BERURIAH
BERURIAH
Blessedwith all the virtues was Beruriah, wife of the noted Master, Rabbi Mayer. It was at the time that God’s heart was filled with pity for the Jewish people, which had just lost its independence and its freedom, and from under His heavenly throne He summoned her soul, and sent her down to earth. “Go, and rejoice the hearts of the wretched and exiled. Go, and bring gladness to the sad and mournful. Let him that beholds you know that life is worth the living, and understand that he has an Almighty Lord who can create glory, and let him praise and bless my Name.”
And therefore was she called Beruriah,—the chosen of God. The Romans, however, called her Valeria,—the blessed one.
So beautiful she was, that at the most glorious sunset, the eyes of the worshipful onlookers wandered from the sun to her and from her to the sun, and none could be sure which was the greater beauty or which the greater miracle. But at the consecration of the moon she dare not show herself upon the street, lest the moon take flight before the greater beauty, and pious Jews be helpless quite to bless it. Whenever she walked along the way, all passers-by stood still, lest they fall into a ditch at their feet or stumble across a rock in their path, for all eyes were turned only upon her. And those who toiled heavily were wont to say, when they had beheld her, “The sight was even as balm to our weary limbs. Now will our labours once again seem light.” And those who sat within doors also said, “Was not our house just radiant with a loving glow? Beruriah must have passed beneath our window.” And then the sages introduced a new blessing, with which Jews should hymn the praises of the Lord for having shared His beauty with a mortal.
Wise was she, too; so that the old men of her time queried, “Shall we not don women’s garb and surrender our men’s habits to her? For before her we are like old women in whom the little sense they had has long evaporated, while she possesses the wisdom of all our years added together.” And when a husband scolded his wife, saying that women had much hair but little brains, the wife would retort: “And what of Beruriah?” Then the husband would see that he had been hasty, and that his own wife was more clever than he, since she had so cunningly reminded him of Beruriah. Whereupon the sages introduced a new blessing, with which Jews should chant the praises of the Lord for having shared His wisdom with a mortal.
But Beruriah was deeply learned, too. In the written lore of the Holy Law she was as sure as if she trod upon a beaten path, and the oral commentaries reposed within her as securely as sacred books within their closet. Great keenness of intellect in her was mergedwith clear simplicity, and the Torah is a field that may be worked with these tools alone. Many a tangle did Beruriah unravel, and many an obscure spot did she illuminate. Her word and her interpretations were esteemed as highly as those of her own husband, the renowned Talmudist Rabbi Mayer. But of this same Rabbi Mayer, who was the greatest of his epoch, and who was so subtle that he could demonstrate the purity of a reptile in one hundred and fifty different ways, it was said: “Small wonder that he knows so much and that he is so acute. For Beruriah is his wife!”
Rabbi Mayer, however, heeded the words but little, and felt no affront, for he was very proud of her and loved her boundlessly. And every day he would utter in his prayers, “A wondrous jewel hast Thou created, and of all Thy servants, Thou hast chosen me to be illuminated by its brilliancy. How shall I thank Thee, God?”
And Rabbie Mayer’s students said, “Beruriah has been blessed with all the virtues, and she is to Rabbi Mayer a wondrous jewel with which God has chosen to glorify our master; yet is not her heart but the weak heart of a woman? And even as the flashes of the jewel, do not human passions play and contend within her? Who can assure us that her ears are sealed against the seductive speeches that fall upon her like glowing sparks and melt her heart like wax? Blessed, too, with all the virtues was Mother Eve, of whom all later generations of women are but a reflection, and yet her ears were open to the serpent. And where Eve succumbed, surely Beruriah will not be able to resist.”
Thus spoke Rabbi Mayer’s pupils among themselves, until at last it came to the ears of the great Teacher. At first he was deeply incensed and his anger boiled like the seething waters of a fiery cauldron. He wished to confronthis disciples in all his fury and drive them forth. How dare they question her virtue and her purity,—her will of steel against all tempting tongues! Was not Beruriah a holiday-child of God’s, and did not he who insulted her desecrate the holy day,—was he not a sinner unworthy of sitting before Rabbi Mayer, hearing him expound the Torah?
But he who could demonstrate the purity of a reptile in one hundred and fifty different ways, soon changed his course of thought. Were he to drive forth his disciples for the doubt they had uttered regarding Beruriah, they would take leave and declare, “Had we been wrong in our doubts Rabbi Mayer would have laughed us to scorn, and would soon have forgotten our words. But because they are well-founded he flew at once into a rage and cast us forth from him.”
