, and proudly towering over a prostrate
companion; sometimes a void and crumbling theatre, sometimes a long and
elegant aqueduct, sometimes a porphyry column, once breathing with the
heroic statue that now lies shivered at its base, all suffused with the
warm twilight of an eastern eve.

He gazed with wonder and admiration upon the strange and fascinating
scene. The more he beheld, the more his curiosity was excited. He
breathed with difficulty; he advanced with a blended feeling of
eagerness and hesitation. Fresh wonders successively unfolded
themselves. Each turn developed a new scene of still and solemn
splendour. The echo of his step filled him with awe. He looked around
him with an amazed air, a fluttering heart, and a changing countenance.
All was silent: alone the Hebrew Prince stood amid the regal creation of
the Macedonian captains. Empires and dynasties flourish and pass away;
the proud metropolis becomes a solitude, the conquering kingdom even a
desert; but Israel still remains, still a descendant of the most ancient
kings breathed amid these royal ruins, and still the eternal sun could
never rise without gilding the towers of living Jerusalem. A word, a
deed, a single day, a single man, and we might be a nation.

A shout! he turns, he is seized; four ferocious Kourdish bandits grapple
and bind him.

The bandits hurried their captive through a street which appeared to
have been the principal way of the city. Nearly at its termination,
they turned by a small Ionian temple, and, clambering over some fallen
pillars, entered a quarter of the city of a more ruinous aspect than
that which Alroy had hitherto visited. The path was narrow, often
obstructed, and around were signs of devastation for which the exterior
of the city had not prepared him.

The brilliant but brief twilight of the Orient was fast fading away; a
sombre purple tint succeeded to the rosy flush; the distant towers rose
black, although defined, in the clear and shadowy air; and the moon,
which, when he first entered, had studded the heavens like a small white
cloud, now glittered with deceptive light.

Suddenly, before them rose a huge pile. Oval in shape, and formed by
tiers of arches, it was evidently much dilapidated, and one enormous,
irregular, and undulating rent, extending from the top nearly to the
foundation, almost separated the side to which Alroy and his companions
advanced.

Clambering up the remainder of this massive wall, the robbers and their
prisoner descended into an immense amphitheatre, which seemed vaster in
the shadowy and streaming moonlight. In it were groups of men, horses,
and camels. In the extreme distance, reclining or squatting on mats and
carpets, was a large assembly, engaged in a rough but merry banquet. A
fire blazed at their side, its red and uncertain flame mingling with the
white and steady moonbeam, and throwing a flickering light over their
ferocious countenances, their glistening armour, ample drapery, and
shawled heads.

‘A spy,’ exclaimed the captors, as they dragged Alroy before the leader
of the band.

‘Hang him, then,’ said the chieftain, without even looking up.

‘This wine, great Scherirah, is excellent, or I am no true Moslem,’
said a principal robber; ‘but you are too cruel; I hate this summary
punishment. Let us torture him a little, and extract some useful
information.’

‘As you like, Kisloch,’ said Scherirah; ‘it may amuse us. Fellow, where
do you come from? He cannot answer. Decidedly a spy. Hang him up.’

The captors half untied the rope that bound Alroy, that it might serve
him for a further purpose, when another of the gentle companions of
Scherirah interfered.

‘Spies always answer, captain. He is more probably a merchant in
disguise.’

‘And carries hidden treasure,’ added Kisloch; ‘these rough coats often
cover jewels. We had better search him.’

‘Ah! search him,’ said Scherirah, with his rough brutal voice; ‘do what
you like, only give me the bottle. This Greek wine is choice booty. Feed
the fire, men. Are you asleep? And then Kisloch, who hates cruelty, can
roast him if he likes.’

The robbers prepared to strip their captive. ‘Friends, friends!’
exclaimed Alroy, ‘for there is no reason why you should not be friends,
spare me, spare me. I am poor, I am young, I am innocent. I am neither a
spy nor a merchant. I have no plots, no wealth. I am a pilgrim.’

‘A decided spy,’ exclaimed Scherirah; ‘they are ever pilgrims.’

‘He speaks too well to speak truth,’ exclaimed Kisloch.

‘All talkers are liars,’ exclaimed Scherirah.

‘That is why Kisloch is the most eloquent of the band.’

‘A jest at the banquet may prove a curse in the field,’ replied Kisloch.

‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Scherirah. ‘Fellows, why do you hesitate? Search the
prisoner, I say!’

They advanced, they seized him. In vain he struggled.

‘Captain,’ exclaimed one of the band, ‘he wears upon his breast a
jewel!’

‘I told you so,’ said the third robber.

‘Give it me,’ said Scherirah.

But Alroy, in despair at the thought of losing the talisman, remembering
the injunctions of Jabaster, and animated by supernatural courage, burst
from his searchers, and, seizing a brand from the fire, held them at
bay.

‘The fellow has spirit,’ said Scherirah, calmly. ‘‘Tis pity it will cost
him his life.’

‘Bold man,’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘for a moment hear me! I am a pilgrim,
poorer than a beggar. The jewel they talk of is a holy emblem, worthless
to you, to me invaluable, and to be forfeited only with my life. You
may be careless of that. Beware of your own. The first man who advances
dies. I pray you humbly, chieftain, let me go.’

‘Kill him,’ said Scherirah.

‘Stab him!’ exclaimed Kisloch.

‘Give me the jewel,’ said the third robber.

‘The God of David be my refuge, then!’ exclaimed Alroy.

‘He is a Hebrew, he is a Hebrew,’ exclaimed Scherirah, jumping up.
‘Spare him, my mother was a Jewess.’

The assailants lowered their arms, and withdrew a few paces. Alroy still
remained upon his guard.

‘Valiant pilgrim,’ said Scherirah, advancing, with a softened voice,
‘are you for the holy city?’

‘The city of my fathers.’

‘A perilous journey. And whence from?’

‘Hamadan.’

‘A dreary way. You need repose. Your name?’

‘David.’

‘David, you are among friends. Rest, and repose in safety. You hesitate.
Fear not! The memory of my mother is a charm that always changes me!’
Scherirah unsheathed his dagger, punctured his arm,[14] and, throwing
away the weapon, offered the bleeding member to Alroy. The Prince of the
Captivity touched the open vein with his lips.

‘My troth is pledged,’ said the bandit; ‘I can never betray him in whose
veins my own blood is flowing.’ So saying, he led Alroy to his carpet.

‘Eat,’ David,’ said Scherirah.

‘I will eat bread,’ answered Alroy.

‘What! have you had so much meat lately that you will refuse this
delicate gazelle that I brought down this morning with my own lance?
‘Tis food for a caliph.’

‘I pray you give me bread.’

‘Oh! bread if you like. But that a man should prefer bread to meat, and
such meat as this, ‘tis miraculous.’

‘A thousand thanks, good Scherirah; but with our people the flesh of the
gazelle is forbidden. It is unclean. Its foot is _cloven_.’

‘I have heard of these things,’ replied Scherirah, with a thoughtful
air. ‘My mother was a Jewess, and my father was a Kourd. Whichever be
right, I hope to be saved.’

‘There is but one God, and Mahomed is his prophet!’ exclaimed Kisloch;
‘though I drink wine. Your health, Hebrew.’

‘I will join you,’ said to the third robber. ‘My father was a Guebre,
and sacrificed his property to his faith; and the consequence is, his
son has got neither.’

‘As for me,’ said a fourth robber, of very dark complexion and
singularly small bright eyes, ‘I am an Indian, and I believe in the
great golden figure with carbuncle eyes, in the temple of Delhi.’

‘I have no religion,’ said a tall negro in a red turban, grinning with
his white teeth; ‘they have none in my country; but if I had heard of
your God before, Calidas, I would have believed in him.’

‘I almost wish I had been a Jew,’ exclaimed Scherirah, musing. ‘My
mother was a good woman.’ ‘The Jews are very rich,’ said the third
robber. ‘When you get to Jerusalem, David, you will see the Christians,’
continued Scherirah.

‘The accursed Giaours,’ exclaimed Kisloch, ‘we are all against them.’

‘With their white faces,’ exclaimed the negro. ‘And their blue eyes,’
said the Indian. ‘What can you expect of men who live in a country
without a sun?’ observed the Guebre.

Alroy awoke about two hours after midnight. His companions were in deep
slumber. The moon had set, the fire had died away, a few red embers
alone remaining; dark masses of shadow hung about the amphitheatre. He
arose and cautiously stepped over the sleeping bandits. He was not
in strictness a prisoner; but who could trust to the caprice of these
lawless men? To-morrow might find him their slave, or their companion in
some marauding expedition, which might make him almost retrace his steps
to the Caucasus, or to Hamadan. The temptation to ensure his freedom
was irresistible. He clambered up the ruined wall, descended into the
intricate windings that led to the Ionic fane, that served him as a
beacon, hurried through the silent and starry streets, gained the great
portal, and rushed once more into the desert.

A vague fear of pursuit made him continue his course many hours without
resting. The desert again became sandy, the heat increased. The breeze
that plays about the wilderness, and in early spring is often scented
with the wild fragrance of aromatic plants, sank away. A lurid
brightness suffused the heavens. An appalling stillness pervaded nature;
even the insects were silent. For the first time in his pilgrimage,
a feeling of deep despondency fell over the soul of Alroy. His energy
appeared suddenly to have deserted him. A low hot wind began to rise,
and fan his cheek with pestiferous kisses, and enervate his frame with
its poisonous embrace. His head and limbs ached with a dull sensation,
more terrible than pain; his sight was dizzy, his tongue swollen. Vainly
he looked around for aid; vainly he extended his forlorn arms, and
wrung them to the remorseless heaven, almost frantic with thirst. The
boundless horizon of the desert disappeared, and the unhappy victim, in
the midst of his torture, found himself apparently surrounded by bright
and running streams, the fleeting waters of the false mirage!

The sun became blood-red, the sky darker, the sand rose in fierce
eddies, the moaning wind burst into shrieks and exhaled more ardent
and still more malignant breath. The pilgrim could no longer sustain
himself.[15] Faith, courage, devotion deserted him with his failing
energies. He strove no longer with his destiny, he delivered himself
up to despair and death. He fell upon one knee with drooping head,
supporting himself by one quivering hand, and then, full of the anguish
of baffled purposes and lost affections, raising his face and arm to
heaven, thus to the elements he poured his passionate farewell.

‘O life! once vainly deemed a gloomy toil, I feel thy sweetness now!
Farewell, O life, farewell my high resolves and proud conviction of
almighty fame. My days, my short unprofitable days, melt into the past;
and death, with which I struggle, horrible death, arrests me in this
wilderness. O my sister, could thy voice but murmur in my ear one single
sigh of love; could thine eye with its soft radiance but an instant
blend with my dim fading vision, the pang were nothing. Farewell,
Miriam! my heart is with thee by thy fountain’s side. Fatal blast,
bear her my dying words, my blessing. And ye too, friends, whose too
neglected love I think of now, farewell! Farewell, my uncle; farewell,
pleasant home, and Hamadan’s serene and shadowy bowers! Farewell,
Jabaster, and the mighty lore of which thou wert the priest and I the
pupil! Thy talisman throbs on my faithful heart. Green earth and golden
sun, and all the beautiful and glorious sights ye fondly lavish on
unthinking man, farewell, farewell! I die in the desert: ‘tis bitter. No
more, oh! never more for me the hopeful day shall break, and the fresh
breeze rise on its cheering wings of health and joy. Heaven and earth,
water and air, my chosen country and my antique creed, farewell,
farewell! And thou, too, city of my soul, I cannot name thee, unseen
Jerusalem----’

Amid the roar of the wind, the bosom of the earth heaved and opened,
swift columns of sand sprang up to the lurid sky, and hurried towards
their victim. With the clang of universal chaos, impenetrable darkness
descended on the desert.




CHAPTER V.

     _Lord Honain Rescues Alroy_

NOW our dreary way is over, now the desert’s toil is past. Soon the
river broadly flowing, through its green and palmy banks, to our
wearied limbs shall offer baths ‘which caliphs cannot buy. Allah-illah,
Allah-hu. Allah-illah, Allah-hu.’

‘Blessed the man who now may bear a relic from our Prophet’s tomb;
blessed the man who now unfolds the treasures of a distant mart,
jewels of the dusky East, and silks of farthest Samarcand. Allah-illah,
Allah-hu. Allah-illah, Allah-hu.’

‘Him the sacred mosque shall greet with a reverence grave and
low; him the busy Bezestein shall welcome with confiding smile. Holy
merchant, now receive the double triumph of thy toil. Allah-illah,
Allah-hu. Allah-illah, Allah-hu.’

‘The camel jibs, Abdallah! See, there is something in the track.’

‘By the holy stone,[16] a dead man. Poor devil! One should never make
a pilgrimage on foot. I hate your humble piety. Prick the beast and he
will pass the corpse.’

‘The Prophet preaches charity, Abdallah. He has favoured my enterprise,
and I will practise his precept. See if he be utterly dead.’

It was the Mecca caravan returning to Bagdad. The pilgrims were within
a day’s journey of the Euphrates, and welcomed their approach to fertile
earth with a triumphant chorus. Far as the eye could reach, the long
line of their straggling procession stretched across the wilderness,
thousands of camels in strings, laden with bales of merchandise, and
each company headed by an animal of superior size, leading with tinkling
bells; groups of horsemen, clusters of litters; all the pilgrims
armed to their teeth, the van formed by a strong division of Seljukian
cavalry, and the rear protected by a Kourdish clan, who guaranteed the
security of the pious travellers through their country.

Abdallah was the favourite slave of the charitable merchant Ali. In
obedience to his master’s orders, he unwillingly descended from his
camel, and examined the body of the apparently lifeless Alroy.

‘A Kourd, by his dress,’ exclaimed Abdallah, with a sneer; ‘what does he
here?’

‘It is not the face of a Kourd,’ replied Ali; ‘perchance a pilgrim from
the mountains.’

‘Whatever he be, he is dead,’ answered the slave: ‘I doubt not an
accursed Giaour.’

‘God is great,’ exclaimed Ali; ‘he breathes; the breast of his caftan
heaved.’

‘‘Twas the wind,’ said Abdallah.

‘‘Twas the sigh of a human heart,’ answered Ali.

Several pilgrims who were on foot now gathered around the group.

‘I am a Hakim,’[17] observed a dignified Armenian. ‘I will feel his
pulse; ‘tis dull, but it beats.’

‘There is but one God,’ exclaimed Ali.

‘And Mahomed is his Prophet,’ responded Abdallah. ‘You do not believe in
him, you Armenian infidel.’

‘I am a Hakim,’ replied the dignified Armenian. ‘Although an infidel,
God has granted me skill to cure true believers. Worthy Ali, believe me,
the boy may yet live.’

‘Hakim, you shall count your own dirhems if he breathe in my divan in
Bagdad,’ answered Ali; ‘I have taken a fancy to the boy. God has sent
him to me. He shall carry my slippers.’

‘Give me a camel, and I will save his life.’

‘We have none,’ said the servant.

‘Walk, Abdallah,’ said the master.

