THE UNCHANGEABLE JEW.
By John Neal.
'Who views with equal eye as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall?
Atoms and systems into ruin hurled,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world?'
A great multitude were gathered together: on the right a huge fortress thundering to the sky—on the left a scaffold—a white fog—the open sea—and a mighty ship tumbling to the swell. The flat roofs and gorgeous balconies were covered with scarlet cloth, and thronged with women of all ages—their lips writhing and their eyes flashing. Underneath were a mute soldiery, with banners that moved not, and spears that glimmered not—a vast, rich and motionless pageant. Not a leaf stirred—not a finger was lifted—all eyes were fixed upon something afar off. The Grave alone had a voice, and the footstep of approaching Death grew audible, with the everlasting beat of the Ocean. The stagnant atmosphere burned with a lustreless, unchangeable and smouldering warmth. As the impatient and sluggish breathing of the Destroyer drew near, with a sound as of Earthquake and Pestilence laboring afar off, there appeared upon the outermost verge of the scaffold, near the fortress, a man of a simple and majestic presence, wearing no symbol of power, no badge of authority, before whom the multitude gave way with headlong precipitation, as though but to touch the hem of his garment were death itself, or something yet worse than death.
After communicating with those about him in a low whisper, too low to be understood by others almost within his reach, one of the soldiers lifted a spear, at the point of which fluttered a blood-red banner, tufted and fringed with snow-white feathers, and pointed in silence toward a large opening, which appeared to command a view of the whole interior. The stranger drew near, and grasping one of the bars with a powerful hand, lifted himself up, and after looking awhile, turned away with a sick impatient shudder, and wiped his eyes; and then lifting himself up again, he made a signal to somebody within, and straightway a large tent-like awning was quietly withdrawn, so as to reveal the interior of a court-yard, with cells opening into it—in the nearest of which sat a princely-looking middle-aged man, half-buried and apparently half asleep or lost in thought, in a large, heavy, old-fashioned chair, with a curiously carved table before him, on which there lay, side by side with writing materials, a lamp and a letter evidently unfinished, two or three illuminated manuscripts, a dagger and a map; a massive goblet richly chased, the rough gold tinged and sweltering with the hot blood of the southern grape, a variety of strange mathematical instruments—a copy of Zoroaster—and a Hebrew Bible, with clasps of the costliest workmanship, and a cover of black velvet frosted with seed pearls—a crushed and trampled coronet—and a lighted pipe, ornamented with precious stones, the shaft a twisted serpent and the bowl a burning carbuncle—a live coal—from the core of which, as out of the midst of a perpetual, unextinguishable fire, issued a delicate perfume, filling the whole neighborhood, as with the smoke of a censer; and leaving the eye to make out—by little and little—through the fragrant vapor, first a pair of embroidered Persian slippers, then a magnificent robe, flowered all over as with the sunshine of the sea, and weltering in the changeable light of the open window, then a prodigious quantity of lustrous black hair flowing down over the shoulders, from underneath a crimson velvet cap with a diamond buckle and clasp, and a tassel of spun gold, strung with sapphire, ruby, amethyst and pearl—and a pomp of black feathers overshadowing an ample forehead of surpassing power, and eyes of untroubled splendor; and then, after a long while, a heap of black shadow lying coiled up underneath the table, from the midst of which an occasional flash, as of a serpent's tongue, or an angry sparkle—as of a serpent's eye, would appear—and at last the whole proportions of a superb-looking personage, who had been trying, hour after hour, with a compressed lip and a thoughtful determined eye—to snap what appeared to be a handful of seed pearl, one by one, through the grated window before him, without touching the bars—hour after hour—and always in vain! The passage way was too narrow—the bars too near together.
Behold! murmured he at last, while the shadow of another—and yet another stranger, shot along the lighted floor, as he stole about the room a-tiptoe, and gathering up the pearls, if pearls they were, that lay in heaps underneath the window, and flinging aside the magnificent robe he wore, prepared himself anew and with more determination than ever, for the work he had evidently set his heart upon, if not his life, by measuring the elevation with a steadier eye, and poising every pearl with a more delicate touch, before he projected it toward the window. Behold! how the Ancient of Days delighteth in counteracting the purposes of Man?
The other started back and threw up his arms with a look of horror and amazement, and all who were about him began whispering together and shaking their heads.
At this moment the slow jarring vibration of a great bell was heard from the topmost tower—the cannon of the fortress thundered forth, and were answered, peal after peal, from the lighted mountains—a volume of white smoke rolled heavily toward the earth and covered the people—the sea-fog trembled—parted—and slowly drifted away in patches and fragments, through which the blue sky appeared, and the hot sunshine flashed with an arrowy brightness, while the mighty ship swung round with her broadside to the shore, and lighted matches were seen moving about hither and thither, like wandering meteors, through the damp hazy atmosphere; and instantly there went up a slow half-smothered wail from the multitude, with a weight and volume like the unutterable and growing earnestness of the Great Deep, when it begins to heave with a pre-appointed and irresistible change; and all eyes were upturned, and all arms outstretched with a troubled expression toward the stranger, who walked forward a few steps to the verge of the scaffold—and looking about him, on every side, called out with a loud voice,—Of such are the Gods of the Unconverted! and of such their followers!