His seething anger became now an immense scorn, but his sharp mind kept thinking further: Wicked is man’s tongue and low the doubts of his heart. To prove the purity of a reptile onemust be a Rabbi Mayer, but to render a Beruriah impure, one need be merely a reptile. They would not cease talking until the day on which she died, and when her glorious soul would depart from her glorious body, unsullied and pure of sin, they would say, “She died pure, because no serpent tested her,—because the Lord never tried her with temptations.” And they would speak even more: “God tries the strong alone; and knowing how weak was Beruriah’s heart against the tempter, He did not try her and shielded her from seduction.”
At this thought an oppressive weakness overpowered his entire body, and his high forehead was bedewed with sweat. What was he to do to keep the venomous tongues from stinging Beruriah? How was he to act so that every thought of her should be as pure as her own heart?
His deep wisdom pondered, and soon whispered a reply: “Let them test her!”
A shudder rippled through him, and it was as if he must feel shame before the four wallsin whose shelter he had dared to think such thoughts. Yet he could not free himself from that one suggestion; it was the one way out. Through such a test of Beruriah all evil mouths would be stopped forever, and all would see that his wife Beruriah had a heart as pure as her spirit,—that her virtue was as great as her beauty,—that her fidelity to him was as great as her wisdom. And then indeed would they behold how great was God’s grace to their generation, in which Beruriah lived,—and how great was he himself in the eyes of the Lord that he should have been given her for a wife.
And Rabbi Mayer pondered for one day, and two, and three. He lost all desire for food, and sleep forsook him. Ideas multiplied within him with the rapidity of lightning; one thought generated another, supported it, refuted it. Mountains and mountains of thoughts,—deep, keen, far-reaching. And among them were thoughts that shamed him in his own eyes,—that stirred his unrest and kindled a wrath against his very self. How did they ever cometo him? These doubts,—how could they ever have entered his soul? How could he,—he, of all men, who knew her heart so well and to whom her thoughts were as an open book? Had she not shown enough how pious and strong she was, at the death of her two children? Had not all the world then seen that his Beruriah was unparalleled?
But the pious Master who had compared the power of Satan with the power of the Lord, and had issued a thousand admonitions against the Evil One, tremblingly sought protection for him and his one fear of the Evil Spirit. And in shame, with quivering lips, he whispered, “Forgive me, Beruriah, my holy one. But let them now subject you to the test!”
Whereupon Rabbi Mayer assembled all his students, and spoke to them.
“Your words about my wife Beruriah have reached me, and your doubts concerning her have come to my ears. When one feels doubtabout his companion groundlessly, what is that companion to do? Shall he not come and say, ‘What is the ground for your suspicion, and how have I called forth your misgivings?’ And shall he not say, ‘You are a wicked comrade, else should you have raised no doubts against me, since there is no foundation for them.’ Shall I not tell you all that you are evil minds, unworthy of sitting before me, since your own thoughts are base and you yourselves are a toy in the hands of seduction? Wherefore you doubt, too, the purity of my wife Beruriah? Would I not be right to dismiss you all from me, damming the stream of my learning against you?”
A terror descended upon the disciples and they were tossed in deep disquietude. Those among them who, more than the others, had uttered the doubts and spread them, sat rooted, with downcast eyes, abashed and crestfallen. But those who had simply listened to the doubts, without repeating them, looked about in fear and consternation, as if seeking the guilty. Andone arose, saying, “Rabbi, surely you will not punish those who listened, even as those who uttered?”
Rabbi Mayer replied, “The same penalty for those who listened as for those who spoke. For not alone is the mouse the thief, but the hole also.”
Whereupon the disciples began to murmur, softly and sheepishly, “But we doubt no longer.”
Rabbi Mayer laughed.
“Wise pupils have I in you, and to think thatyouwill spread the Law through Israel! Such asyouwill prove a reptile pure in only one way: when it will profit you.”
The disciples were now dejected more than ever. And Rabbi Mayer spoke again to them, as was his practice, through a parable.
“A fox met a hen, and said to her, ‘I have heard that you doubt my being the most virtuous of creatures. For that I will straightway devour you.’ The hen was seized with fear and cried, entreatingly, ‘I do not doubt it, andif I ever did, I will never doubt it again.’ And the fox, who was in a pleasant humour because his stomach was full, spoke again to her: ‘This time I let you free. But remember, should you ever in future express the slightest doubt, you will be as good as dead.’ Whereupon the hen took oath that never should she express the slightest doubt. But when the fox had released her and gone on his way, she snuggled her head in between her wings and furtively thought to herself that there was none so wicked as the fox.”
And now Rabbi Mayer raised his voice and said, “No, not with intimidation would I banish the doubts you feel concerning my wife Beruriah. For after all, you will take refuge deep in your hearts, and admonish your thoughts never to dare rise to your lips. You will tell yourselves that you are right, but that because you did not wish to lose me, you pretended to be convinced. I wish, however, that all doubts truly cease,—that they be driven from your hearts and that your souls be cleansed of them.”