‘Is a true believer to walk to save the life of a Kourd? Master
slipper-bearer shall answer for this, if there be any sweetness in the
bastinado,’ murmured Abdallah.

The Armenian bled Alroy; the blood flowed slowly but surely. The Prince
of the Captivity opened his eyes.

‘There is but one God,’ exclaimed Ali.

‘The evil eye fall on him!’ muttered Abdallah.

The Armenian took a cordial from his vest, and poured it down his
patient’s throat. The blood flowed more freely.

‘He will live, worthy merchant,’ said the physician.

‘And Mahomed is his Prophet,’ continued Ali.

‘By the stone of Mecca, I believe it is a Jew,’ shouted Abdallah.

‘The dog!’ exclaimed Ali.

‘Pah!’ said a negro slave, drawing back with disgust.

‘He will die,’ said the Christian physician, not even binding up the
vein.

‘And be damned,’ said Abdallah, again jumping on his camel.

The party rode on, the caravan proceeded. A Kourdish horseman galloped
forward. He curbed his steed as he passed Alroy bleeding to death.

‘What accursed slave has wounded one of my clan?’

The Kourd leaped off his horse, stripped off a slip of his blue shirt,
stanched the wound, and carried the unhappy Alroy to the rear.

The desert ceased, the caravan entered upon a vast but fruitful plain.
In the extreme distance might be descried a long undulating line of
palm-trees. The vanguard gave a shout, shook their tall lances in the
air, and rattled their scimitars in rude chorus against their small
round iron shields. All eyes sparkled, all hands were raised, all voices
sounded, save those that were breathless from overpowering joy. After
months wandering in the sultry wilderness, they beheld the great
Euphrates.

Broad and fresh, magnificent and serene, the mighty waters rolled
through the beautiful and fertile earth. A vital breeze rose from their
bosom. Every being responded to their genial influence. The sick were
cured, the desponding became sanguine, the healthy and light-hearted
broke into shouts of laughter, jumped from their camels, and embraced
the fragrant earth, or, wild in their renovated strength, galloped over
the plain, and threw their wanton jerreeds in the air,[18] as if to
show that suffering and labour had not deprived them of that skill and
strength, without which it were vain again to enter the haunts of their
less adventurous brethren.

The caravan halted on the banks of the broad river, glowing in the
cool sunset. The camp was pitched, the plain glittered with tents. The
camels, falling on their knees, crouched in groups, the merchandise
piled up in masses by their sides. The unharnessed horses rushed
neighing about the plain, tossing their glad heads, and rolling in the
unaccustomed pasture. Spreading their mats, and kneeling towards Mecca,
the pilgrims performed their evening orisons. Never was thanksgiving
more sincere. They arose: some rushed into the river, some lighted
lamps, some pounded coffee.[19] Troops of smiling villagers arrived with
fresh provisions, eager to prey upon such light hearts and heavy purses.
It was one of those occasions when the accustomed gravity of the Orient
disappears. Long through the night the sounds of music and the shouts of
laughter were heard on the banks of that starry river; long through the
night you might have listened with enchantment to the wild tales of the
storier, or gazed with fascination on the wilder gestures of the dancing
girls.[20]

The great bazaar of Bagdad afforded an animated and sumptuous spectacle
on the day after the arrival of the caravan. All the rare and costly
products of the world were collected in that celebrated mart: the shawls
of Cachemire and the silks of Syria, the ivory, and plumes, and gold
of Afric, the jewels of Ind, the talismans of Egypt, the perfumes and
manuscripts of Persia, the spices and gums of Araby, beautiful horses,
more beautiful slaves, cloaks of sable, pelisses of ermine, armour alike
magnificent in ornament and temper, rare animals, still rarer birds,
blue apes in silver collars, white gazelles bound by a golden chain,
greyhounds, peacocks, paroquets. And everywhere strange, and busy, and
excited groups; men of all nations, creeds, and climes: the sumptuous
and haughty Turk, the graceful and subtle Arab, the Hebrew with his
black cap and anxious countenance; the Armenian Christian, with his dark
flowing robes, and mild demeanour, and serene visage. Here strutted
the lively, affected, and superfine Persian; and there the Circassian
stalked with his long hair and chain cuirass. The fair Georgian jostled
the ebony form of the merchant of Dongola or Sennaar.

Through the long, narrow, arched, and winding streets of the bazaar,
lined on each side with loaded stalls, all was bustle, bargaining, and
barter. A passenger approached, apparently of no common rank. Two pages
preceded him, beautiful Georgian boys, clothed in crimson cloth, and
caps of the same material, sitting tight to their heads, with long
golden tassels. One bore a blue velvet bag, and the other a clasped and
richly bound volume. Four footmen, armed, followed their master, who
rode behind the pages on a milk-white mule. He was a man of middle age,
eminently handsome. His ample robes concealed the only fault in
his appearance, a figure which indulgence had rendered somewhat too
exuberant. His eyes were large, and soft, and dark; his nose aquiline,
but delicately moulded; his mouth small, and beautifully proportioned;
his lip full and red; his teeth regular and dazzling white. His ebony
beard flowed, but not at too great a length, in graceful and natural
curls, and was richly perfumed; a delicate mustachio shaded his upper
lip, but no whisker was permitted to screen the form and shroud the
lustre of his oval countenance and brilliant complexion. Altogether, the
animal perhaps predominated too much in the expression of the stranger’s
countenance; but genius beamed from his passionate eye, and craft lay
concealed in that subtle lip. The dress of the rider was sumptuous. His
turban, formed by a scarlet Cachemire shawl, was of great breadth, and
concealing half of his white forehead, increased by the contrast the
radiant height of the other. His under-vest was of white Damascus silk,
stiff with silver embroidery, and confined by a girdle formed by a Brusa
scarf of gold stuff, and holding a dagger, whose hilt appeared blazing
with brilliants and rubies. His loose and exterior robe was of crimson
cloth. His white hands sparkled with rings, and his ears glittered with
pendulous gems.

‘Who is this?’ asked an Egyptian merchant, in a low whisper, of the
dealer whose stuffs he was examining.

‘‘Tis the Lord Honain,’ replied the dealer. ‘And who may he be?’
continued the Egyptian. ‘Is he the Caliph’s son?’

‘A much greater man; his physician.’ The white mule stopped at the very
stall where this conversation was taking place. The pages halted, and
stood on each side of their master, the footmen kept off the crowd.

‘Merchant,’ said Honain, with a gracious smile of condescension, and
with a voice musical as a flute, ‘Merchant, did you obtain me my wish?’

‘There is but one God,’ replied the dealer, who was the charitable
Ali, ‘and Mahomed is his Prophet. I succeeded, please your highness, in
seeing at Aleppo the accursed Giaour, of whom I spoke, and behold,
that which you desired is here.’ So saying, Ali produced several Greek
manuscripts, and offered them to his visitor.

‘Hah!’ said Honain, with a sparkling eye, ‘‘tis well; their cost?’

‘The infidel would not part with them under five hundred dirhems,’
replied Ali.

‘Ibrahim, see that this worthy merchant receive a thousand.’

‘As many thanks, my Lord Honain.’

The Caliph’s physician bowed gracefully.

‘Advance, pages,’ continued Honain; ‘why this stoppage? Ibrahim, see
that our way be cleared. What is all this?’

A crowd of men advanced, pulling along a youth, who, almost exhausted,
still singly struggled with his ungenerous adversaries.

‘The Cadi, the Cadi,’ cried the foremost of them, who was Abdallah,
‘drag him to the Cadi.’

‘Noble lord,’ cried the youth, extricating himself by a sudden struggle
from the grasp of his captors, and seizing the robe of Honain, ‘I am
innocent and injured. I pray thy help.’

‘The Cadi, the Cadi,’ exclaimed Abdallah; ‘the knave has stolen my ring,
the ring given me by my faithful Fatima on our marriage-day, and which I
would not part with for my master’s stores.’

The youth still clung to the robe of Honain, and, mute from exhaustion,
fixed upon him his beautiful and imploring eye.

‘Silence,’ proclaimed Honain, ‘I will judge this cause.’

‘The Lord Honain, the Lord Honain, listen to the Lord Honain!’

‘Speak, thou brawler; of what hast thou to complain?’ said Honain to
Abdallah.

‘May it please your highness,’ said Abdallah, in a whining voice, ‘I am
the slave of your faithful servant, Ali: often have I had the honour of
waiting on your highness. This young knave here, a beggar, has robbed
me, while slumbering in a coffee-house, of a ring; I have my witnesses
to prove my slumbering. ‘Tis a fine emerald, may it please your
highness, and doubly valuable to me as a love-token from my Fatima.
No consideration in the world could induce me to part with it; and so,
being asleep, here are three honest men who will prove the sleep, comes
this little vagabond, may it please your highness, who while he pretends
to offer me my coffee, takes him my finger, and slips off this precious
ring, which he now wears upon his beggarly paw, and will not restore to
me without the bastinado.’

‘Abdallah is a faithful slave, may it please your highness, and a
Hadgee,’ said Ali, his master.

‘And what sayest thou, boy?’ inquired Honain.

‘That this is a false knave, who lies as slaves ever will.’

‘Pithy, and perhaps true,’ said Honain.

‘You call me a slave, you young scoundrel?’ exclaimed Abdallah; ‘shall
I tell you what you are? Why, your highness, do not listen to him a
moment. It is a shame to bring such a creature into your presence; for,
by the holy stone, and I am a Hadgee, I doubt little he is a Jew.’

Honain grew somewhat pale, and bit his lip. He was perhaps annoyed that
he had interfered so publicly in behalf of so unpopular a character as
a Hebrew, but he was unwilling to desert one whom a moment before he had
resolved to befriend, and he inquired of the youth where he had obtained
the ring.

‘The ring was given to me by my dearest friend when I first set out upon
an arduous pilgrimage not yet completed. There is but one person in the
world, except the donor, to whom I would part with it, and with that
person I am unacquainted. All this may seem improbable, but all this is
true. I have truth alone to support me. I am destitute and friendless;
but I am not a beggar, nor will any suffering induce me to become one.
Feeling, from various circumstances, utterly exhausted, I entered a
coffee-house and lay down, it may have been to die. I could not sleep,
although my eyes were shut, and nothing would have roused me from a
tremulous trance, which I thought was dying, but this plunderer here,
who would not wait until death had permitted him quietly to possess
himself of a jewel I value more than life.’

‘Show me the jewel.’

The youth held up his hand to Honain, who felt his pulse, and then took
off the ring.

‘O, my Fatima!’ exclaimed Abdallah.

‘Silence, sir!’ said Honain. ‘Page, call a jeweller.’

Honain examined the ring attentively. Whether he were near-sighted, or
whether the deceptive light of the covered bazaar prevented him from
examining it with ease, he certainly raised his hand to his brow, and
for some moments his countenance was invisible.

The jeweller arrived, and, pressing his hand to his heart, bowed before
Honain.

‘Value this ring,’ said Honain, in a low voice.

The jeweller took the ring, viewed it in all directions with a
scrutinising glance, held it to the light, pressed it to his tongue,
turned it over and over, and finally declared that he could not sell
such a ring under a thousand dirhems.

‘Whatever be the justice of the case,’ said Honain to Abdallah, ‘art
thou ready to part with this ring for a thousand dirhems?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Abdallah. ‘And thou, lad, if the decision be in
thy favour, wilt thou take for the ring double the worth at which the
jeweller prizes it?’

‘My lord, I have spoken the truth. I cannot part with that ring for the
palace of the Caliph.’

‘The truth for once is triumphant,’ said Honain. ‘Boy, the ring is
thine; and for thee, thou knave,’ turning to Abdallah, ‘liar, thief, and
slanderer!--for thee the bastinado,[21] which thou destinedst for
this innocent youth. Ibrahim, see that he receives five hundred. Young
pilgrim, thou art no longer destitute or friendless. Follow me to my
palace.’

The arched chamber was of great size and beautiful proportion. The
ceiling, encrusted with green fretwork, and studded with silver stars,
rested upon clustered columns of white and green marble. In the centre
of a variegated pavement of the same material, a fountain rose and fell
into a green porphyry basin, and by the side of the fountain, upon a
couch of silver, reposed Honain.

He raised his eyes from the illuminated volume on which he had been long
intent; he clapped his hands, and a Nubian slave advanced, and, folding
his arms upon his breast, bowed in silence before his lord. ‘How fares
the Hebrew boy, Analschar?’

‘Master, the fever has not returned. We gave him the potion; he
slumbered for many hours, and has now awakened, weak but well.’

‘Let him rise and attend me.’

The Nubian disappeared.

‘There is nothing stranger than sympathy,’ soliloquised the physician
of the Caliph, with a meditative air; ‘all resolves itself into this
principle, and I confess this learned doctor treats it deeply and well.
An erudite spirit truly, and an eloquent pen; yet he refines too
much. ‘Tis too scholastic. Observation will teach us more than dogma.
Meditating upon my passionate youth, I gathered wisdom. I have seen so
much that I have ceased to wonder. However we doubt, there is a mystery
beyond our penetration. And yet ‘tis near our grasp. I sometimes deem a
step, a single step, would launch us into light. Here comes my patient.
The rose has left his cheek, and his deep brow is wan and melancholy.
Yet ‘tis a glorious visage, Meditation’s throne; and Passion lingers in
that languid eye. I know not why, a strong attraction draws me to this
lone child.

‘Gentle stranger, how fares it with thee?’

‘Very well, my lord. I come to thank thee for all thy goodness. My only
thanks are words, and those too weak; and yet the orphan’s blessing is a
treasure.’

‘You are an orphan, then’

‘I have no parent but my father’s God.’

‘And that God is----’

‘The God of Israel.’

‘So I deemed. He is a Deity we all must honour; if he be the great
Creator whom we all allow.’

‘He is what he is, and we are what we are, a fallen people, but faithful
still.’

‘Fidelity is strength.’

‘Thy words are truth, and strength must triumph.’

‘A prophecy!’

‘Many a prophet is little honoured, till the future proves his
inspiration.’

‘You are young and sanguine.’

‘So was my ancestor within the vale of Elah. But I speak unto a Moslem,
and this is foolishness.’

‘I have read something, and can take your drift. As for my faith, I
believe in truth, and wish all men to do the same. By-the-bye, might I
inquire the name of him who is the inmate of my house?’

‘They call me David.’

‘David, you have a ring, an emerald cut with curious characters, Hebrew,
I believe.’

‘‘Tis here.’

‘A fine stone, and this inscription means----’

‘A simple legend, “_Parted, but one_;” the kind memorial of a brother’s
love.’

‘Your brother?’

‘I never had a brother.’

‘I have a silly fancy for this ring: you hesitate. Search my palace, and
choose the treasure you deem its match.’

‘Noble sir, the gem is little worth; but were it such might deck a
Caliph’s brow, ‘twere a poor recompense for all thy goodness. This ring
is a trust rather than a possession, and strange to say, although I
cannot offer it to thee who mayst command, as thou hast saved, the life
of its unhappy wearer, some stranger may cross my path to-morrow, and
almost claim it as his own.’

