Naomi

by Mrs. J. B. Webb

CHAPTER XXVI.

This was no time for the indulgence of sorrow. Soon after the green turf was laid over the grave of Salome, a messenger arrived from Simon to demand the immediate appearance of Javan at the temple, as the gates were about to be fired by order of Titus, and every hand was required to prevent the execution of the dreadful project. Javan hurried to the spot, accompanied by his father and Theophilus, and they found that all the fears of the besieged were realized. Blazing torches had been applied to the gates, and the plates of silver that covered them had become intensely heated. The wooden framework had caught fire, and as they entered the court they saw the flames spring up in several directions. They joined their companions and friends in exhorting the soldiers to make every effort to extinguish the fire or arrest its further progress; but a panic had seized the men, hitherto so dauntless, and in silent dismay they watched the flames rising higher and fiercer, until in a short time they were communicated to the inner cloisters. The besieged now saw a circle of fire spreading round them, and destruction threatening themselves and their magnificent temple. All day the flames raged with violence, and the whole of the rich and beautiful cloisters were in ruins, while the officers and leaders of the Jews used ineffectual efforts to rouse their men from the state of consternation into which they and sunk. At night, Zadok and Theophilus returned to Naomi for a few hours, but Javan remained with his chieftain, resolved to share his dangers and assist his councils.

When morning dawned Zadok prepared to leave his home once more, and join his son amid the burning walls of the sacred edifice, to defend them, or to perish beneath their ruins. Naomi felt a dark foreboding, as her father came to bid her farewell, that it might be the last time she should receive his affectionate embrace, or listen to a benediction from his lips.

"Oh, my father," she cried, while she fell at his feet and embraced his knees, "do not leave me—do not rush into certain destruction. The hour is at hand when our city will be trodden by the Gentiles, and it is in vain to resist the decrees of Heaven. Tarry with me, I implore you, and let me meet death by your side."

"Do not abandon yourself to despair, my child," replied Zadok, raising her from the ground and pressing her fondly to his heart. "All is not yet lost; and though my hopes of triumph and deliverance are fading away, yet still there may be an effectual resistance made to the enemy, and we may obtain terms from the conqueror. I will return to you if immediate danger threatens the city, and Theophilus shall remain to support and comfort you. A sacred duty calls me to the temple, and as a servant of the living God I must not abandon His sanctuary. Farewell, my Naomi; may the blessing of the Almighty rest upon you."

He left her, and she gazed after him through her tears until the gates of the courtyard closed behind him and hid his manly form from her view. Theophilus would not leave his cousin alone to her grief and apprehensions. He knew that his presence in the temple could be of no avail to arrest the approaching ruin, and therefore he remained to cheer the drooping spirit of Naomi, and if necessary, to die in her defence.

It was now the 10th of August, that fatal day which had already proved so calamitous to Jerusalem, when the Temple of Solomon was destroyed by the Babylonian king. Titus beheld the spreading flames that threatened the total demolition of the second glorious temple of Jehovah, and he was moved to pity that so much splendour and beauty should be laid in ruins. He called a council of war, and solemnly discussed with his officers the question whether the sacred edifice should be preserved, or left to the effects of the destroying element. Many of his advisers were of opinion that the temple should no longer be regarded as a sanctuary, but as a fortress, and that it ought to be treated like any other stronghold of rebellion. But Titus was inclined towards milder measures. The magnificence of the building had struck him with profound admiration, and he wished to preserve it as one of the proudest ornaments of the Roman empire. In this desire he was seconded by several of his principal officers, and by Marcellus more warmly than the rest, and orders were instantly issued for the soldiers to unite their efforts to extinguish the flames.

It was in vain; a higher decree than that of Titus had doomed the temple to destruction, and his legions were unable to stay the course of the sword of Divine vengeance. While they toiled in fruitless zeal for the preservation of the devoted building, the Jews suddenly roused themselves and shook off the terror which had kept them inactive all the preceding day and night, and desperate thoughts of vengeance seized on their minds. Led on by Simon and Javan, they made a furious sally from the eastern gate upon the guards who were posted in the outer court. The Romans locked their shields together and received the shock with unbroken ranks; but such multitudes of the besieged came rushing upon them that Titus himself was obliged to come to their defence, and with a choice band of men he at length succeeded in repulsing the Jews, and driving them back from the court into the temple again. He then withdrew into the Antonia, intending to make a general and final assault on the following morning. After he had retired, a party of the besieged, not discouraged by their repulse in the morning, made another attack upon the soldiers who were still employed in extinguishing the fire in the cloisters. The Romans drove them back, and followed them within the sacred precincts even to the door of the temple itself. One of the legionaries, animated with fury and a love of destruction, climbed on the shoulders of a comrade who stood before him, and threw a lighted torch through a small gilded door into the porch. The flames at once sprang up, and the Jews uttered one wild and general shriek of consternation and rage, and grasping their swords, resolved to revenge the sacrilegious act and perish in the ruins of the temple. Titus was asleep when Marcellus rushed into his chamber with the startling intelligence that the temple was on fire. He started up, and they both hastened to the spot, which was already crowded with Roman soldiers. With shouts and gestures the general commanded his men to quench the flames, but his voice was unheeded or drowned in the deafening clamour that surrounded him.

The legionaries rushed on: many of them cast flaming torches into the inner court, and then, drawing their swords, turned to the work of slaughter. Thousands fell in the first onset, and the temple steps flowed with blood, though Titus made every exertion in his power to put a stop to the carnage. He entered the temple with his officers, and gazed in wonder and admiration on the matchless splendour that met his view. As yet the holy place was untouched by the fire, and he made a last effort to save it. But one of the soldiers privately contrived to thrust a torch between the hinges of the door, and in a few moments the building was enveloped in flames. Titus and his companions were forced to retire, and the whole of the glorious structure was abandoned to ruin. One by one the different parts of the building fell in with a tremendous crash. The cedar roofs became a sheet of flame, and the towers and pinnacles rose in columns of fire high above the rest of the edifice. The light spread far and wide, and was reflected from the neighbouring hills with a lurid glow.

At this awful moment the son of Ananus once more appeared. Wild and ghastly he stalked through the courts of the temple, and mounted the tottering wall. He gazed around him on the scene of desolation that so fearfully fulfilled his oft-repeated prophecy. Then he cried with a loud voice, "Woe to myself!" and as he spoke, a stone that was cast from the engines below struck him, and he fell backward a corpse in the flaming ruins.