The disciples sat still, as if considering how this might come to pass, and one among them who was not over careful, blurted out, “Ifyouwill cease to doubt, so will we, too.”
At first Rabbi Mayer’s face grew fiery red, but he uttered not a word, as if to refrain from speaking in great anger. Then his countenance turned ghastly pale, sunken and wan from surging, volcanic wrath. Then he spoke:
“Woe unto him whose thoughts are those of a fool, but greater woe still if he master not his lips. Did you then doubt, at first, becauseIdoubted? Who of you will dare to rise and say that Rabbi Mayer doubted his wife Beruriah? But those doubts which you could not conceal within yourselves, and had to drool out and pour into others’ ears, even as venomous snakes, have become like the source of a plague, spreading pestilence to right and to left, near and afar. Even I have caught the contagion of your doubt, and, as you speak, so speak I now myself. ‘Perhaps Beruriah is true to me because no tempter ever sought her ear.’”
Those of the disciples who had been first to sow the seed of doubt wished to lift their heads in triumph, but they refrained, content to smile within their hearts, and barely able to keep the smile from prancing to their lips. But the wise Rabbi Mayer had noticed the spark of triumph that had flashed in their eyes, and thundered forth in tones that scattered terror:
“Never have I entertained doubt of my wife Beruriah. Nor has the slightest suspicion assailed me as to the purity of her heart. But your evil venom has corroded my being, and the stench of your words has grown foul thoughts within me. Now I tell myself, ‘The apple is wondrous fair, but who can say what passes in its heart?’ This have you wrought with the poison of your doubts: that Rabbi Mayer should feel uncertainty as to the virtue of Beruriah, his wife. Shall I not drive you from me with rods and curses? But no. I have determined otherwise. What does one do to learn whether the beautiful apple be sound at the core? He cuts it open. I, too, will cutopen, will peer into, Beruriah’s heart; I will test her soul. And hear, now, what I have resolved upon: For thirty days I will not appear to her in Tiberias,—and thirty days, I believe, will be enough to test the power of a woman’s virtue, when her husband is absent from her. And you—choose from among you one who shall take it upon himself to be her tempter—.”
More than one heart quaked as Rabbi Mayer uttered these words. The possible companionship with the wonderful Beruriah coursed like a hot stream from head to foot in many a student. But strongest of all beat the heart of handsome Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, and he had to close his eyes because of the flood of passion that inundated him.
Most handsome of all the disciples was Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael. Once a Roman matron had beheld him, and it seemed to her as if Adonis, the Greek god of strength and youthand beauty, had turned Jew and given himself up to the study of the fathomless Torah. And she called him “the Adonis who turned Jew.” He was tall, slender and agile; the hair of his head and of his small beard was reddish; his eyes were of a colour that changed with the time of day and the temper of his moods, and none could withstand his glance. Out of piety he would shut his eyes on passing a woman, lest unholy thoughts be born in a Jewish daughter’s bosom. But once, on passing Beruriah, he had not shut his eyes, and instead of igniting another, he was himself set on fire, and on his eyes was impressed her image, inextinguishably, even as a seal impresses the burning wax. From that time he saw only her before him; she was his dream by night, his thought by day, nor did his holy studies avail him aught. His striking masculine beauty had found its mate in Beruriah, and he hungered after her as for something that had always belonged to him,—something that ever had been destined for him. He had been pious all his years, had known most ardent prayersand tormenting fasts, bodily tortures and cleansing of the soul. But now his prayers no longer were horror of sin, but plaints and grievances. It was as though the Lord withheld what was justly Simeon’s; as if God had taken away his rightful property, and his alone. And why had God placed Beruriah in his path? Why had the Lord not closed his eyes at their meeting? And in his restless, often feverish thoughts he showed God how he, Simeon, might come to her who was destined to be his. Rabbi Mayer might die, and he would inherit Beruriah; or if God did not wish the death of the holy man, Beruriah could forsake her learned husband,—divorce him and fly to the arms of her twin in beauty. Could not almighty God bring this to pass?
And now that Rabbi Mayer had announced his resolution, it was as if God had answered Simeon’s prayers, knowing that he would be the one to execute the purpose of the Rabbi, which was in reality the hidden purpose of the Almighty. And Rabbi Mayer, after utteringhis plan, turned his glance to Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, as if Simeon were he upon whom had fallen the dangerous embassy. But the sage said nothing to indicate any choice on his part. He departed from the Yeshiva at once, leaving the disciples alone to choose the tempter from their number.
And although many eyes sought out Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, his selection was in no wise unanimous. For several others wished to assume the mission, and these were the students who had most openly expressed their doubts as to Beruriah’s constancy.