‘And that stranger is----’

‘The brother of the donor.’

‘The brother of Jabaster?’

‘Jabaster!’

‘Even so. I am that parted brother.’

‘Great is the God of Israel! Take the ring. But what is this? the
brother of Jabaster a turbaned chieftain! a Moslem! Say, but say, that
thou hast not assumed their base belief; say, but say, that thou hast
not become a traitor to our covenant, and I will bless the fortunes of
this hour.’

‘I am false to no God. Calm thyself, sweet youth. These are higher
questions than thy faint strength can master now. Another time we’ll
talk of this, my boy; at present of my brother and thyself. He lives and
prospers?’

‘He lives in faith; the pious ever prosper.’

‘A glorious dreamer! Though our moods are different, I ever loved him.
And thyself? Thou art not what thou seemest. Tell me all. Jabaster’s
friend can be no common mind. Thy form has heralded thy fame. Trust me.’

‘I am Alroy.’

‘What! the Prince of our Captivity?’

‘Even so.’

‘The slayer of Alschiroch?’

‘Ay!’

‘My sympathy was prophetic. I loved thee from the first. And what dost
thou here? A price is set upon thy head: thou knowest it?’

‘For the first time; but I am neither astonished nor alarmed. I am upon
the Lord’s business.’

‘What wouldst thou?’

‘Free his people.’

‘The pupil of Jabaster: I see it all. Another victim to his reveries.
I’ll save this boy. David,--for thy name must not be sounded within this
city,--the sun is dying. Let us to the terrace, and seek the solace of
the twilight breeze.’

‘What is the hour, David?’

‘Near to midnight. I marvel if thy brother may read in the stars our
happy meeting.’

‘Men read that which they wish. He is a learned Cabalist.’

‘But what we wish comes from above.’

‘So they say. We make our fortunes, and we call them Fate.’

‘Yet the Voice sounded, the Daughter of the Voice that summoned Samuel.’

‘You have told me strange things; I have heard stranger solved.’

‘My faith is a rock.’

‘On which you may split.’

‘Art thou a Sadducee?’

‘I am a man who knows men.’

‘You are learned, but different from Jabaster.’

‘We are the same, though different. Day and Night are both portions of
Time.’

‘And thy portion is----’

‘Truth.’

‘That is, light.’

‘Yes; so dazzling that it sometimes seems dark.’

‘Like thy meaning.’

‘You are young.’

‘Is youth a defect?’

‘No, the reverse. But we cannot eat the fruit while the tree is in
blossom.’

‘What fruit?’

‘Knowledge.’

‘I have studied.’

‘What?’

‘All sacred things.’

‘How know you that they are sacred?’

‘They come from God.’

‘So does everything. Is everything sacred?’

‘They are the deep expression of his will.’

‘According to Jabaster. Ask the man who prays in yonder mosque, and he
will tell you that Jabaster’s wrong.’

‘After all, thou art a Moslem?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

‘I have told you, a man.’

‘But what dost thou worship?’

‘What is worship?’

‘Adoration due from the creature to the Creator.’

‘Which is he?’

‘Our God.’

‘The God of Israel?’

‘Even so.’

‘A frail minority, then, burn incense to him.’

‘We are the chosen people.’

‘Chosen for scoffs, and scorns, and contumelies. Commend me to such
choice.’

‘We forgot Him, before He chastened us.’

‘Why did we?’

‘Thou knowest the records of our holy race.’

‘Yes, I know them; like all records, annals of blood.’

‘Annals of victory, that will dawn again.’

‘If redemption be but another name for carnage, I envy no Messiah.’

‘Art thou Jabaster’s brother?’ ‘So our mother was wont to say: a meek
and blessed woman.’

‘Lord Honain, thou art rich, and wise, and powerful. Thy fellow-men
speak of thee only with praise or fear, and both are cheering. Thou
hast quitted our antique ark; why, no matter. We’ll not discuss it. ‘Tis
something; if a stranger, at least thou art not a renegade. The world
goes well with thee, my Lord Honain. But if, instead of bows and
blessings, thou, like thy brethren, wert greeted only with the cuff
and curse; if thou didst rise each morning only to feel existence to
be dishonour, and to find thyself marked out among surrounding men as
something foul and fatal; if it were thy lot, like theirs, at best to
drag on a mean and dull career, hopeless and aimless, or with no other
hope or aim but that which is degrading, and all this, too, with a keen
sense of thy intrinsic worth, and a deep conviction of superior race;
why, then, perchance, Honain might even discover ‘twere worth a struggle
to be free and honoured.’ ‘I pray your pardon, sir; I thought you were
Jabaster’s pupil, a dreaming student. I see you have a deep ambition.’

‘I am a prince; and I fain would be a prince without my fetters.’

‘Listen to me, Alroy,’ said Honain in a low voice, and he placed his
arm around him, ‘I am your friend. Our acquaintance is very brief: no
matter, I love you; I rescued you in injury, I tended you in sickness,
even now your life is in my power, I would protect it with my own. You
cannot doubt me. Our affections are not under our own control; and mine
are yours. The sympathy between us is entire. You see me, you see what I
am; a Hebrew, though unknown; one of that despised, rejected, persecuted
people, of whom you are the chief. I too would be free and honoured.
Freedom and honour are mine, but I was my own messiah. I quitted in
good time our desperate cause, but I gave it a trial. Ask Jabaster how I
fought. Youth could be my only excuse for such indiscretion. I left
this country; I studied and resided among the Greeks. I returned from
Constantinople, with all their learning, some of their craft. No one
knew me. I assumed their turban, and I am the Lord Honain. Take my
experience, child, and save yourself much sorrow. Turn your late
adventure to good account. No one can recognise you here. I will
introduce you amongst the highest as my child by some fair Greek. The
world is before you. You may fight, you may love, you may revel. War,
and Women, and luxury are all at your command. With your person and
talents you may be grand vizir. Clear your head of nonsense. In the
present disordered state of the empire, you may even carve yourself out
a kingdom, infinitely more delightful than the barren land of milk and
honey. I have seen it, child; a rocky wilderness, where I would not let
my courser graze.’

He bent down, and fixed his eyes upon his companion with a scrutinising
glance. The moonlight fell upon the resolved visage of the Prince of the
Captivity.

‘Honain,’ he replied, pressing his hand, ‘I thank thee. Thou knowest not
me, but still I thank thee.’

‘You are resolved, then, on destruction.’

‘On glory, eternal glory.’

‘Is it possible to succeed?’

‘Is it possible to fail?’

‘You are mad.’

‘I am a believer.’

‘Enough. You have yet one chance. My brother has saddled your enterprise
with a condition, and an impossible one. Gain the sceptre of Solomon,
and I will agree to be your subject. You will waste a year in this
frolic. You are young, and can afford it. I trust you will experience
nothing worse than a loss of time, which is, however, valuable. My duty
will be, after all your sufferings, to send you forth on your adventures
in good condition, and to provide you means for a less toilsome
pilgrimage than has hitherto been your lot. Trust me, you will return to
Bagdad to accept my offers. At present, the dews are descending, and we
will return to our divan, and take some coffee.’

Some few days after this conversation on the terrace, as Alroy was
reclining in a bower, in the beautiful garden of his host, meditating
on the future, some one touched him on the back. He looked up. It was
Honain.

‘Follow me,’ said the brother of Jabaster.

The Prince rose, and followed him in silence. They entered the house,
and, passing through the saloon already described, they proceeded down
a long gallery, which terminated in an arched flight of broad steps
leading to the river. A boat was fastened to the end of the stairs,
floating on the blue line of the Tigris, bright in the sun.

Honain now gave to Alroy a velvet bag, which he requested him to carry,
and then they descended the steps and entered the covered boat; and,
without any directions to the rower, they were soon skimming over the
water. By the sound of passing vessels, and the occasional shouts of the
boatmen, Alroy, although he could observe nothing, was conscious that
for some time their course lay through a principal thoroughfare of
the city; but by degrees the sounds became less frequent, and in time
entirely died away, and all that caught his ear was the regular and
monotonous stroke of their own oar.

At length, after the lapse of nearly an hour from their entrance,
the boat stopped, and was moored against a quay. The curtains were
withdrawn, and Honain and his companion debarked.

A low but extensive building, painted in white and gold arabesque, and
irregular but picturesque in form, with many small domes, and tall thin
towers, rose amid groves of cypress on the bank of the broad and silent
river. The rapid stream had carried them far from the city, which was
visible but distant. Around was no habitation, no human being. The
opposite bank was occupied by enclosed gardens. Not even a boat passed.

Honain, beckoning to Alroy to accompany him, but still silent, advanced
to a small portal, and knocked. It was instantly opened by a single
Nubian, who bowed reverently as the visitors passed him. They proceeded
along a low and gloomy passage, covered with arches of fretwork, until
they arrived at a door of tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl.[22] Here
Honain, who was in advance, turned round to Alroy, and said, ‘Whatever
happen, and whoever may address you, as you value your life and mine, do
not speak.’

The door opened, and they found themselves in a vast and gorgeous hall.
Pillars of many-coloured marbles rose from a red and blue pavement
of the same material, and supported a vaulted, circular, and
highly-embossed roof of purple, scarlet, and gold.[23] Around a
fountain, which rose fifty feet in height from an immense basin of
lapis-lazuli, and reclining on small yellow Barbary mats, was a group
of Nubian eunuchs, dressed in rich habits of scarlet and gold,[24]
and armed with ivory battle-axes, the white handles worked in precious
arabesque finely contrasting with the blue and brilliant blades.

The commander of the eunuch-guard rose on seeing Honain, and pressing
his hand to his head, mouth, and heart, saluted him. The physician of
the Caliph, motioning Alroy to remain, advanced some paces in front of
him, and entered into a whispering conversation with the eunuch. After
a few minutes, this officer resumed his seat, and Honain, beckoning to
Alroy to rejoin him, crossed the hall.

Passing through an open arch, they entered a quadrangular court of
roses,[25] each bed of flowers surrounded by a stream of sparkling
water, and floating like an enchanted islet upon a fairy ocean. The
sound of the water and the sweetness of the flowers blended together,
and produced a lulling sensation, which nothing but his strong and
strange curiosity might have enabled Alroy to resist. Proceeding along
a cloister of light airy workmanship which connected the hall with the
remainder of the buildings, they stood before a lofty and sumptuous
portal.

It was a monolith gate, thirty feet in height, formed of one block of
green and red jasper, and cut into the fanciful undulating arch of the
Saracens. The consummate artist had seized the advantage afforded to him
by the ruddy veins of the precious stone, and had formed them in bold
relief into two vast and sinuous serpents, which shot forth their
crested heads and glittering eyes at Honain and his companion.

The physician of the Caliph, taking his dagger from his girdle, struck
the head of one of the serpents thrice. The massy portal opened with a
whirl and a roar, and before them stood an Abyssinian giant,[26] holding
in his leash a roaring lion.

‘Hush, Haroun!’ said Honain to the animal, raising at the same time his
arm; and the beast crouched in silence. ‘Worthy Morgargon, I bring you
a remembrance.’ The Abyssinian showed his tusks, larger and whiter than
the lion’s, as he grinningly received the tribute of the courtly Honain;
and he uttered a few uncouth sounds, but he could not speak, for he was
a mute.

The jasper portal introduced the companions to a long and lofty and
arched chamber, lighted by high windows of stained glass, hung with
tapestry of silk and silver, covered with prodigious carpets, and
surrounded by immense couches. And thus through similar chambers they
proceeded, in some of which were signs of recent habitation, until they
arrived at another quadrangle nearly filled by a most singular fountain
which rose from a basin of gold encrusted with pearls, and which was
surrounded by figures of every rare quadruped[27] in the most costly
materials. Here a golden tiger, with flaming eyes of ruby and flowing
stripes of opal, stole, after some bloody banquet, to the refreshing
brink; a camelopard raised its slender neck of silver from the centre
of a group of every inhabitant of the forest; and brilliant bands of
monkeys, glittering with precious stones, rested, in every variety of
fantastic posture, on the margin of the basin.

The fountain itself was a tree of gold and silver[28] spreading into
innumerable branches, covered with every variety of curious birds, their
plumage appropriately imitated by the corresponding tints of precious
stones, which warbled in beautiful melody as they poured forth from
their bills the musical and refreshing element.

It was with difficulty that Alroy could refrain from an admiring
exclamation, but Honain, ever quick, turned to him, with his finger
pressed on his mouth, and quitting the quadrangle, they entered the
gardens.

Lofty terraces, dark masses of cypress, winding walks of acacia, in
the distance an interminable paradise, and here and there a glittering
pavilion and bright kiosk! Its appearance on the river had not prepared
Alroy for the extent of the palace itself. It seemed infinite, and it
was evident that he had only viewed a small portion of it. While they
were moving on, there suddenly rose a sound of trumpets. The sound grew
nearer and nearer, louder and louder: soon was heard the tramp of
an approaching troop. Honain drew Alroy aside. A procession appeared
advancing from a dark grove of cypress. Four hundred men led as many
white bloodhounds with collars of gold and rubies.[29] Then came one
hundred men, each with a hooded hawk; then six horsemen in rich dresses;
after them a single horseman, mounted on a steed, marked on its forehead
with a star.[30] The rider was middle-aged, handsome, and dignified. He
was plainly dressed, but the staff of his hunting-spear was entirely of
diamonds and the blade of gold.

He was followed by a company of Nubian eunuchs, with their scarlet
dresses and ivory battle-axes, and the procession closed.

‘The Caliph,’ whispered Honain, when they had passed, placing at the
same time his finger on his lip to prevent any inquiry. This was
the first intimation that had reached Alroy of what he had already
suspected, that he was a visitor to the palace of the Commander of the
Faithful.

The companions turned down a wild and winding walk, which, after some
time, brought them to a small and gently sloping lawn, surrounded
by cedar-trees of great size. Upon the lawn was a kiosk, a long and
many-windowed building, covered with blinds, and further screened by
an overhanging roof. The kiosk was built of white and green marble,
the ascent to it was by a flight of steps the length of the building,
alternately of white and green marble, and nearly covered with
rose-trees. Honain went up these steps alone, and entered the kiosk.
After a few minutes he looked out from the blinds and beckoned to Alroy.
David advanced, but Honain, fearful of some indiscretion, met him, and
said to him in a low whisper between his teeth, ‘Remember you are deaf,
a mute, and a eunuch.’ Alroy could scarcely refrain from smiling, and
the Prince of the Captivity and the physician of the Caliph entered
the kiosk together. Two women, veiled, and two eunuchs of the guard,
received them in an antechamber. And then they passed into a room which
ran nearly the whole length of the kiosk, opening on one side to the
gardens, and on the other supported by an ivory wall, with niches
painted in green fresco, and in each niche a rose-tree. Each niche,
also, was covered with an almost invisible golden grate, which confined
a nightingale, and made him constant to the rose he loved. At the foot
of each niche was a fountain, but, instead of water, each basin was
replenished with the purest quicksilver.[31] The roof of the kiosk was
of mother-of-pearl inlaid with tortoise-shell; the pavement, a mosaic of
rare marbles and precious stones, representing the most delicious fruits
and the most beautiful flowers. Over this pavement, a Georgian page
flung at intervals refreshing perfumes. At the end of this elegant
chamber was a divan of light green silk, embroidered with pearls,
and covered with cushions of white satin and gold. Upon one of these
cushions, in the middle of the divan, sat a lady, her eyes fixed in
abstraction upon a volume of Persian poetry lying on her knees, one hand
playing with a rosary of pearls and emeralds,[32] and the other holding
a long gold chain, which imprisoned a white gazelle.

