Alroy
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Benjamin Disraeli >> Alroy
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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 Karasme, 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 Karasme! 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 a 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.
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