And one of them spoke:
“In order to seduce Beruriah one need not be the most handsome, but the most subtle. One can steal into her heart, not through her eyes, but through her ears. Her eyes she can close before the most beautiful picture, but there is naught that can seal her ears against subtle speech. The beautiful picture that meets her gaze will vanish the moment she turns her head, but the guileful word willremain in her heart, and delve and burrow. Remember, that even our mother Eve was conquered by wily words from the subtle serpent’s mouth. As the Bible says, ‘Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field.’ And if Beruriah withstand the subtle word, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most subtle and should be their choice.
But a second arose and spoke:
“In order to win Beruriah one need be neither the handsomest nor the most subtle, but the strongest. For what is the beauty of our most beautiful against her beauty? And what is the guile of our most subtle against her subtlety? Our handsomest will quail before her, asking, ‘Why am I so ugly?’—And our cleverest will confront her like a helpless simpleton. But the presence of a powerful man will descend upon her senses like a cloud; the breath of immense masculine power will penetrate her like wine and intoxicate her. To make a woman bite into a forbidden apple, it takes a wily serpent;but to make a woman lust for a man other than her husband, it requires one whose strength will work upon her like the pressure of two mill-stones. And if Beruriah withstand great masculine strength, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was the strongest and should be their choice.
But a third arose and spoke:
“In order to gain Beruriah, one need not be the handsomest, the wiliest or the strongest, but the most learned. For if our fellow-student is right in all he says as to the wisest and the wiliest then must he surely recognise that not even masculine strength will touch Beruriah’s soul. For she will tell herself, ‘An untamed bull is stronger; and what man is more powerful than a lion? Shall I then languish with desire for the wild bull, the lion, and the elephant?’ But the most learned of us will know how to call forth her admiration, and will win her heart through his skill in holy lore. And if her husband, our master Rabbi Mayer,can demonstrate the purity of a reptile in one hundred and fifty different ways, then her seducer will have to be able, in twice one-hundred and fifty ways, to prove that Reuben did not sin with Bilhah, the wife of his father Jacob,—that King David did not sin with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, and that Beruriah’s sin against her husband will likewise be no sin. And if Beruriah withstand the great interpretative power of our most learned associate, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most learned and should be their choice.
Whereupon a fourth arose and spoke:
“In order to triumph over Beruriah, one need be neither the handsomest nor the wiliest, nor yet the strongest or the most learned. For the sum of his learning will be as naught against her own, and who dare assure us that he will not be left sitting before her like a pupil before a master? And will she not say that in our Yeshiva we study Torah only to make thatwhich is sinful appear pure? Therefore I say to you that in order to triumph over Beruriah one must be the most illustrious. And who is most illustrious if not he who can add to his personal gifts and to his own good name the pedigree of his noted family? Our master, Rabbi Mayer, Beruriah’s husband, is endowed with many virtues. But he springs from lowly, convert stock, and his origin is but an impure source. How Beruriah’s heart will melt with consuming desire when she feels the presence of one whose ancestry dates back to the kings of the House of David! And only after she has withstood the fascination of a genuine descendant from such illustrious forebears will her virtue have been proved beyond all doubt.”
That by these words he meant to indicate himself there was not the slightest question, for he was one who claimed to be descended from the kings of the House of David, and flaunted his ancestry as a peacock displays its tail.
And now there arose one whom all viewed in the greatest astonishment, their eyes distendedand their mouths agape, for none could believe that he, too, would rise to speak. And he said:
“In order to seduce Beruriah, one must be the unhappiest of men.”
And because the intense stupefaction with which his rising had been greeted dissolved now into uproarious laughter, he continued with louder voice and vehement gestures:
“Yes, the most unhappy and most wretched! You will succeed in approaching Beruriah’s heart only through compassion. I need only relate to her, with tears in my voice and suffering in my eyes, how the words ‘father, mother’ were never uttered by my lips because my father died before I was born, and my mother died giving birth to me,—how I do not even know who brought me up, because I passed from hand to hand, one stumbling across me on the threshold of his home, another coming upon me before his door, in the darkness of black night. By day the sun scorched me, and by night the cold pierced my flesh, and I stilled my hunger with my cries. In all the world not one soulcould be found who would adopt me as a son; they saw in me an evil visitation and only fear of God and His commandments held them back from putting me to death. And thus I grew up in hunger, necessity, and misery, without caresses, without a kiss, without a kind word, without a tender glance, without the slightest token of love, yet with a burning desire for affection and endearments. And I tell you that if Beruriah does not burst into flames of sinful lust out of compassion for me, then is her virtue indeed beyond uncertainty.”
And because his words created a sensation, he was sure that he would be the chosen one.
But now the first to speak began anew, and after him the second, and then the third, and following them the fourth one and the fifth. And then all at the same time. Each tried to drown out the voices of the rest, to annihilate the others. And still others intruded into the discussion, until the Yeshiva resounded with such a tumult as rises from a crowded market-place on a busy day.
Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, alone was silent. He was certain that he would be the chosen one, for thus had Rabbi Mayer spoken with his glance, and such was the will of God. And again, because Simeon, in addition to his great beauty, possessed the other qualities necessary to win Beruriah. For he felt that he was also the most unhappy. Who, indeed, could be more unhappy than he, whom God had been so unkind as to deprive of what should have been his, afterwards revealing to him what he had lost and filling his heart with hopelessness and grief? And let but the time arrive when he could tell Beruriah the tale of all his woes,—the trials that he had undergone for her,—then would she be overcome by pity, and in her heart compassion would pave the way for future love.
And Simeon smiled amidst the wordy din, and spoke no word. When, for a moment, the arguments subsided, again a host of eyes was turned to his. And they recalled that Rabbi Mayer’s glance had really singled him out, and suddenly realised that no fitter messenger thanSimeon could be sent. And if Beruriah could withstand the fascination of the Adonis who had turned Jew, then was her virtue indeed beyond uncertainty.
And now from various sides the cry arose, “Let Simeon go! The handsome Simeon! The beautiful son of Rabbi Ismael!”
Thus was Simeon, the son of Rabbi Ismael, chosen to be the touchstone which should test the constancy and purity of the heart of Beruriah, wife of the Master, Rabbi Mayer.
He came to her with a letter from her husband, and the letter read, very simply: “The bearer, one of my students, will explain everything.”
He found her in the garden before her house, alone with her thoughts, and she said, somewhat disturbed by a presentiment of evil tidings, “Pardon my not inviting you into my home to offer you refreshment and rest, for I am very anxious and impatient.”
Simeon paused a moment to catch his breath and gain sufficient time thus to recall what had been planned and conspired in the Yeshiva, that the tale he bore should carry confidence and sound as if it were the very truth. Beruriah might be struck by a suspicion of intrigue and bring the plan to naught. Then he began, with a soft, flattering, reassuring voice, glancing downwards, as became a pious student of the Torah, a disciple of the pious Rabbi Mayer.
“Evil decrees are hatching against the Jews. The times of Emperor Hadrian threaten to return. Circumcision may be forbidden, and keeping the Sabbath. The study of the Torah may be proscribed.”
Beruriah’s answer echoed with deep pain: “The rumour aspires to evil reality.”
“Agents have been sent out to seize the Yeshiva heads. Rabbi Mayer, Rabbi Simeon, son of Iuhai and Rabbi Judah, son of Ileai. The authorities wish to cut off the heads, thus destroying the body.”
Beruriah, pale and trembling, cried in fright, “Have the Rabbis been caught?”
“No. The agents have not yet appeared. Perhaps the rumour concerning them is false, and they will never come. But already Rabbi Simeon, son of Iuhai, has gone into hiding and Rabbi Judah has closed his Academy and dismissed his students until the storm rolls by. Rabbi Mayer alone refuses to retreat from the spot where God has placed him and has devised a plan to outwit the authorities.”
Beruriah, who had closed her eyes and raised her head to heaven, her heart filled with thanks that her husband was not so timorous as the others, now opened her eyes wide, piercing Simeon with their glance and awaiting with intense curiosity the details of Rabbi Mayer’s plan.
Simeon recounted the project in a calm voice, with all the self-assurance of speaking the truth, yet with a certain wariness and fear of the inquiring look in her keen eyes.
“One of his students is to go to RabbiMayer’s home in Tiberias and live there near Beruriah, his wife. And when the agents come for Rabbi Mayer, his students are to declare that for a long time they have been wandering about like sheep without a shepherd, because Rabbi Mayer has forsaken them, and may be found at Tiberias, at home with Beruriah, his wife. When the pursuers come to Rabbi Mayer’s home, they will find his scholar, whom they will naturally take for Rabbi Mayer, since he dwells under the same roof as Beruriah. Thus Rabbi Mayer will be able to continue expounding the Holy Law to his students, which is so necessary to the existence of the Jewish people, especially in times of sorrow.”
Beruriah was disillusioned. Her heart was not in the plan. There was so much about it that was strange and suspicious. She thought for a moment, seeking some objection, and finally asked, “Suppose the agents know Rabbi Mayer?”
But the reply to this objection had been preparedbeforehand, and Simeon made answer in reassuring tones.
“Did you not hear me say ‘his students are to declare’? If the agents come to the Academy they will not find Rabbi Mayer, for a hiding-place has already been secured, and guards will be on the lookout. And should the agents come here and recognise that I am not Rabbi Mayer, you can misdirect their steps and Rabbi Mayer will meanwhile seek new deliverance. But consider, if they do not know him, and if they take me for Rabbi Mayer?”
And Simeon drew himself to his full height, raising his head and showing her his eyes, which were deep brown in the glow of the setting sun that shone through the tall, green trees.