The lady looked up as Honain and his companion entered. She was very
young, as youthful as Alroy. Her long light brown hair, drawn off a high
white forehead covered with blue veins, fell braided with pearls over
each shoulder. Her eyes were large and deeply blue; her nose small, but
high and aquiline. The fairness of her face was dazzling, and, when she
looked up and greeted Honain, her lustrous cheeks broke into dimples,
the more fascinating from their contrast with the general expression of
her countenance, which was haughty and derisive. The lady was dressed
in a robe of crimson silk girded round her waist by a green shawl, from
which peeped forth the diamond hilt of a small poniard.[33] Her round
white arms looked infinitely small, as they occasionally flashed forth
from their large loose hanging sleeves. One was covered with jewels, and
the right arm was quite bare.

Honain advanced, and, bending, kissed the lady’s proffered hand. Alroy
fell into the background.

‘They told me that the Rose of the World drooped this morning,’ said the
physician, bending again as he smiled, ‘and her slave hastened at her
command to tend her.’

‘It was a south wind. The wind has changed, and the Rose of the World is
better,’ replied the lady laughing.

Honain touched her pulse.

‘Irregular,’ said the physician.

‘Like myself,’ said the lady. ‘Is that a new slave?’

‘A recent purchase, and a great bargain. He is good-looking, has the
advantage of being deaf and dumb, and is harmless in every respect.’

‘‘Tis a pity,’ replied the lady; ‘it seems that all good-looking people
are born to be useless. I, for instance.’

‘Yet rumour whispers the reverse,’ remarked the physician.

‘How so?’ inquired the lady.

‘The young King of Karasmé.’

‘Poh! I have made up my mind to detest him. A barbarian!’

‘A hero!’

‘Have you ever seen him?’

‘I have.’

‘Handsome?’

‘An archangel.’

‘And sumptuous?’

‘Is he not a conqueror? All the plunder of the world will be yours.’

‘I am tired of magnificence. I built this kiosk to forget it.’

‘It is not in the least degree splendid,’ said Honain, looking round
with a smile.

‘No,’ answered the lady, with a self-satisfied air: ‘here, at least, one
can forget one has the misfortune to be a princess.’

‘It is certainly a great misfortune,’ said the physician.

‘And yet it must be the only tolerable lot,’ replied the lady.

‘Assuredly,’ replied Honain.

‘For our unhappy sex, at least.’

‘Very unhappy.’

‘If I were only a man!’

‘What a hero you would be!’

‘I should like to live in endless confusion.’

‘I have not the least doubt of it.’

‘Have you got me the books?’ eagerly inquired the Princess.

‘My slave bears them,’ replied Honain.

‘Let me see them directly.’

Honain took the bag from Alroy, and unfolded its contents; the very
volumes of Greek romances which Ali, the merchant, had obtained for him.

‘I am tired of poetry,’ said the Princess, glancing over the costly
volumes, and tossing them away; ‘I long to see the world.’

‘You would soon be tired of that,’ replied the physician.

‘I suppose common people are never tired.’ said the Princess.

‘Except with labour;’ said the physician; ‘care keeps them alive.’

‘What is care?’ asked the Princess, with a smile.

‘It is a god,’ replied the physician, ‘invisible, but omnipotent. It
steals the bloom from the cheek and lightness from the pulse; it takes
away the appetite, and turns the hair grey.’

‘It is no true divinity, then,’ replied the Princess, ‘but an idol we
make ourselves. I am a sincere Moslem, and will not worship it. Tell me
some news, Honain.’

‘The young King of Karasmé----’

‘Again! the barbarian! You are in his pay. I’ll none of him. To leave
one prison, and to be shut up in another,--why do you remind me of it?
No, my dear Hakim, if I marry at all, I will marry to be free.’

‘An impossibility,’ said Honain.

‘My mother was free till she was a queen and a slave. I intend to end as
she began. You know what she was.’

Honain knew well, but he was too politic not to affect ignorance.

‘The daughter of a bandit,’ continued the Princess, ‘who fought by the
side of her father. That is existence! I must be a robber. ‘Tis in the
blood. I want my fate foretold, Honain. You are an astrologer; do it.’

‘I have already cast your nativity. Your star is à comet.’

‘That augurs well; brilliant confusion and erratic splendour. I wish
I were a star,’ added the Princess in a deep rich voice, and with a
pensive air; ‘a star in the clear blue sky, beautiful and free. Honain,
Honain, the gazelle has broken her chain, and is eating my roses.’

Alroy rushed forward and seized the graceful truant. Honain shot him an
anxious look; the Princess received the chain from the hand of Alroy,
and cast at him a scrutinising glance.

‘What splendid eyes the poor beast has got!’ exclaimed the Princess.

‘The gazelle?’ inquired the physician.

‘No, your slave,’ replied the Princess. ‘Why, he blushes. Were he not
deaf as well as dumb, I could almost believe he understood me.’

‘He is modest,’ replied Honain, rather alarmed; ‘and is frightened at
the liberty he has taken.’

‘I like modesty,’ said the Princess; ‘it is interesting. I am modest;
you think so?’

‘Certainly,’ said Honain.

‘And interesting?’

‘Very.’

‘I detest an interesting person. After all, there is nothing like plain
dulness.’

‘Nothing,’ said Honain.

‘The day flows on so serenely in such society.’

‘It does,’ said Honain.

‘No confusion; no scenes.’

‘None.’

‘I make it a rule only to have ugly slaves.’

‘You are quite right.’

‘Honain, will you ever contradict me? You know very well I have the
handsomest slaves in the world.’

‘Every one knows it.’

‘And, do you know, I have taken a great fancy to your new purchase, who,
according to your account, is eminently qualified for the post. Why, do
you not agree with me?’

‘Why, yes; I doubt not your Highness would find him eminently qualified,
and certainly few things would give me greater pleasure than offering
him for your acceptance; but I got into such disgrace by that late
affair of the Circassian, that----’

‘Oh! leave it to me,’ said the Princess.

‘Certainly,’ said the physician, turning the conversation; ‘and when
the young King of Karasmé arrives at Bagdad, you can offer him to his
majesty as a present.’

‘Delightful! and the king is really handsome and young as well as brave;
but has he any taste?’

‘You have enough for both.’

‘If he would but make war against the Greeks!’

‘Why so violent against the poor Greeks?’

‘You know they are Giaours. Besides, they might beat him, and then I
should have the pleasure of being taken prisoner.’

‘Delightful!’

‘Charming! to see Constantinople, and marry the Emperor.’

‘Marry the Emperor!’

‘To be sure. Of course he would fall in love with me.’

‘Of course.’

‘And then, and then, I might conquer Paris!’

‘Paris!’

‘You have been at Paris?’[34]

‘Yes.’

‘The men are shut up there,’ said the Princess with a smile, ‘are they
not? and the women do what they like?’

‘You will always do what you like,’ said Honain, rising.

‘You are going?’

‘My visits must not be too long.’

‘Farewell, dear Honain!’ said the Princess, with a melancholy air. ‘You
are the only person who has an idea in all Bagdad, and you leave me. A
miserable lot is mine, to feel everything, and be nothing. These books
and flowers, these sweet birds, and this fair gazelle: ah! poets may
feign as they please, but how cheerfully would I resign all these
elegant consolations of a captive life for one hour of freedom! I wrote
some verses on myself yesterday; take them, and get them blazoned for me
by the finest scribe in the city; letters of silver on a violet ground
with a fine flowing border; I leave the design to you. Adieu! Come
hither, mute.’ Alroy advanced to her beckon, and knelt. ‘There, take
that rosary for thy master’s sake, and those dark eyes of thine.’

The companions withdrew, and reached their boat in silence. It was
sunset. The musical and sonorous voice of the Muezzin resounded from
the innumerable minarets of the splendid city. Honain threw back the
curtains of the barque. Bagdad rose before them in huge masses of
sumptuous dwellings, seated amid groves and gardens. An infinite
population, summoned by the invigorating twilight, poured forth in all
directions. The glowing river was covered with sparkling caiques, the
glittering terraces with showy groups. Splendour, and power, and luxury,
and beauty were arrayed before them in their most captivating forms, and
the heart of Alroy responded to their magnificence. ‘A glorious vision!’
said the Prince of the Captivity.

‘Very different from Hamadan,’ said the physician of the Caliph.

‘To-day I have seen wonders,’ said Alroy.

‘The world is opening to you,’ said Honain.

Alroy did not reply; but after some minutes he said, in a hesitating
voice, ‘Who was that lady?’

‘The Princess Schirene,’ replied Honain, ‘the favourite daughter of the
Caliph. Her mother was a Georgian and a Giaour.’

The moonlight fell upon the figure of Alroy lying on a couch; his face
was hidden by his arm. He was motionless, but did not sleep.

He rose and paced the chamber with agitated steps; sometimes he stopped,
and gazed on the pavement, fixed in abstraction. He advanced to the
window, and cooled his feverish brow in the midnight air.

An hour passed away, and the young Prince of the Captivity remained
fixed in the same position. Suddenly he turned to a tripod of porphyry,
and, seizing a rosary of jewels, pressed it to his lips.

‘The Spirit of my dreams, she comes at last; the form for which I have
sighed and wept; the form which rose upon my radiant vision when I shut
my eyes against the jarring shadows of this gloomy world.

‘Schirene! Schirene! here in this solitude I pour to thee the passion
long stored up: the passion of my life, no common life, a life full of
deep feeling and creative thought. O beautiful! O more than beautiful!
for thou to me art as a dream unbroken: why art thou not mine? why lose
a moment in our glorious lives, and balk our destiny of half its bliss?

‘Fool, fool, hast thou forgotten? The rapture of a prisoner in his cell,
whose wild fancy for a moment belies his fetters! The daughter of the
Caliph and a Jew!

‘Give me my fathers’ sceptre.

‘A plague on talismans! Oh! I need no inspiration but her memory,
no magic but her name. By heavens! I will enter this glorious city a
conqueror, or die.

‘Why, what is Life? for meditation mingles ever with my passion: why,
what is Life? Throw accidents to the dogs, and tear off the painted
mask of false society! Here am I a hero; with a mind that can devise all
things, and a heart of superhuman daring, with youth, with vigour, with
a glorious lineage, with a form that has made full many a lovely
maiden of our tribe droop her fair head by Hamadan’s sweet fount, and I
am--nothing!

‘Out on Society! ‘twas not made for me. I’ll form my own, and be the
deity I sometimes feel.

‘We make our fortunes, and we call them Fate. Thou saidst well, Honain.
Most subtle Sadducee! The saintly blood flowed in my fathers’ veins,
and they did nothing; but I have an arm formed to wield a sceptre, and I
will win one.

‘I cannot doubt my triumph. Triumph is a part of my existence. I am
born for glory, as a tree is born to bear its fruit, or to expand
its flowers. The deed is done. ‘Tis thought of, and ‘tis done. I will
confront the greatest of my diademed ancestors, and in his tomb. Mighty
Solomon! he wedded Pharaoh’s daughter. Hah! what a future dawns upon my
hope. An omen, a choice omen!

‘Heaven and earth are mingling to form my fortunes. My mournful
youth, which I have so often cursed, I hail thee: thou wert a glorious
preparation; and when feeling no sympathy with the life around me,
I deemed myself a fool, I find that I was a most peculiar being. By
heavens, I am joyful; for the first time in my life I am joyful. I could
laugh, and fight, and drink. I am new-born; I am another being; I am
mad!

‘O Time, great Time! the world belies thy fame. It calls thee swift.
Methinks thou art wondrous slow. Fly on, great Time, and on thy coming
wings bear me my sceptre!

‘All is to be. It is a lowering thought. My fancy, like a bright and
wearied bird, will sometimes flag and fall, and then I am lost. The
young King of Karasmé, a youthful hero! Would he had been Alschiroch! My
heart is sick even at the very name. Alas! my trials have not yet begun.
Jabaster warned me: good, sincere Jabaster! His talisman presses on my
frantic heart, and seems to warn me. I am in danger. Braggart to
stand here, filling the careless air with idle words, while all is
unaccomplished. I grow dull. The young King of Karasmé! Why, what am I
compared to this same prince? Nothing, but in my thoughts. In the full
bazaar, they would not deem me worthy even to hold his stirrup or
his slipper---- Oh! this contest, this constant, bitter, never-ending
contest between my fortune and my fancy! Why do I exist? or, if
existing, why am I not recognised as I would be?

‘Sweet voice, that in Jabaster’s distant cave de-scendedst from thy holy
home above, and whispered consolation, breathe again! Again breathe thy
still summons to my lonely ear, and chase away the thoughts that hover
round me; thoughts dark and doubtful, like fell birds of prey hovering
around a hero in expectation of his fall, and gloating on their triumph
over the brave. There is something fatal in these crowded cities. Faith
flourishes in solitude.’

He threw himself upon the couch, and, leaning down his head, seemed lost
in meditation. He started up, and, seizing his tablets, wrote upon them
these words:

‘Honain, I have been the whole night like David in the wilderness of
Ziph; but, by the aid of the Lord, I have conquered. I fly from this
dangerous city upon his business, which I have too much neglected.
Attempt not to discover me, and accept my gratitude.’




CHAPTER VI.

     _The Learned Rabbi Zimri._

A SCORCHING sun, a blue and burning sky, on every side lofty ranges of
black and barren mountains, dark ravines, deep caverns, unfathomable
gorges! A solitary being moved in the distance. Faint and toiling, a
pilgrim slowly clambered up the steep and stony track.

The sultry hours moved on; the pilgrim at length gained the summit of
the mountain, a small and rugged table-land, strewn with huge masses
of loose and heated, rock. All around was desolation: no spring, no
herbage; the bird and the insect were alike mute. Still it was the
summit: no loftier peaks frowned in the distance; the pilgrim stopped,
and breathed with more facility, and a faint smile played over his
languid and solemn countenance.

He rested a few minutes; he took from his wallet some locusts and wild
honey, and a small skin of water. His meal was short as well as simple.
An ardent desire to reach his place of destination before nightfall
urged him to proceed. He soon passed over the table-land, and commenced
the descent of the mountain. A straggling olive-tree occasionally
appeared, and then a group, and soon the groups swelled into a grove.
His way wound through the grateful and unaccustomed shade. He emerged
from the grove, and found that he had proceeded down more than half
the side of the mountain. It ended precipitously in a dark and narrow
ravine, formed on the other side by an opposite mountain, the lofty
steep of which was crested by a city gently rising on a gradual slope.

Nothing could be conceived more barren, wild, and terrible than the
surrounding scenery, unillumined by a single trace of culture. The city
stood like the last gladiator in an amphitheatre of desolation.

