Children of the Palace, haste-- All who yearn the bliss to taste Of the glorious Little-Faced, Where, within the King"s house placed, Shines the sapphire throne enchased.
Come, in joyful dance enlaced, Mock the cold and primly chaste.
See no sullen nor straitlaced In our circle may be traced.
Here with th" Ancient One embraced Inmost truth "tis ours to taste, Outer husks are shred to waste.
Children of the Palace, haste, With the glory to be graced, Come, behold the Little-Faced.
We broke up some hours earlier than the previous evening, but I hurried away from my sauntering fellow-worshippers, not now because I was disgusted, but because I feared to be. I needed solitude--communion with my own soul. The same crescent moon hung in the heavens, the same endless stars drew on the thoughts to a material infinity.
But now I felt there was another and a truer universe encompa.s.sing this painted vision--a spiritual universe of which I had hitherto known nothing, though I had glibly prated of it and listened well-satisfied to sermons about it.
The air was warm and pleasant, and, still thrilling with the sense of the Over-Soul, I had pa.s.sed the outposts of the village almost unconsciously, and walked in the direction of the cemetery on the other slope of the mountain (for the dead feared neither floods nor avalanches). On my left ran the river, still turbulent and enc.u.mbered with wreckage and logs, but now at low tide some feet below the level of its steep banks. The road gradually narrowed till at last I was walking on a mere strip of path between the starlit water and the base of the mountain, which rose ineffably solemn with its desolate rock at my side and its dark pines higher up. And suddenly lifting my eyes, I saw before me a mystic moonlit figure that set my heart beating with terror and surprise.
It was the figure of a woman, or rather of a girl, tall, queenly, shining in a strange white robe, with a crown of roses and olive branches. For a moment she seemed like some spirit of moonlight. But though the eyes were misted with sadness and dream, the face was of the most beautiful Jewish oval, glowing with dark creamy flesh.
A wild idea rose to my mind, and, absurdly enough, stilled my beating heart. This was the Holy Queen Sabbath whose departure we had just been celebrating, and in this unfrequented haunt she abode till the twilight of the next Friday.
"Hail, Holy Queen!" I said, almost involuntarily.
I saw her large beautiful eyes grow larger as she woke with a start to my presence, but she only inclined her head with a sovereign air, as one used to adoration, and floated on--for so her gracious motion seemed to me.
And as she pa.s.sed by, it flashed upon me that the strange white robe was nothing but a shroud. And again a great horror seized me. But struggling with my failing senses, I told myself that at worst it was some poor creature buried alive in the graveyard, who had forced the coffin lid, and now wandered half insanely homewards.
"May I not escort you, lady?" I cried after her. "The way is lonely."
She turned her face again upon me. I saw it had fire as well as mystery.
"Who dare molest the Holy Queen?" she said.
Again I was plunged into the wildest bewilderment. Was my first fancy true? Or had I stumbled upon some esoteric t.i.tle she bore? Or had she but seized on my own phrase?
"But you go far?" I persisted.
"Unto my father"s house."
"Pardon me. I am a stranger."
She turned round wholly now and looked at me. "Oh, are _you_ the _Stranger_?" she said. The question rippled like music from her lips and was as sweet to my ear, linking her to me by the suggestion that I was not new to her imagination.
"I am the Stranger," I answered, moving slowly toward her, "and therefore afraid for your sake, and startled by the shroud you wear."
"Since the dawn of my thirteenth year it has been my daily robe. It should be in lamentation for Zion laid waste. But me, I fear, it reminds more of my dead mother and sisters."
"You had sisters?"
"Two beautiful lives, blown out one after the other like candles, making our home dark, when I was but a child. They too wore shrouds in life and death, first the elder, then the younger; and when I draw mine over my dress, it is of them I think always. I feel we are truly sisters--sisters of the shroud."
I shivered as from some chill graveyard air, despite her sweet corporeality.
"But the crown--the crown of joy?" I murmured, regarding now with closer vision the intertangled weaving of roses and myrtle and olive branches, with gold and crimson threads wound about salt stones and the pale yellow of pyrites.
"I do not know what it signifies," she said simply.
"Are you not the Holy Queen?" I asked, beginning to scent some Cabalistic or _Cha.s.sidic_ mystery.