Beruriah thought, “It would be small wonder if the agents did take this man to be Rabbi Mayer.” Yet this made her heart no lighter, and she asked, with quivering spirit, “How long will this have to endure?”
The answer to this was ready in advance.
Thirty days. If, at the end of thirty daysthe agents should not appear, then the rumour concerning them had been unfounded.
Simeon was waxing jubilant. The plan had so far easily succeeded and been accepted, and now his thirty days were to begin,—destined to be the richest, happiest days of all his life.
But Beruriah sighed heavily. Thirty days of uncertainty and terror, of sorrow and yearning. Then she asked, still sadder than before, “Will Rabbi Mayer not come home at all, in all the thirty days?”
Simeon, piously, almost with reproach, replied, “Would you have him steal time from the Holy Law and give it to you? It may be that the days of our Academy are numbered, and the days of the Torah in it.”
Utterly downcast, she was barely able to whisper, “Will Rabbi Mayer not even send a messenger with news of himself?”
Simeon replied curtly, “Only in case Rabbi Mayer should meet with misfortune may you expect a messenger.”
Sad and dissatisfied, she shook her head, illcontent with the plan her husband had devised. But she did not care to question further, and recalled her duties as hostess. And thus she took in under her roof him who had been sent as the touchstone of her virtue, and gave him the room of Rabbi Mayer her husband. If the agents should come, there could be no doubt that he was Rabbi Mayer, head of the Yeshiva, who had left his Academy and his students and was living a secluded life at home, in the company of his beautiful wife.
Simeon entered into Rabbi Mayer’s dwelling, which was to be his own for all of thirty days, and sat down to study. He knew that his voice was sweet and clear, and very masculine, so he began to read from the sacred books aloud. And it seemed to him that were he to draw aside the curtain which separated Rabbi Mayer’s study from the other rooms he would discover Beruriah listening to his voice as he read. He felt her presence, heard herbreathing, inhaled her perfume. But he rubbed his forehead to banish these alien thoughts. He desired to study zealously, that Beruriah might detect nothing artificial in his actions, and yet in such wise, too, that the Holy Law be not affronted, and God cherish no anger against him.
For the first three days they saw nothing of each other. His food was brought to him by the aged servant, and whenever he left his room he would walk to the outside door with lowered eyes, looking neither to right nor to left, as one engrossed in deep and ponderous thoughts, afraid to be disturbed. Only on the evening of the fourth day did they meet, for it was the Sabbath eve and he recited grace and sang holy songs, blessing God for their food in a pious voice that was at once inspired and inspiring. And he knew that he was very beautiful, and that the sight of him was as balm to the soul, and that his voice was glorious,—a Sabbath-joy to hear. He looked but rarely at Beruriah; when, however, he raised his eyes to hers, shewas pierced by a vague, deep glance, filled with a manly power, yet very sad. And the colour of his eyes was as deeply dark as night, within them dancing the many lights that shone in the room and on the table, doing honour to the Sabbath.
And at night, on his couch, he began to sing, into the darkness of his room, various passages from the Bible, which he knew by heart. Among these were many of the most passionate lines of the Song of Songs. He sang with repressed tones, so that he disturb the sleep of none,—yet his voice filled the entire dwelling with sweet melancholy and deep unrest.
Beruriah lay yearning for Rabbi Mayer, her husband. And because it is not permitted to weep upon the Sabbath she banished from her soul all grief and longing, repeating softly the passages that reached her ear from Simeon, telling herself he was a most remarkable person,—this disciple of her husband,—and that of a certainty he must be one of the most illustrious of Rabbi Mayer’s disciples, since hehad been chosen to impersonate his master. She thought, “If every Jew, however lowly, has yet within him a share of God above, how great indeed must be the share of him who possesses Torah and wisdom and beauty, a sweet voice and utmost refinement?”
The next day they met again at the Sabbath table. He recited grace and sang his pious songs, blessing the Lord for the food with exalted, Sabbath voice, which quivered, however, with a certain inquietude and sadness. Again he looked but rarely at Beruriah, with his vague, deep glance so full of manly power and yet so spiritless. And the colour of his eyes was a brilliant blue, even as the sky without, and they were radiant with will indomitable and pride of mastery. And at every glance of his Beruriah trembled with an unpleasant feeling, and she would think that it were better far if Rabbi Mayer were sitting there with her. She was happy that the Sabbath would soon be past, and that for another week she would not meetSimeon,—this remarkable man who possessed so great a share of God—
After the prayer that closed the Sabbath she accompanied him to his room with a glance from the corner of her eye, and it seemed to her that she was being freed of care. But suddenly he stopped upon the threshold, and turned to her with exceeding tenderness.
“Forgive me the glances, my hostess, that I cast upon you yester eve and to-day.”
She answered sternly and indifferently:
“And were they glances such as call for pardon?”