It was surrounded by a lofty turreted wall, of an architecture to which
the pilgrim was unaccustomed: gates with drawbridge and portcullis,
square towers, and loopholes for the archer. Sentinels, clothed in steel
and shining in the sunset, paced, at regular intervals, the cautious
wall, and on a lofty tower a standard waved, a snowy standard, with a
red, red cross!

The Prince of the Captivity at length beheld the lost capital of his
fathers.[35]

A few months back, and such a spectacle would have called forth all the
latent passion of Alroy; but time and suffering, and sharp experience,
had already somewhat curbed the fiery spirit of the Hebrew Prince. He
gazed upon Jerusalem, he beheld the City of David garrisoned by the
puissant warriors of Christendom, and threatened by the innumerable
armies of the Crescent. The two great divisions of the world seemed
contending for a prize, which he, a lonely wanderer, had crossed the
desert to rescue.

If his faith restrained him from doubting the possibility of his
enterprise, he was at least deeply conscious that the world was a very
different existence from what he had fancied amid the gardens of
Hamadan and the rocks of Caucasus, and that if his purpose could be
accomplished, it could only be effected by one means. Calm, perhaps
somewhat depressed, but full of pious humiliation, and not deserted by
holy hope, he descended into the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and so, slaking
his thirst at Siloah, and mounting the opposite height, David Alroy
entered Jerusalem by the gate of Zion.[36]

He had been instructed that the quarter allotted to his people was near
this entrance. He inquired the direction of the sentinel, who did not
condescend to answer him. An old man, in shabby robes, who was passing,
beckoned to him.

‘What want you, friend?’ inquired Alroy.

‘You were asking for the quarter of our people. You must be à stranger,
indeed, in Jerusalem, to suppose that a Frank would speak to a Jew. You
were lucky to get neither kicked nor cursed.’

‘Kicked and cursed! Why, these dogs----’

‘Hush! hush! for the love of God,’ said his new companion, much alarmed.
‘Have you lent money to their captain that you speak thus? In Jerusalem
our people speak only in a whisper.’

‘No matter: the cure is not by words. Where is our quarter?’

‘Was the like ever seen! Why, he speaks as if he were a Frank. I save
him from having his head broken by a gauntlet, and----’

‘My friend, I am tired. Our quarter?’

‘Whom may you want?’

‘The Chief Rabbi.’

‘You bear letters to him?’

‘What is that to you?’

‘Hush! hush! You do not know what Jerusalem is, young man. You must not
think of going on in this way. Where do you come from?’

‘Bagdad.’

‘Bagdad! Jerusalem is not Bagdad. A Turk is a brute, but a Christian is
a demon.’

‘But our quarter, our quarter?’

‘Hush! you want the Chief Rabbi?’

‘Ay! ay!’

‘Rabbi Zimri?’

‘It may be so. I neither know nor care.’

‘Neither knows nor cares! This will never do; you must not go on in this
way at Jerusalem. You must not think of it.’

‘Fellow, I see thou art a miserable prattler. Show me our quarter, and I
will pay thee well, or be off.’

‘Be off! Art thou a Hebrew? to say “be off” to any one. You come from
Bagdad! I tell you what, go back to Bagdad. You will never do for
Jerusalem.’

‘Your grizzled beard protects you. Old fool, I am a pilgrim just
arrived, wearied beyond expression, and you keep me here listening to
your flat talk!’

‘Flat talk! Why! what would you?’

‘Lead me to the Rabbi Zimri, if that be his name.’

‘If that be his name! Why, every one knows Rabbi Zimri, the Chief Rabbi
of Jerusalem, the successor of Aaron. We have our temple yet, say what
they like. A very learned doctor is Rabbi Zimri.’

‘Wretched driveller. I am ashamed to lose my patience with such a
dotard.’

‘Driveller! dotard! Why, who are you?’

‘One you cannot comprehend. Without another word, lead me to your
chief.’

‘Chief! you have not far to go. I know no one of the nation who holds
his head higher than I do here, and they call me Zimri.’

‘What, the Chief Rabbi, that very learned doctor?’

‘No less; I thought you had heard of him.’

‘Let us forget the past, good Zimri. When great men play the incognito,
they must sometimes hear rough phrases. It is the Caliph’s lot as well
as yours. I am glad to make the acquaintance of so great a doctor.
Though young, and roughly habited, I have seen the world a little, and
may offer next Sabbath in the synagogue more dirhems than you would
perhaps suppose. Good and learned Zimri, I would be your guest.’

‘A very worshipful young man! And he speaks low and soft now! But it was
lucky I was at hand. Good, what’s your name?’

‘David.’

‘A very honest name, good David. It was lucky I was at hand when you
spoke to the sentinel, though. A Jew speak to a Frank, and a sentinel
too! Hah! hah! hah! that is good. How Rabbi Maimon will laugh! Faith it
was very lucky, now, was not it?’

‘Indeed, most fortunate.’

‘Well that is candid! Here! this way. ‘Tis not far. We number few, sir,
of our brethren here, but a better time will come, a better time will
come.’

‘I think so. This is your door?’

‘An humble one. Jerusalem is not Bagdad, but you are welcome.’

‘King Pirgandicus[37] entered them,’ said Rabbi Maimon, ‘but no one
since.’

‘And when did he live?’ inquired Alroy. ‘His reign is recorded in the
Talmud,’ answered Rabbi Zimri, ‘but in the Talmud there are no dates.’
‘A long while ago?’ asked Alroy. ‘Since the Captivity,’ answered Rabbi
Maimon. ‘I doubt that,’ said Rabbi Zimri, ‘or why should he be called
king?’

‘Was he of the house of David?’ said Alroy.

‘Without doubt,’ said Rabbi Maimon; ‘he was one of our greatest kings,
and conquered Julius Caesar.’[38]

‘His kingdom was in the northernmost parts of Africa,’ said Rabbi Zimri,
‘and exists to this day, if we could but find it.’

‘Ay, truly,’ added Rabbi Maimon, ‘the sceptre has never departed out of
Judah; and he rode always upon a white elephant.’

‘Covered with cloth of gold,’ added Rabbi Zimri. ‘And he visited the
Tombs of the Kings?’[39] inquired Alroy.

‘Without doubt,’ said Rabbi Maimon. ‘The whole account is in the
Talmud.’

‘And no one can now find them?’ ‘No one,’ replied Rabbi Zimri: ‘but,
according to that learned doctor, Moses Hallevy, they are in a valley in
the mountains of Lebanon, which was sealed up by the Archangel Michael.’

‘The illustrious Doctor Abarbanel, of Babylon,’ said Rabbi Maimon,
‘gives one hundred and twenty reasons in his commentary on the Gemara to
prove that they sunk under the earth at the taking of the Temple.’

‘No one reasons like Abarbanel of Babylon,’ said Rabbi Zimri.

‘The great Rabbi Akiba, of Pundebita, has answered them all,’ said Rabbi
Maimon, ‘and holds that they were taken up to heaven.’

‘And which is right?’ inquired Rabbi Zimri.

‘Neither,’ said Rabbi Maimon.

‘One hundred and twenty reasons are strong proof,’ said Rabbi Zimri.

‘The most learned and illustrious Doctor Aaron Mendola, of Granada,’
said Rabbi Maimon, ‘has shown that we must look for the Tombs of the
Kings in the south of Spain.’

‘All that Mendola writes is worth attention,’ said Rabbi Zimri.

‘Rabbi Hillel,[40] of Samaria, is worth two Mendolas any day,’ said
Rabbi Maimon.

‘‘Tis a most learned doctor,’ said Rabbi Zimri; ‘and what thinks he?’

‘Hillel proves that there are two Tombs of the Kings,’ said Rabbi
Maimon, ‘and that neither of them are the right ones.’

‘What a learned doctor!’ exclaimed Rabbi Zimri.

‘And very satisfactory,’ remarked Alroy.

‘These are high subjects,’ continued Maimon, his blear eyes twinkling
with complacency. ‘Your guest, Rabbi Zimri, must read the treatise of
the learned Shimei, of Damascus, on “Effecting Impossibilities.”’

‘That is a work!’ exclaimed Zimri.

‘I never slept for three nights after reading that work,’ said Rabbi
Maimon. ‘It contains twelve thousand five hundred and thirty-seven
quotations from the Pentateuch, and not a single original observation.’

‘There were giants in those days,’ said Rabbi Zimri; ‘we are children
now.’

‘The first chapter makes equal sense, read backward or forward,’
continued Rabbi Maimon. ‘Ichabod!’ exclaimed Rabbi Zimri. ‘And the
initial letter of every section is a cabalistical type of a king of
Judah.’

‘The temple will yet be built,’ said Rabbi Zimri. ‘Ay, ay! that is
learning!’ exclaimed Rabbi Maimon; ‘but what is the great treatise on
“Effecting Impossibilities” to that profound, admirable, and----’

‘Holy Rabbi!’ said a youthful reader of the synagogue, who now entered,
‘the hour is at hand.’

‘You don’t say so! Learned Miamon, I must to the synagogue. I could sit
here all day listening to you. Come, David, the people await us.’

Zimri and Alroy quitted the house, and proceeded along the narrow hilly
streets to the chief temple of the Hebrews.

‘It grieves the venerable Maimon much that he cannot join us,’ said
Rabbi Zimri. ‘You have doubtless heard of him at Bagdad; a most learned
doctor.’ Alroy bowed in silence.

‘He bears his years well. You would hardly believe that he was my
master.’

‘I perceive that you inherit much of his erudition.’

‘You are kind. If he have breathed one year, Rabbi Maimon will be a
hundred and ten next Passover.’

‘I doubt it not.’

‘When he is gathered to his fathers, a great light will be extinguished
in Israel. You wanted to know something about the Tombs of the Kings; I
told you he was your man. How full he was! His mind, sir, is an egg.’

‘A somewhat ancient one. I fear his guidance will hardly bring me the
enviable fortune of King Pirgandicus.’

‘Between ourselves, good David, talking of King Pirgandicus, I cannot
help fancying that the learned Maimon made a slight mistake. I hold
Pirgandicus was only a prince. It was after the Captivity, and I know no
authority for any of our rulers since the destruction assuming a higher
title. Clearly a prince, eh? But, though I would whisper it to no
one but you, I think our worthy friend grows a little old. We should
remember his years, sir. A hundred and ten next Passover. ‘Tis a great
burden.’

‘Ay! with his learning added, a very fearful burden indeed!’

‘You have been a week in Jerusalem, and have not yet visited our
synagogue. It is not of cedar and ivory, but it is still a temple. This
way. It is only a week that you have been here? Why, you look another
man! I shall never forget our first meeting: you did not know me. That
was good, eh? And when I told you I was the chief Rabbi Zimri, how you
changed! You have quite regained your appetite. Ah! ‘tis pleasant to
mix once more with our own people. To the left. So! we must descend a
little. We hold our meetings in an ancient cemetery. You have a finer
temple, I warrant me, in Bagdad. Jerusalem is not Bagdad. But this has
its conveniences. ‘Tis safe, and we are not very rich, nor wish to seem
so.’

A long passage brought them to a number of small, square, low
chambers[41] leading into each other. They were lighted by brass lamps,
placed at intervals in vacant niches, that once held corpses, and
which were now soiled by the smoky flame. Between two and three
hundred individuals were assembled in these chambers, at first scarcely
distinguishable by those who descended from the broad daylight; but
by degrees the eyesight became accustomed to the dim and vaporous
atmosphere, and Al-roy recognised in the final and more illumined
chamber a high cedar cabinet, the type of the ark, and which held the
sacred vessels and the sanctified copy of the law.

Standing in lines, with their heads mystically covered,[42] the forlorn
remnant of Israel, captives in their ancient city, avowed, in spite of
all their sufferings, their fidelity to their God, and, notwithstanding
all the bitterness of hope delayed, their faith in the fulfilment of his
promises. Their simple service was completed, their prayers were
read, their responses made, their law exhibited, and their charitable
offerings announced by their high priest. After the service, the
venerable Zimri, opening a volume of the Talmud, and fortified by the
opinions of all those illustrious and learned doctors, the heroes of
his erudite conversations with the aged Maimon, expounded the law to the
congregation of the people.[43]

‘It is written,’ said the Rabbi, ‘“Thou shalt have none other God but
me.” Now know ye what our father Abraham said when Nimrod ordered him to
worship fire? “Why not water,” answered Abraham, “which can put out fire?
why not clouds, which can pour forth water? why not the winds, which can
produce clouds? why not God, which can create winds?”’

A murmur of approbation sounded throughout the congregation.

‘Eliezer,’ said Zimri, addressing himself to a young Rabbi, ‘it is
written, that he took a rib from Adam when he was asleep. Is God then a
robber?’

The young Rabbi looked puzzled, and cast his eyes on the ground. The
congregation was perplexed and a little alarmed.

‘Is there no answer?’ said Zimri.

‘Rabbi,’ said a stranger, a tall, swarthy African pilgrim, standing in
a corner, and enveloped in a red mantle, over which a lamp threw a
flickering light; ‘Rabbi, some robbers broke into my house last night,
and stole an earthen pipkin, but they left a golden vase in its stead.’

‘It is well said; it is well said,’ exclaimed the congregation. The
applause was loud.

‘Learned Zimri,’ continued the African, ‘it is written in the Gemara,
that there was a youth in Jerusalem who fell in love with a beautiful
damsel, and she scorned him. And the youth was so stricken with his
passion that he could not speak; but when he beheld her, he looked at
her imploringly, and she laughed. And one day the youth, not knowing
what to do with himself, went out into the desert; and towards night
he returned home, but the gates of the city were shut. And he went down
into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and entered the tomb of Absalom and
slept;[44] and he dreamed a dream; and next morning he came into the
city smiling. And the maiden met him, and she said, “Is that thou; art
thou a laugher?” and he answered, “Behold, yesterday being disconsolate,
I went out of the city into the desert, and I returned home, and
the gates of the city were shut, and I went down into the valley of
Jehoshaphat, and I entered the tomb of Absalom, and I slept, and I
dreamed a dream, and ever since then I have laughed.” And the damsel
said, “Tell me thy dream.” And he answered and said, “I may not tell my
dream only to my wife, for it regards her honour.” And the maiden grew
sad and curious, and said, “I am thy wife, tell me thy dream.” And
straightway they went and were married and ever after they both laughed.
Now, learned Zimri, what means this tale, an idle jest for a master of
the law, yet it is written by the greatest doctor of the Captivity?’

‘It passeth my comprehension,’ said the chief Rabbi.

Rabbi Eliezer was silent; the congregation groaned.

‘Now hear the interpretation,’ said the African. ‘The youth is our
people, and the damsel is our lost Sion, and the tomb of Absalom proves
that salvation can only come from the house of David. Dost thou hear
this, young man?’ said the African, coming forward and laying his hand
on Alroy. ‘I speak to thee, because I have observed a deep attention in
thy conduct.’