"Men worship me. But I know not of what I am queen." And a wistful smile played about the sweet mouth. "Peace and sweet dreams to you, sir." And she turned her face to the village.
She knew not of what she was queen. There, all in one sentence, was the charm, the wonder, the pathos, of her. Yet there was still much that she knew that would enlighten me. And it was not wholly curiosity that provoked me to hold the vision. I hated to see the enchantment of her presence dissolve, to be robbed of the liquid notes of her voice.
"You are queen of me at least," I said, following her, and throwing all my republican principles into the river among the other wreckage.
"And your Majesty"s liege cannot endure to see you walk unattended so late in the night."
"I have G.o.d"s company," she answered quietly.
"True; He is always with us. Nevertheless, at night and in the mountains--"
"He may be perceived more clearly. My father makes soul-ascensions at any hour by force of prayer. But for me the divine ecstasy comes only under G.o.d"s heaven, and most clearly at night and among the graves.
By day G.o.d is invisible, like the stars."
"They may be perceived from a well," I said, mechanically, for my brain was busy with the intuition that she was Ben David"s daughter, that her "queendom" was somehow bound up with his alleged royal descent.
"Even so is G.o.d visible from the deeps of the spirit," she answered.
"But these depths are not mine, and day speaks to me less surely of Him."
"The day is divine too," I urged. "G.o.d speaks also through joy, through sunshine."
"It is but the gilding of sorrow."
"Nay, that is too hard a saying. How can you know that? You"--I made a bold guess, for my brain had continued to work feverishly--"who live cloistered in a turret, who are kept sequestered from man, who walk at night, and only among the dead. How can you know that life is so sad?"
"I feel it. Is not every stone in the graveyard hewn from the dead heart of the mourners?"
All the sadness of the world was in her eyes, yet somehow all the sweet solace. Again she bade me good-night, and I was so under the spell of her strange reply that I made no further effort to follow her, as she was swallowed up in the gloom of the firs where the path wound back round the mountain.
IV
The floods abated before the New Year dawned, as was testified by the arrival, not of doves with olive leaves, but of pilgrims from the north with shekels. The road was therefore open for me to go, yet I lingered. I told myself it was the fascination of the pilgrims, that curious new population which brought quite a bustle into the "Ring-Place" of Zloczszol, and gave even the shops of the native _Cha.s.sidim_ a live air. There were unpleasant camp-followers in the train of the invading army, cripples and consumptives, both rich and poor; but, on the whole, it was a cheery, well-to-do company. I retained my room by paying the rent of three lodgers, and even then Yarchi would come in and look at the big, tall bed wistfully, as if it were a waste of sleeping material.
The great episode of each day was now the royal levee. Crowds besieged the door of the "palace," in quest of health, wealth, and happiness, and the proprietor of fields had to squeeze in with the tramp, and the peasant woman and her neglected brat jostled the jewelled dame from the towns. I was glad to think that the "Holy Queen" was hidden safely away in her turret, and this consoled me for not meeting her again, though I walked or trotted about on my bay mare at all hours and in all places in quest of her.
It may seem curious that I did not boldly call and ask to see her, but that would bring the commonplace into our so poetic relation. Besides which, I divined that she would not be easily on view. Beyond indirectly justifying my intuition that she was Ben David"s daughter by satisfying myself that the Wonder Rabbi had once had three girls, two of whom had died, I would not even make inquiries. I feared to dissipate the mystery and sacredness of our relation by gossip.
Perhaps Yarchi would tell me she was mad, or treat me to some other coa.r.s.e misconception due to the callous feelers with which he apprehended the world.
I did not even know for certain that the light I saw in the turret was hers. But when at night it was out, I hastened to the river-side, to see only my own shadow on the hushed mountain slope or on the white tombs. It seemed clear that she was being kept sacred from the pilgrims" gaze; perhaps, too, the deserted, untravelled road which was safe as her own home in normal times, was less secure now.
When I at last ventured to say casually to Yarchi that Ben David"s daughter seemed to be kept strictly to the house, the ribald grin I had feared distorted his malicious mouth.
"Oh, you have seen Bethulah!" he said.
"Yes," I murmured, turning my flushed face away, but glad to learn her name. Bethulah! Bethulah! my heart seemed to beat to the music of it.