“Did you not feel them?”
“They did not offend me.”
He stepped toward her.
“Oh, surely they did not offend you. How, indeed, could they? But they should have pained you.”
“Pained me?”
She did not understand him.
“Your mother-heart.”
He pronounced the words softly, with a sighand an abject countenance. Yet still she did not understand. Could it be that he referred to her two children, who had died on the same day,—a Sabbath day? His looks were sad indeed, yet how could she behold in them grief for her children or condolence with her? She spoke once more, quite drily:
“Even now I do not understand you.”
Then he told her the tale of a great misfortune that had befallen a mother, and the even greater heroism she had displayed. He spoke with deep sorrow and emotion in his voice and his eyes peered into the distance as if they beheld there a vision of a divine miracle. This was her own grievous misfortune,—her own heroism, but he told it as a tale that had once occurred,—as a miracle that had once taken place.
There was once a Jewish woman, the wife of a renowned Talmudic sage, and she had two sons of wondrous beauty. Little sons, yet already great hopes. Their father was gifted,yet it could easily be seen that they were still more gifted. Whoever beheld them surrendered to their charm. The sight of them brought joy to all hearts and caused warmth to surge throughout one’s being. And the mother was at a loss for thanks to God for the precious gifts that he had sent to her. When suddenly a plague assailed the town in which she dwelt and on a Sabbath day both her sons died while their father was at a House of Study, reciting the Holy Law before his fellow Jews. In order not to spoil her husband’s Sabbath when he came home, she laid her two sons out in a distant room, covering them with a black shroud, and then sat down to await her husband’s coming, dressed in her Sabbath clothes and on her face a Sabbath air. And when her husband came he could not read from her bearing that a thunderbolt had struck their home, destroying its most treasured possessions.
Accustomed to see his children at the Sabbath table, he asked “Where are our sons?”
The first time she told him a lie and her voice was calm and reassuring:
“Soldiers marched through the town with drums and music, and the children were anxious to see the gay parade. They begged so prettily I could not say them nay, and let them go together with the old servant.”
Her husband eyed her in astonishment.
“A children’s disease is epidemic here; the angel of death lurks now in every street; and you have let our sons trail after a procession?”
She lay her head against his bosom as if to win his pardon, and said, “If God so wills it, Death plucks his victims even in the greatest seclusion.”
The hours of the day passed and he asked again, “Why have our little sons not yet returned?”
And again she answered calmly, with reassurance, “The procession cannot be over yet; or else, they have stopped somewhere to play.”
And she asked him to forgive them for having so childishly forgotten their home, and persuadedhim to harbour no uneasiness. Could he not see that she was calm?
But when evening had fallen and time for the closing prayer of Sabbath had come, he became once more uneasy, and exclaimed, “I do not understand you. How can you be so calm? It is already so dark, and still our sons are not here.”
And again she answered serenely and soothingly:
“I am at ease because I know that God is with them on all their ways.”
Now he was ashamed to feel uneasiness, and recited the closing prayers. When he had finished, she turned to him quietly:
“I have a question to propound to you, my husband. Some one has entrusted to my keeping two jewels, with permission to use them and take joy in them. And I have really used them and taken in them much joy. They were my adornment and my playthings, my infinite happiness for many a year. Now the owner hascome and asks their return. Shall I give them back or keep them for my own?”
In wonder, her husband looked at her and replied, with astonishment, “You ask? And can there be a question here? Be thankful to him for the pleasure that he brought you with these two jewels for so many years, and give them back.”
Whereupon she took him by the hand and led him to the room where lay their sons, and uncovered them.
“See, God gave us in trust two wondrous jewels. To-day he came to us and asked them back. Let us be grateful to Him for the joy He has given....”
Simeon could bear to speak no longer. His emotions rose; his voice was choked with tears.
Beruriah, however, through all this time, had not interrupted the telling of the tale. His voice was so sweet, so touching, and had so strangely reopened her old wound and renewed her great grief. And she followed his everyword and the great grief within her, farther and farther, more engrossed, more intent than ever. When, overcome by his own emotion, he had interrupted his tale, she was very pale, her eyes staring vaguely before her. In a voice that came from a parched throat and dry lips, she asked, “Why have you told me the tale of my own misfortune? Why have you opened my wound anew? Do you think, then, that I did not love my sons? Do you imagine I have forgotten them?”
Simeon made answer, “Forgive me if I have hurt you. But ever since I heard from your husband, Rabbi Mayer, the story of your wonderful composure, I have longed to know whence you received the courage; and the overwhelming strength,—how came it to you? And as I sat before the Sabbath table yester eve and to-day, my eyes sought the answer in your mother-heart.”