The Prince of the Captivity started, and shot a glance at the dark
visage before him, but the glance read nothing. The upper part of the
countenance of the African was half concealed by masses of dark matted
hair, and the lower by his uncouth robes. A flashing eye was its only
characteristic, which darted forth like lightning out of a black cloud.

‘Is my attention the only reason that induces you to address me?’
inquired Alroy.

‘Whoever gave all his reasons?’ replied the African, with a laughing
sneer.

‘I seek not to learn them. Suffice it, stranger, that how much soever
you may mean, as much I can understand.’

‘‘Tis well. Learned Zimri, is this thy pupil? I congratulate thee.
I will match him against the hopeful Eliezer.’ So saying, the lofty
African stalked out of the chamber. The assembly also broke up. Alroy
would willingly have immediately followed the African, and held some
further and more private conversation with him; but some minutes
elapsed, owing to the officious attentions of Zimri, before he could
escape; and, when he did, his search after the stranger was vain. He
inquired among the congregation, but none knew the African. He was no
man’s guest and no man’s debtor, and apparently had never before been
seen.

The trumpet was sounding to close the gates, as Alroy passed the Zion
entrance. The temptation was irresistible. He rushed out, and ran for
more than one hundred yards without looking back, and when he did, he
had the satisfaction of ascertaining that he was fairly shut out for the
night. The sun had set, still the Mount of Olives was flushed with the
reflection of his dying beams, but Jehoshaphat at its feet was in deep
shadow.

He wandered among the mountains for some time, beholding Jerusalem from
a hundred different points of view, and watching the single planets and
clustering constellations that gradually burst into beauty, or gathered
into light. At length, somewhat exhausted, he descended into the vale.
The scanty rill of Siloah[45] looked like a thread of silver winding in
the moonlight. Some houseless wretches were slumbering under the arch
of its fountain. Several isolated tombs of considerable size[46] rose at
the base of Olivet, and the largest of these Alroy entered. Proceeding
through a narrow passage, he entered a small square chamber. On each
side was an empty sarcophagus of granite, one with its lid broken.
Between these the Prince of the Captivity laid his robe, and, wearied by
his ramble, soon soundly slept.

After some hours he woke. He fancied that he had been wakened by the
sound of voices. The chamber was not quite dark. A straggling moonbeam
fought its way through an open fretwork pattern in the top of the tomb,
and just revealed the dim interior. Suddenly a voice spoke, a strange
and singular voice.

‘Brother, brother, the sounds of the night begin.’

Another voice answered,

‘Brother, brother, I hear them, too.’

‘The woman in labour!’

‘The thief at his craft!’

‘The sentinel’s challenge!’

‘The murderer’s step!’

‘Oh! the merry sounds of the night!’

‘Brother, brother, let us come forth and wander about the world.’

‘We have seen all things. I’ll lie here and listen to the baying hound.
‘Tis music for a tomb.’

‘Choice and rare. You are idle. I like to sport in the starry air. Our
hours are few, they should be fair.’

‘What shall we see, Heaven or Earth?’ ‘Hell for me, ‘tis more amusing.’
‘As for me, I am sick of Hades.’ ‘Let us visit Solomon!’ ‘In his unknown
metropolis?’

‘That will be rare.’

‘But where, oh! where?’

‘Even a spirit cannot tell. But they say, but they say, I dare not
whisper what they say.’

‘Who told you?’

‘No one. I overheard an Afrite whispering to a female Ghoul he wanted to
seduce.’

‘Hah! hah! hah! hah! choice pair, choice pair! We are more ethereal.’

‘She was a beauty in her way. Her eyes were luminous, though somewhat
dank, and her cheek tinged with carnation caught from infant blood.’

‘Oh! gay; oh! gay; what said they?’

‘He was a deserter without leave from Solomon’s body-guard. The trull
wriggled the secret out.’

‘Tell me, kind brother.’

‘I’ll show, not tell.’

‘I pr’ythee tell me.’

‘Well, then, well. In Genthesma’s gloomy cave there is a river none has
reached, and you must sail, and you must sail---- Brother!’

‘Ay.’

‘Methinks I smell something too earthly.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The breath of man.’

‘Scent more fatal than the morning air! Away, away!’

In the range of mountains that lead from Olivet to the river Jordan is
the great cavern of Genthesma, a mighty excavation formed by the
combined and immemorial work of Nature and of Art; for on the high
basaltic columns are cut strange characters and unearthly forms,[47] and
in many places the natural ornaments have been completed by the hands of
the sculptor into symmetrical entablatures and fanciful capitals, the
work, they say, of captive Dives and conquered Afrites for the great
king.

It was midnight; the cold full moon showered it brilliancy upon this
narrow valley, shut in on all sides by black and barren mountains.   A
single being stood at the entrance of the cave.

It was Alroy. Desperate and determined, after listening to the spirits
in the tomb, he resolved to penetrate the mysteries of Genthesma.  He
took from his girdle a flint and steel, with which he lighted a torch
and then he entered.

The cavern narrowed as he cautiously advanced, and soon he found himself
at the head of an evidently artificial gallery.  A crowd of bats rushed
forward and extinguished his torch [48]  He leant down to relight it and
in so doing observed that he had trod upon an artificial pavement.

The gallery was of great extent, with a gradual declination [49] Being
in a straight line with the mouth of the cavern, the moonlit scene was
long visible, but Alroy, on looking round, now perceived that the
exterior was shut out by the eminence that he had left behind him.  The
sides of the gallery were covered with strange and sculptured forms.

The Prince of the Captivity proceeded along this gallery for nearly two
hours. A distant murmur of falling water, which might have been
distinguished nearly from the first, increased in sound as he advanced,
and now, from the loud roar and dash at hand, he felt that he was on the
brink of some cataract.  It as very dark. His heart trembled. He felt
his footing ere he ventured to advance. The spray suddenly leaped
forward and extinguished his torch.

His eminent danger filled him with terror, and he receded some paces,
but in vain endeavoured to reillumine his torch, which was soaked with
water.

His courage deserted him. Energy and exertion seemed hopeless. He was
about to deliver himself up to despair, when and expanding lustre
attracted his attention in the opposing gloom.

A small and bright red cloud seemed sailing towards him.  It opened,
discharged from its bosom as silvery star, and dissolved again into
darkness. But the star remained, the silvery star, and threw a long line
of tremulous light upon the vast and raging rapid, which now, fleet and
foaming, revealed itself on all sides to the eye of Alroy.

The beautiful interposition in his favour re-animated the adventurous
pilgrim. A dark shadow in the foreground, breaking the line of light
shed by the star upon the waters, attracted his attention. He advanced,
regained his former footing, and more nearly examined it. It was a boat,
and in the boat, mute and immovable, sat one of those vast, singular,
and hidden forms which eh had observed sculptured on the walls of the
gallery.

David Alry, committing his fortunes to the God of Israel, leapt into the
boat.

And at the same moment the Afrite, for it was one of those dread
beings,[50] raised the oars, and the barque moved.  The falling waters
suddenly parted in the long line of the  star’s reflection, and the
barque glided through their high and severed masses.

In this wise they proceeded for a few minutes, until they entered a
beautiful and moonlit lake.  In the distance was mountainous country.
Alroy examined his companion with a feeling of curiosity not unmixed
with terror. It was remarkable that Alroy could never succeed in any way
in attracting his notice. The Afrite seemed totally unconscious of the
presence of his passenger. At length the boat reached the opposite shore
of the lake, and the Prince of the Captivity debarked.

He debarked at the head of an avenue of colossal lions of red
granite,[51] extending far as the eye could reach, and ascending the
side of the mountain, which was cut into a flight of magnificent
steps. The easy ascent was in consequence soon accomplished, and Alroy,
proceeding along the avenue of lions, soon gained the summit of the
mountain.

To his infinite astonishment he beheld Jerusalem. That strongly-marked
locality could not be mistaken: at his feet were Jehoshaphat, Kedron,
Siloah; he stood upon Olivet; before him was Zion. But in all other
respects, how different was the landscape from the one that he had gazed
upon a few days back, for the first time! The surrounding hills
sparkled with vineyards, and glowed with summer palaces, and voluptuous
pavilions, and glorious gardens of pleasure. The city, extending all
over Mount Sion, was encompassed with a wall of white marble, with
battlements of gold; a gorgeous mass of gates and pillars, and gardened
terraces; lofty piles of rarest materials, cedar, and ivory, and
precious stones; and costly columns of the richest workmanship and the
most fanciful orders, capitals of the lotus and the palm, and flowing
friezes of the olive and the vine.

And in the front a mighty Temple rose, with inspiration in its very
form; a Temple so vast, so sumptuous, that there needed no priest to
tell us that no human hand planned that sublime magnificence!

‘God of my fathers!’ said Alroy, ‘I am a poor, weak thing, and my life
has been a life of dreams and visions, and I have sometimes thought my
brain lacked a sufficient master; where am I? Do I sleep or live? Am I a
slumberer or a ghost? This trial is too much.’ He sank down, and hid
his face in his hands: his over-exerted mind appeared to desert him: he
wept.

Many minutes elapsed before Alroy grew composed. His wild bursts of
weeping sank into sobs, and the sobs died off into sighs. And at length,
calm from exhaustion, he again looked up, and lo! the glorious city was
no more! Before him was a moon-lit plain, over which the avenue of
lions still advanced, and appeared to terminate only in the mountainous
distance.

This limit the Prince of the Captivity at length reached, and stood
before a stupendous portal, cut out of the solid rock, four hundred feet
in height, and supported by clusters of colossal Caryatides.[52] Upon
the portal were engraven some Hebrew characters, which upon examination
proved to be the same as those upon the talisman of Jabaster. And so,
taking from his bosom that all-precious and long-cherished deposit,
David Alroy, in obedience to his instructions, pressed the signet
against the gigantic portal.

The portal opened with a crash of thunder louder than an earthquake.
Pale, panting, and staggering, the Prince of the Captivity entered an
illimitable hall, illumined by pendulous balls of glowing metal. On each
side of the hall, sitting on golden thrones, was ranged a line of kings,
and, as the pilgrim entered, the monarchs rose, and took off their
diadems, and waved them thrice, and thrice repeated, in solemn chorus,
‘All hail, Alroy! Hail to thee, brother king! Thy crown awaits thee!’

The Prince of the Captivity stood trembling, with his eyes fixed upon
the ground, and leaning breathless against a column. And when at length
he had a little recovered himself, and dared again to look up, he found
that the monarchs were re-seated; and, from their still and vacant
visages, apparently unconscious of his presence. And this emboldened
him, and so, staring alternately at each side of the hall, but with a
firm, perhaps desperate step, Alroy advanced.

And he came to two thrones which were set apart from the others in the
middle of the hall. On one was seated a noble figure, far above the
common stature, with arms folded and downcast eyes. His feet rested upon
a broken sword and a shivered sceptre, which told that he was a monarch,
in spite of his discrowned head.

And on the opposite throne was a venerable personage, with a long
flowing beard, and dressed in white raiment. His countenance
was beautiful, although ancient. Age had stolen on without its
imperfections, and time had only invested it with a sweet dignity and
solemn grace. The countenance of the king was upraised with a seraphic
gaze, and, as he thus looked up on high, with eyes full of love, and
thanksgiving, and praise, his consecrated fingers seemed to touch the
trembling wires of a golden harp.

And further on, and far above the rest, upon a throne that stretched
across the hall, a most imperial presence straightway flashed upon the
startled vision of Alroy. Fifty steps of ivory, and each step guarded
by golden lions,[53] led to a throne of jasper. A dazzling light blazed
forth from the glittering diadem and radiant countenance of him who sat
upon the throne, one beautiful as a woman, but with the majesty of a
god. And in one hand he held a seal, and in the other a sceptre.

And when Alroy had reached the foot of the throne, he stopped, and his
heart misgave him. And he prayed for some minutes in silent devotion,
and, without daring to look up, he mounted the first step of the throne,
and the second, and the third, and so on, with slow and faltering feet,
until he reached the forty-ninth step.

The Prince of the Captivity raised his eyes. He stood before the monarch
face to face. In vain Alroy attempted to attract his attention, or to
fix his gaze. The large dark eyes, full of supernatural lustre, appeared
capable of piercing all things, and illuminating all things, but they
flashed on without shedding a ray upon Alroy.

Pale as a spectre, the pilgrim, whose pilgrimage seemed now on the point
of completion, stood cold and trembling before the object of all his
desires and all his labours. But he thought of his country, his people,
and his God; and, while his noiseless lips breathed the name of Jehovah,
solemnly he put forth his arm, and with a gentle firmness grasped the
unresisting sceptre of his great ancestor.

And, as he seized it, the whole scene vanished from his sight!

Hours or years might have passed away, so far as the sufferer was
concerned, when Alroy again returned to self-consciousness. His eyes
slowly opened, he cast around a vacant stare, he was lying in the cavern
of Genthesma. The moon had set, but the morn had not broken. A single
star glittered over the brow of the black mountains. He faintly moved
his limbs; he would have raised his hand to his bewildered brain, but
found that it grasped a sceptre. The memory of the past returned to him.
He tried to rise, and found that he was reposing in the arms of a human
being. He turned his head; he met the anxious gaze of Jabaster!




CHAPTER VII.

     _Conquest of the Seljuks_

YOUR face is troubled, uncle.’ ‘So is my mind.’ ‘All may go well.’
‘Miriam, we have seen the best. Prepare yourself for sorrow, gentle
girl. I care not for myself, for I am old, and age makes heroes of us
all. I have endured, and can endure more. As we approach our limit, it
would appear that our minds grow callous. I have seen my wealth, raised
with the labours of a thoughtful life, vanish in a morn: my people, a
fragile remnant, nevertheless a people, dispersed, or what is worse. I
have wept for them, although no tear of selfish grief has tinged this
withered cheek. And, were I but alone, ay! there’s the pang. The solace
of my days is now my sorrow.’

‘Weep not for me, dear uncle. Rather let us pray that our God will not
forsake us.’

‘We know not when we are well. Our hours stole tranquilly along, and
then we murmured. Prospering, we murmured, and now we are rightly
stricken. The legend of the past is Israel’s bane. The past is a dream;
and, in the waking present, we should discard the enervating shadow. Why
should we be free? We murmured against captivity. This _is_ captivity:
this damp, dim cell, where we are brought to die.

‘O! youth, rash youth, thy being is destruction. But yesterday a child,
it seems but yesterday I nursed him in these arms, a thoughtless child,
and now our house has fallen by his deeds. I will not think of it;
‘twill make me mad.’

‘Uncle, dearest uncle, we have lived together, and we will die together,
and both in love; but, I pray you, speak no harsh word of David.’

‘Shall I praise him?’

‘Say nothing. What he has done, if done in grief, has been done all in
honour. Would you that he had spared Alschiroch?’

‘Never! I would have struck him myself. Brave boy, he did his duty; and
I, I, Miriam, thy uncle, at whom they wink behind his back and call him
niggard, was I wanting in that hour of trial? Was my treasure spared to
save my people? Did I shrink from all the toil and trouble of that time?
A trying time, my Miriam, but compared with this, the building of the
Temple----’

‘You were then what you have ever been, the best and wisest. And since
our fathers’ God did not forsake us, even in that wilderness of wildest
woe, I offer gratitude in present faith, and pay him for past mercies by
my prayers for more.’

