‘Noble sir, a moment since your mind was like your faith, firm and resolved, and now——’
‘School me not, school me not, good Abidan. There is that within my mind you cannot fathom; some secret sorrows which are all my own. Leave me, good friend, leave me awhile. When Israel calls me I shall not be wanting. Be sure of that, Abidan, be sure of that. Nay, do not go; the night is very rough, and the fair prophetess should not again stem the swelling river. I’ll to my closet, and will soon return.’
Jabaster quitted the gallery, and entered a small apartment. Several large volumes, unclasped and open, were lying on various parts of the divan. Before them stood his brazen cabalistic table. He closed the chamber with a cautious air. He advanced into the centre of the apartment. He lifted up his hands to heaven, and clasped them with an expression almost of agony.
‘Is it come to this?’ he muttered in a tone of deep oppression. ‘Is it come to this? What is’t I have heard? what done? Down, tempting devil, down! O life! O glory! O my country, my chosen people, and my sacred creed! why do we live, why act? Why have we feeling for aught that’s famous, or for aught that’s holy? Let me die! let, let me die! The torture of existence is too great.’
He flung himself upon the couch; he buried his awful countenance in his robes. His mighty heart was convulsed with passion. There did he lie, that great and solemn man, prostrate and woe-begone.
‘The noisy banquet lingers in my ear; I love to be alone.’
‘With me?’
‘Thou art myself; I have no other life.’
‘Sweet bird! It is now a caliph.’
‘I am what thou wiliest, soul of my sweet existence! Pomp and dominion, fame and victory, seem now but flawed and dimly-shaded gems compared with thy bright smile!’