‘Well, well, life must end. The hour approaches when we must meet our
rulers and mock trial; precious justice that begins in threats and ends
in torture. You are silent, Miriam.’

‘I am speaking to my God.’

‘What is that noise? A figure moves behind the dusky grate. Our gaoler.
No, no, it is Caleb! Faithful child, I fear you have perilled much.’

‘I enter with authority, my lord, and bear good tidings.’

‘He smiles! Is’t possible? Speak on, speak on!’

‘Alroy has captured the harem of our Governor, as they journeyed from
Bagdad to this city, guarded by his choicest troops. And he has sent to
offer that they shall be exchanged for you and for your household. And
Hassan has answered that his women shall owe their freedom to nothing
but his sword. But, in the meantime, it is agreed between him and the
messenger of your nephew, that both companies of prisoners shall be
treated with all becoming courtesy. You, therefore, are remanded to
your palace, and the trumpet is now sounding before the great mosque
to summon all the host against Alroy, whom Hassan has vowed to bring to
Hamadan dead or alive.’

‘The harem of the Governor, guarded too by his choicest troops! ‘Tis a
great deed. He did remember us. Faithful boy! The harem of the Governor!
his choicest troops! ‘Tis a very great deed. Me-thinks the Lord is with
him. He has his great father’s heart. Only think of David, a child! I
nursed him, often. Caleb! Can this be David, our David, a child, a girl?
Yet he struck Alschiroch! Miriam! where is she? Worthy Caleb, look to
your mistress; she has fallen. Quite gone! Fetch water. ‘Tis not very
pure, but we shall be in our palace soon. The harem of the Governor! I
can’t believe it. Sprinkle, sprinkle. David take them prisoners! Why,
when they pass, we are obliged to turn our heads, and dare not look.
More water: I’ll rub her hand. ‘Tis warmer! Her eyes open! Miriam,
choice news, my child! The harem of the Governor! I’ll not believe it!

‘Once more within our walls, Caleb. Life is a miracle. I feel young
again. This is home; and yet I am a prisoner. You said the host were
assembling; he can have no chance. Think you, Caleb, he has any chance?
I hope he will die. I would not have him taken. I fear their tortures.
We will die too; we will all die. Now I am out of that dungeon,
me-thinks I could even fight. Is it true that he has joined with
robbers?’

‘I saw the messenger, and learnt that he first repaired to some bandits
in the ruins in the desert. He had become acquainted with them in his
pilgrimage. They say their leader is one of our people.’

‘I am glad of that. He can eat with him. I would not have him eat
unclean things with the Ishmaelites.’

‘Lord, sir! our people gather to him from all quarters. ‘Tis said that
Jabaster, the great Cabalist, has joined him from the mountains with ten
thousand men.’

‘The great Jabaster! then there is some chance. I know Jabaster well. He
is too wise to join a desperate cause. Art sure about Jabaster? ‘Tis
a great name, a very potent spirit. I have heard such things of that
Jabaster, sir, would make you stare like Saul before the spirit! Only
think of our David, Caleb, making all this noise! I am full of hope. I
feel not like a prisoner. He beat the harem guard, and, now he has got
Jabaster, he will beat them all.’

‘The messenger told me he captured the harem, only to free his uncle and
his sister.’

‘He ever loved me; I have done my duty to him; I think I have. Jabaster!
why, man, the name is a spell I There are men at Bagdad who will get up
in the night to join Jabaster. I hope David will follow his counsels
in all things. I would I had seen his servant, I could have sent him a
message.’

‘Lord, sir! the Prince Alroy has no great need of counsellors, I can
tell you. ‘Tis said he bears the sceptre of great Solomon, which he
himself obtained in the unknown tombs of Palestine.’

‘The sceptre of Solomon! could I but believe it! ‘Tis an age of wonders!
Where are we? Call for Miriam, I’ll tell her this. Only think of David,
a mere child, our David with the sceptre of Solomon! and Jabaster too! I
have great faith. The Lord confound his enemies!’

‘Gentle Rachel, I fear I trouble you; sweet Beruna, I thank you for your
zeal. I am better now; the shock was great. These are strange tidings,
maidens.’

‘Yes, dear lady! who would have thought of your brother turning out a
Captain?’

‘I am sure I always thought he was the quietest person in the world,’
said Beruna, ‘though he did kill Alschiroch.’

‘One could never get a word out of him,’ said Rachel.

‘He was always moping alone,’ said Beruna.

‘And when one spoke to him he always turned away,’ said Leah.

‘Or blushed,’ added Imra.

‘Well, for my part,’ said the beautiful Bathsheba, ‘I always thought
Prince David was a genius. He had such beautiful eyes!’

‘I hope he will conquer Hassan,’ said Rachel.

‘So do I,’ said Beruna.

‘I wonder what he has done with the harem,’ said Leah.

‘I don’t think he will dare to speak to them,’ said Imra.

‘You are very much mistaken,’ said Bathsheba.

‘Hark!’ said Miriam.

‘‘Tis Hassan,’ said Bathsheba; ‘may he never return!’

The wild drum of the Seljuks sounded, then a flourish of their fierce
trumpets, and soon the tramp of horse. Behind the blinds of their
chamber, Miriam and her maidens beheld the magnificent troop of
tur-baned horsemen, who, glittering with splendid armour and bright
shawls, and proudly bounding on their fiery steeds, now went forth to
crush and conquer the only hope of Israel. Upon an Arab, darker than
night, rode the superb Hassan, and, as he passed the dwelling of
his late prisoners, whether from the exulting anticipation of coming
triumph, or from a soft suspicion that, behind that lattice, bright
eyes and brilliant faces were gazing on his state, the haughty but
handsome Seljuk flourished his scimitar over his head, as he threw his
managed steed into attitudes that displayed the skill of its rider.

‘He is handsomer than Alschiroch,’ said Rachel.

‘What a shawl!’ said Beruna.

‘His scimitar was like lightning,’ said Leah.

‘And his steed like thunder,’ said Imra.

‘The evil eye fall on him!’ said Bathsheba.

‘Lord,’ exclaimed Miriam, ‘remember David and all his afflictions!’

The deserted city of the wilderness presented a very different
appearance from that which met the astonished gaze of Alroy, when he
first beheld its noble turrets, and wandered in its silent streets of
palaces.

Without the gates was pitched a numerous camp of those low black tents
common among the Kourds and Turkmans; the principal street was full
of busy groups engaged in all the preparations of warfare, and all the
bustling expedients of an irregular and adventurous life; steeds were
stalled in ruined chambers, and tall camels raised their still visages
among the clustering columns, or crouched in kneeling tranquillity amid
fallen statues and prostrate obelisks.

Two months had scarcely elapsed since Alroy and Jabaster had sought
Scherirah in his haunt, and announced to him their sacred mission. The
callous heart of him, whose ‘mother was a Jewess,’ had yielded to their
inspired annunciations. He embraced their cause with all the fervour
of conversion, and his motley band were not long sceptical of a creed
which, while it assuredly offered danger and adventure, held out the
prospects of wealth and even empire. From the city of the wilderness
the new Messiah sent forth his messengers to the neighbouring cities, to
announce his advent to his brethren in captivity. The Hebrews, a
proud and stiff-necked race, ever prone to rebellion, received the
announcement of their favourite prince with transport. The descendant
of David, and the slayer of Alschiroch, had double claims upon their
confidence and allegiance, and the flower of the Hebrew youth in the
neighbouring cities of the Caliphate repaired in crowds to pay their
homage to the recovered sceptre of Solomon.

The affair was at first treated by the government with contempt, and the
sultan of the Seljuks contented himself with setting a price upon the
head of the murderer of his brother; but, when several cities had been
placed under contribution, and more than one Moslem caravan stopped,
and plundered in the name of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob,
orders were despatched from Bagdad to the new governor of Hamadan,
Hassan Subah, to suppress the robbers, or the rebels, and to send David
Alroy dead or alive to the capital.

The Hebrew malcontents were well apprised by their less adventurous
but still sympathising brethren of everything that took place at the
head-quarters of the enemy. Spies arrived on the same day at the city
of the wilderness, who informed Alroy that his uncle was thrown into
a dungeon at Hamadan, and that a body of chosen troops were about to
escort a royal harem from Bagdad into Persia.

Alroy attacked the escort in person, utterly discomfited them, and
captured their charge. It proved to be the harem of the Governor of
Hamadan, and if for a moment the too sanguine fancy of the captor
experienced a passing pang of disappointment, the prize at least
obtained, as we have seen, the freedom and security of his dear though
distant friends. This exploit precipitated the expedition which was
preparing at Hamadan for his destruction. The enraged Hassan Subah
started from his divan, seized his scimitar, and without waiting for the
auxiliaries he had summoned from the neighbouring chieftains, called to
horse, and at the head of two thousand of the splendid Seljuk cavalry,
hurried to vindicate his love and satiate his revenge.

Within the amphitheatre which he first entered as a prisoner, Alroy sat
in council. On his right was Jabaster, Scherirah on his left. A youth,
little his senior, but tall as a palm-tree, and strong as a young lion,
was the fourth captain. In the distance, some standing, some reclining,
were about fifty men completely armed.

‘Are the people numbered, Abner?’ inquired Alroy of the youth.

‘Even so; three hundred effective horsemen, and two thousand footmen;
but the footmen lack arms.’

‘The Lord will send them in good time,’ said Jabaster; ‘meanwhile let
them continue to make javelins.’

‘Trust in the Lord,’ murmured Scherirah, bending his head, with his eyes
fixed on the ground.

A loud shout was heard throughout the city. Alroy started from his
carpet. The messenger had returned. Pale and haggard, covered with sweat
and sand, the faithful envoy was borne into the amphitheatre almost upon
the shoulders of the people. In vain the guard endeavoured to stem the
passage of the multitude. They clambered up the tiers of arches,
they filled the void and crumbling seats of the antique circus, they
supported themselves upon each other’s shoulders, they clung to the
capitals of the lofty columns. The whole multitude had assembled to
hear the intelligence; the scene recalled the ancient purpose of the
building, and Alroy and his fellow-warriors seemed like the gladiators
of some old spectacle.

‘Speak,’ said Alroy, ‘speak the worst. No news can be bitter to those
whom the Lord will avenge.’

‘Ruler of Israel! thus saith Hassan Subah,’ answered the messenger: ‘My
harem shall owe their freedom to nothing but my sword. I treat not with
rebels, but I war not with age or woman; and between Bostenay and his
household on one side, and the prisoners of thy master on the other, let
there be peace. Go, tell Alroy, I will seal it in his best blood. And
lo! thy uncle and thy sister are again in their palace.’

Alroy placed his hand for a moment to his eyes, and then instantly
resuming his self-possession, he enquired as to the movements of the
enemy.

‘I have crossed the desert on a swift dromedary[54] lent to me by
Shelomi of the Gate, whose heart is with our cause. I have not tarried,
neither have I slept. Ere to-morrow’s sunset the Philistines will be
here, led by Hassan Subah himself. The Lord of Hosts be with us! Since
we conquered Canaan, Israel hath not struggled with such a power!’

A murmur ran through the assembly. Men exchanged enquiring glances, and
involuntarily pressed each other’s arms.

‘The trial has come,’ said a middle-aged Hebrew, who had fought twenty
years ago with Jabaster.

‘Let me die for the Ark!’ said a young enthusiast of the band of Abner.

‘I thought we should get into a scrape,’ whispered Kisloch the Kourd to
Calidas the Indian. ‘What could have ever induced us to give up robbing
in a quiet manner?’

‘And turn Jews!’ said the Guebre, with a sneer.

‘Look at Scherirah,’ said the Negro, grinning. ‘If he is not kissing the
sceptre of Solomon!’

‘I wish to heaven he had only hung Alroy the first time he met him,’
said Calidas.

‘Sons of the Covenant!’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘the Lord hath delivered them
into our hands. To-morrow eve we march to Hamadan!’

A cheer followed this exclamation.

‘It is written,’ said Jabaster, opening a volume, ‘“Lo! I will defend
this city, to save it, for mine own sake, and for my servant David’s
sake.”

‘“And it came to pass that night that the angel of the Lord went out,
and smote in the camp of the Assyrians, an hundred four score and five
thousand; and when they arose early in the morning, behold! they were
all dead corpses.”

‘Now, as I was gazing upon the stars this morn, and reading the
celestial alphabet known to the true Cabalist,[55] behold! the star of
the house of David and seven other stars moved, and met together, and
formed into a circle. And the word they formed was a mystery to me; but
lo! I have opened the book, and each star is the initial letter of each
line of the Targum that I have now read to you. Therefore the fate of
Sennacherib is the fate of Hassan Subah!’

‘_“Trust in him at all times, ye people; pour out your heart before him.”
 god is a refuge for us. Selah!_’

At this moment a female form appeared on the very top of the
amphitheatre, upon the slight remains of the upper most tier of which
a solitary arch alone was left. The chorus instantly died away, every
tongue was silent, every eye fixed. Hushed, mute, and immovable, even
Kisloch and his companions were appalled as they gazed upon Esther the
Prophetess.

Her eminent position, her imposing action, the flashing of her immense
eyes, her beautiful but awful countenance, her black hair, that hung
almost to her knees, and the white light of the moon, just rising over
the opposite side of the amphitheatre, and which threw a silvery flash
upon her form, and seemed to invest her with some miraculous emanation,
while all beneath her was in deep gloom,-these circumstances combined
to render her an object of universal interest and attention, while in a
powerful but high voice she thus addressed them:

‘They come, they come! But will they go? Lo! hear ye this, O house of
Jacob, which are called by the name of Israel, and are come forth out of
the waters of Judah! I hear their drum in the desert, and the voice of
their trumpets is like the wind of eve, but a decree hath gone forth,
and it says, that a mortal shall be more precious than fine gold, yea, a
man than the rich ore of Ophir.

‘They come, they come! But will they go? I see the flash of their
scimitars, I mark the prancing of their cruel steeds; but a decree hath
gone forth, and it says, a gleaning shall be left among them, as in
the shaking of the olive-tree; two or three berries on the top of the
uppermost bough; four or five on the straggling branches.

‘They come, they come! But will they go? Lo! a decree hath gone forth,
and it says, Hamadan shall be to thee for a spoil, and desolation shall
fall upon Babylon. And there shall the wild beasts of the desert lodge,
and howling monsters shall fill their houses, and there shall the
daughters of the ostrich dwell, and there shall the screech-owl pitch
her tent, and there shall the night-raven lay her eggs, and there shall
the satyrs hold their revels. And wolves shall howl to one another in
their palaces, and dragons in their voluptuous pavilions. Her time is
near at hand; her days shall not be prolonged; the reed and the lotus
shall wither in her rivers; and the meadows by her canals shall be as
the sands of the desert. For, is it a light thing that the Lord should
send his servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob, and to restore the
preserved of Israel? Sing, O heavens, and be joyful, O earth, and break
forth into singing, O mountains, for the Lord hath comforted his people,
and will have mercy upon his afflicted!’

She ceased; she descended the precipitous side of the amphitheatre with
rapid steps, vaulting from tier to tier, and bounding with wonderful
agility from one mass of ruin to another. At length she reached the
level; and then, foaming and panting, she rushed to Alroy, threw herself
upon the ground, embraced his feet, and wiped off the dust from his
sandals with her hair.

The assembly broke into long and loud acclamations of supernatural
confidence and sanguine enthusiasm. They beheld their Messiah wave his
miraculous sceptre. They thought of Hassan Subah and his Seljuks only
as of victims, and of to-morrow only as of a day which was to commence a
new era of triumph, freedom, and empire!

Hassan Subah after five days’ forced marches pitched his sumptuous
pavilion in that beautiful Oasis, which had afforded such delightful
refreshment to Alroy when a solitary pilgrim. Around for nearly a mile,
were the tents of his warriors, and of the numerous caravan that had
accompanied him, laden with water and provisions for his troops. Here,
while he reposed, he also sought information as to the position of his
enemy.

A party of observation, which he had immediately despatched, returned
almost instantly with a small caravan that had been recently plundered
by the robbers. The merchant, a venerable and pious Moslem, was ushered
into the presence of the Governor of Hamadan.

‘From the robbers’ haunt?’ enquired Hassan.

‘Unfortunately so,’ answered the merchant.

‘Is it far?’

‘A day’s journey.’

‘And you quitted it?’

‘Yesterday morn.’

‘What is their force?’

The merchant hesitated.

‘Do they not make prisoners?’ enquired the Governor, casting a
scrutinising glance at his companion.

‘Holy Prophet! what a miserable wretch am I!’ exclaimed the venerable
merchant, bursting into tears. ‘A faithful subject of the Caliph, I am
obliged to serve rebels, a devout Moslem, I am forced to aid Jews! Order
me to be hanged at once, my lord,’ continued the unfortunate merchant,
wringing his hands. ‘Order me to be hanged at once. I have lived long
enough.’

‘What is all this?’ enquired Hassan; ‘speak, friend, without fear.’

‘I am a faithful subject of the Caliph,’ answered the merchant; ‘I am a
devout Moslem, but I have lost ten thousand dirhems.’

‘I am sorry for you, sir; I also have lost something, but my losses are
nothing to you, nor yours to me.’

‘Accursed be the hour when these dogs tempted me! Tell me, is it sin to
break faith with a Jew?’

‘On the contrary, I could find you many reverend Mollahs, who will tell
you that such a breach is the highest virtue. Come! come, I see how it
is: you have received your freedom on condition of not betraying your
merciful plunderers. Promises exacted by terror are the bugbears of
fools. Speak, man, all you know. Where are they? What is their force?
Are we supposed to be at hand?’

‘I am a faithful subject of the Caliph, and I am bound to serve him,’
replied the merchant; ‘I am a devout Moslem, and ‘tis my duty to destroy
all Giaours, but I am also a man, and I must look after my own interest.
Noble Governor, the long and the short is, these scoundrels have robbed
me of ten thousand dirhems, as my slaves will tell you: at least, goods
to that amount. No one can prove that they be worth less. It is true
that I include in that calculation the fifty per cent. I was to make
on my shawls at Hamadan, but still to me it is as good as ten thousand
dirhems. Ask my slaves if such an assortment of shawls was ever yet
beheld.’

‘To the point, to the point. The robbers?’ ‘I am at the point. The
shawls is the point. For when I talked of the shawls and the heaviness
of my loss, you must know that the captain of the robbers--’

‘Alroy?’

‘A fierce young gentleman, I do not know how they call him: said the
captain to me, “Merchant, you look gloomy.” “Gloomy,” I said, “you would
look gloomy if you were a prisoner, and had lost ten thousand dirhems.”
 “What, is this trash worth ten thousand dirhems?” said he. “With the
fifty per cent. I was to make at Hamadan.” “Fifty per cent.,” said he;
“you are an old knave.” “Knave! I should like to hear any one call me
knave at Bagdad.” “Well, knave or not, you may get out of this scrape.”
 “How?” “Why you are a respectable-looking man,” said he, “and are a good
Moslem into the bargain, I warrant.” “That I am,” said I, “although you
be a Jew: but how the faith is to serve me here I am sure I don’t
know, unless the angel Gabriel, as in the fifty-fifth verse of the
twenty-seventh chapter of the Koran----“’

‘Tush, tush!’ exclaimed Hassan; ‘to the point.’

‘I always am at the point, only you put me out. However, to make it
as short as possible, the captain knows all about your coming, and is
frightened out of his wits, although he did talk big; I could easily see
that. And he let me go, you see, with some of my slaves, and gave me an
order for five thousand dirhems on one Bostenay, of Hamadan (perhaps
you know him; is he a good man?), on condition that I would fall in with
you, and, Mohammed forgive me, tell you a lie!’

‘A lie!’

‘Yes, a lie; but these Jewish dogs do not understand what a truly
religious man is, and when I began to tell the lie, I was soon put
out. Now, noble Hassan, if a promise to a Jew be not binding on a true
believer, and you will see me straight with the five thousand dirhems, I
will betray everything at once.’

‘Be easy about the five thousand dirhems, good man, and tell me all.’

‘You will see me paid?’

‘My honour upon it.’

‘‘Tis well! Know then, the infamous dogs are very weak, and terrified
at the news of your progress: one, whom I think they call Jabaster, has
departed with the great majority of the people into the interior of the
desert, about seven hundred strong. I heard so; but mind, I do not
know it. The young man, whom you call Alroy, being wounded in a recent
conflict, could not depart with them, but remains among the ruins with
some female prisoners, some treasure, and about a hundred companions
hidden in sepulchres. He gave me my freedom on condition that I should
fall in with you, and assure you that the dogs, full five thousand
strong, had given you the go-by in the night, and marched towards
Hamadan. They wanted me to frighten you; it was a lie, and I could not
tell it. And now you know the plain truth; and if it be a sin to break
faith with an infidel, you are responsible for it, as well as for the
five thousand dirhems, which, by-the-bye, ought to have been ten.’

‘Where is your order?’

‘‘Tis here,’ said the merchant, drawing it from his vest, ‘a very
business-like document, drawn upon one Bostenay, whom they described as
very rich, and who is here enjoined to pay me five thousand dirhems, if,
in consequence of my information, Hassan Subah, that is yourself, return
forthwith to Hamadan without attacking them.’

‘Old Bostenay’s head shall answer for this.’

‘I am glad of it. But were I you, I would make him pay me first.’

‘Merchant,’ said Hassan, ‘have you any objection to pay another visit to
your friend Alroy?’

‘Allah forbid!’

‘In my company?’

‘That makes a difference.’

‘Be our guide. The dirhems shall be doubled.’

‘That will make up for the fifty per cent. I hardly like it; but in your
company that makes a difference. Lose no time. If you push on, Alroy
must be captured. Now or never! The Jewish dogs, to rifle a true
believer!’

‘Oglu,’ said Hassan to one of his officers. ‘To horse! You need not
strike the tents. Can we reach the city by sunset, merchant?’

‘An hour before, if you be off at once.’ ‘Sound the drums. To horse! to
horse!’ The Seljuks halted before the walls of the deserted city. Their
commander ordered a detachment to enter and reconnoitre. They returned
and reported its apparent desolation. Hassan Subah, then directing
that a guard should surround the walls to prevent any of the enemy from
escaping, passed with his warriors through the vast portal into the
silent street. The still magnificence of the strange and splendid scene
influenced the temper even of this ferocious cavalry. They gazed around
them with awe and admiration. The fierceness of their visages was
softened, the ardour of their impulse stilled. A supernatural feeling
of repose stole over their senses. No one brandished his scimitar, the
fiery courser seemed as subdued as his lord, and no sound was heard but
the melancholy, mechanical tramp of the disciplined march, unrelieved
by martial music, inviolate by oath or jest, and unbroken even by the
ostentatious caracoling of any showy steed.

It was sunset; the star of eve glittered over the white Ionian fane that
rose serene and delicate in the flashing and purple sky.

‘This way, my lord!’ said the merchant guide, turning round to Hassan
Subah, who, surrounded by his officers, led the van. The whole of the
great way of the city was filled with the Seljukian warriors. Their ebon
steeds, their snowy turbans, adorned with plumes of the black eagle and
the red heron, their dazzling shawls, the blaze of their armour in
the sunset, and the long undulating perspective of beautiful forms and
brilliant colours, this regiment of heroes in a street of palaces. War
had seldom afforded a more imposing or more picturesque spectacle.

‘This way, my lord!’ said the merchant, pointing to the narrow turning
that, at the foot of the temple, led through ruined streets to the
amphitheatre.

‘Halt!’ exclaimed a wild shrill voice. Each warrior suddenly arrested
his horse.

‘Who spoke?’ exclaimed Hassan Subah.

‘I!’ answered a voice. A female form stood in the portico of the temple,
with uplifted arms.

‘And who art thou?’ enquired Hassan Subah, not a little disconcerted.

‘Thine evil genius, Seljuk!’

Hassan Subah, pale as his ivory battle-axe, did not answer; every man
within hearing shuddered; still the dread woman remained immovable
within the porch of the temple.

‘Woman, witch, or goddess,’ at length exclaimed Hassan Subah, ‘what
wouldst thou here?’

‘Seljuk! behold this star. ‘Tis a single drop of light, yet who even
of thy wild band can look upon it without awe? And yet thou worse than
Sisera, thou comest to combat against those for whom even “the stars in
their courses fought.”’

‘A Jewish witch!’ exclaimed the Seljuk.

‘A Jewish witch! Be it so; behold, then, my spell falls upon thee, and
that spell is Destruction.

‘Awake, awake, Deborah: awake, awake, utter a song; arise, Barak, and
lead thy captivity captive, thou son of Abinoam!’

Immediately the sky appeared to darken, a cloud of arrows and javelins
broke from all sides upon the çlevoted Seljuks: immense masses of stone
and marble were hurled from all directions, horses were stabbed by
spears impelled by invisible hands, and riders fell to the ground
without a struggle, and were trampled upon by their disordered and
affrighted brethren.

‘We are betrayed,’ exclaimed Hassan Subah, hurling a javelin at the
merchant, but the merchant was gone. The Seljuks raised their famous war
cry.

‘Oglu, regain the desert,’ ordered the chieftain.

But no sooner had the guard without the walls heard the war cry of
their companions, than, alarmed, for their safety, they rushed to their
assistance. The retreating forces of Subah, each instant diminishing as
they retreated, were baffled in their project by the very eagerness of
their auxiliaries. The unwilling contention of the two parties increased
the confusion; and when the Seljuks, recently arrived, having at length
formed into some order, had regained the gate, they found to their
dismay that the portal was barricadoed and garrisoned by the enemy.
Uninspired by the presence of their commander, who was in the rear, the
puzzled soldiers were seized with a panic, and spurring their
horses, dispersed in all directions of the city. In vain Hassan Subah
endeavoured to restore order. The moment was past. Dashing with about
thirty men to an open ground, which his quick eye had observed in his
progress down the street, and dealing destruction with every blow, the
dreaded Governor of Hamadan, like a true soldier, awaited an inevitable
fate, not wholly despairing that some chance might yet turn up to
extricate him from his forlorn situation.

And now, as it were by enchantment, wild armed men seemed to arise from
every part of the city. From every mass of ruin, from every crumbling
temple and mouldering mansion, from every catacomb and cellar, from
behind every column and every obelisk, upstarted some desperate warrior
with a bloody weapon. The massacre of the Seljuks was universal. The
horsemen dashed wildly about the ruined streets, pursued by crowds of
footmen; sometimes, formed in small companies, the Seljuks charged and
fought desperately; but, however stout might be their resistance to the
open foe, it was impossible to withstand their secret enemies. They had
no place of refuge, no power of gaining even a moment’s breathing time.
If they retreated to a wall it instantly bristled with spears; if they
endeavoured to form, in a court, they sank under the falling masses
which were showered upon them. Strange shouts of denunciation blended
with the harsh braying of horns, and the clang and clash of cymbals and
tambours sounded in every quarter of the city.

‘If we could only mount the walls, Ibrahim, and leap into the desert!’
exclaimed Hassan Subah to one of his few remaining comrades; ‘‘tis our
only chance. We die here like dogs! Could I but meet Alroy!’

Three of the Seljuks dashed swiftly across the open ground in front,
followed by several Hebrew horsemen.

‘Smite all, Abner. Spare none, remember Amalek,’ exclaimed their
youthful leader, waving his bloody scimitar.

‘They are down; one, two, there goes the third. My javelin has done for
him.’

‘Your horse bleeds freely. Where’s Jabaster?’

‘At the gates; my arm aches with slaughter. The Lord hath delivered them
into our hands. Could I but meet their chieftain!’

‘Turn, bloodhound, he is here,’ exclaimed Hassan Subah.

‘Away, Abner, this affair is mine.’

‘Prince, you have already slain your thousands.’

‘And Abner his tens of thousands. Is it so? This business is for me
only. Come on, Turk.’

‘Art thou Alroy?’

‘The same.’

‘The slayer of Alschiroch?’

‘Even so.’

‘A rebel and a murderer.’

‘What you please. Look to yourself.’

The Hebrew Prince flung a javelin at the Seljuk. It glanced from the
breastplate; but Hassan Subah staggered in his seat. Recovering, he
charged Alroy with great force. Their scimitars crossed, and the blade
of Hassan shivered.

‘He who sold me that blade told me it was charmed, and could be broken
only by a caliph,’ said Hassan Subah. ‘He was a liar.’

‘As it may be,’ said Alroy, and he cut the Seljuk to the ground. Abner
had dispersed his comrades. Alroy leaped from his fainting steed, and,
mounting the ebon courser of his late enemy, dashed again into the
thickest of the fight.

The shades of night descended, the clamour gradually decreased, the
struggle died away. A few unhappy Moslemin who had quitted their saddles
and sought concealment among the ruins, were occasionally hunted out,
and brought forward and massacred. Long ere midnight the last of the
Seljuks had expired.[56]

The moon shed a broad light upon the street of palaces crowded with
the accumulated slain and the living victors. Fires were lit, torches
illumined, the conquerors prepared the eager meal as they sang hymns of
praise and thanksgiving.

A procession approached. Esther the prophetess, clashing her cymbals,
danced before the Messiah of Israel, who leant upon his victorious
scimitar, surrounded by Jabaster, Abner, Scherirah, and his chosen
chieftains. Who could now doubt the validity of his mission? The
wide and silent desert rang with the acclamations of his enthusiastic
votaries.

Heavily the anxious hours crept on in the Jewish quarter of Hamadan.
Again and again the venerable Bostenay discussed the chances of success
with the sympathising but desponding elders. Miriam was buried in
constant prayer. Their most sanguine hopes did not extend beyond the
escape of their Prince.

A fortnight had elapsed, and no news had been received of the progress
of the expedition, when suddenly, towards sunset, a sentinel on a
watch-tower announced the appearance of an armed force in the dista

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