He looked at her, filled with pity, and after a brief silence she said to him, “You forget that I am the daughter of the martyr Hanino Tradinus.When the Roman executioner was torturing him in slow flames, he lay on his pyre reciting from the Torah as if he felt no pain. Do you really believe that he was free of pain? Do you think that he did not feel the tongues of fire? But God was great and powerful within him, and He is no less powerful in me.”
Simeon closed his eyes, for a deep pang had rent his heart; he kneeled and kissed the hem of her garment. Beruriah reddened and whispered, scarce audibly, “And I love my husband passionately. It was for his consolation that I found sufficient strength in me to restrain my grief and not drown in my tears.”
Simeon left the room without a word, like a blind man groping his way, his heart a prey to pain and his every limb atremble.
Beruriah, however, buried her head in her hands and remained seated as if rooted to the spot alone with her two departed ones that she had never ceased to love. Her glance was fixed upon the distance, brimming with sorrow and yearning for past joys and hopes forever lost,her heart wailing, almost breaking, but without a tear in her burning eyes.
God had given; God had taken away. Blessed be His Name.
No, she would not weep, although her wound and her grief had been renewed in so touching a manner.
And suddenly her thoughts turned to him who had awakened her wound and her grief in so appealing a fashion,—to his voice and his eyes and his countenance, with its expression of deep condolence.
But Simeon knew nothing of this. Deeply wounded, he strode into the dense, black darkness of his room, and stood there motionless, his head bowed, his eyes closed. His love would awaken no response. The hopes he had built were vain. This wonderful woman, who had been able to master the keenest grief because she was as strong as a giant in her God and in her love for her husband, would surely be able to withstand all the wiles of seduction and all thoughts of lust. She would not beholdhis beauty; she would not be impressed by his learning. Her eyes would be sealed against him, and even if she looked at him she would not see him. And if his heart bled she would say: “He deserves his punishment.” What was there now to do? Why should he remain any longer? He must go back,—return to the Yeshiva and bring the certainty that there was no stronger woman than Beruriah. Then he would bury his own grief within him forever.
He stretched forth his hands in the gloom as if to cry out, and clinched his fists as if thus to crush his woe, and at the same moment felt that he wouldnotreturn. His longing for Beruriah was great, and who could measure the worth of thirty days spent in her company? To see her and hear her for thirty days!—Who could appraise that boon? And if he should return so soon, his comrades would say, “We all knew how strong was Beruriah on the day her two sons died, and yet we sent you as a touchstone to test her strength and purity. And since we knew that three days were too few, we stipulatedall of thirty.” And who could tell? Perhaps her heart had weakened under the grievous burden that Death had laid upon it, and now she would be unable any longer to resist love?
At this last thought it seemed that the darkness of his room was flooded with brightness. And see, the servant had really brought in a light. He was overjoyed and sat down to his books. And in his voice there rang a certain note that surely must convey to Beruriah the depth of desire which was in his heart.
He considered his future attitude and planned his campaign. He would not appear before her until the following Sabbath; but he would let her hear his voice. From early morn till late at night let her hear his voice—his voice that was so charming and melodious, so masculine. Let it follow her about through all the rooms, into the garden before the house, into the seclusion of her bed. Let it accompanyher in her thoughts and sing with her in all her prayers. And always, in case of accidental meeting, his beard would be well combed and his head-covering would sit so well over his high forehead that his beauty would compel her eyes, and the bearing of his body would summon to her the same thoughts that had occurred to the Roman matron.
The first day of that week his voice and his reciting sounded very mournful, and on the second and third days it was likewise very sad. And on those days his distant gaze, at their accidental meetings, was full of pity and sorrow. But on the fourth day a change came over his voice. It rang with joy and a zest for life, and when by accident they met he looked at her most ardently, with glad rapture; she stopped and followed him with her eyes, unable to understand the great change. The sadness of his voice and the longing in his glance she had understood, and had explained in divers ways. His own life was surely no happy one; all Israel suffered eternal persecution; her home wasa house of mourning. Then how could a person be happy beneath its roof? Her very proximity must inspire sadness. But the rejoicing in his voice and the rapture of his glance she could neither understand nor justify. And all that day his voice disquieted her; at night it weighed still heavier upon her in the lonesomeness of her bed. Why was he so happy? What was chanting so joyously in his heart? “How do his eyes look now?” she asked herself, and grew ashamed at her thoughts, directing them to Rabbi Mayer. She longed for him, hoping that the thirty days would fly by as soon as possible.
On the next day and the day following the great joy was with him still. Beruriah’s astonishment likewise continued. Once and again she wished to stop him at one of their accidental meetings and ask the significance of the great change that had come over him. But Beruriah would not ask. Not the wife of Rabbi Mayer. What was this student, after all, to her? Why should she be at all concernedwith what was passing in the heart of this strange man? She was neither his mother nor his sister; not even a friend of former years. Did it become Beruriah to be inquisitive? Was Rabbi Mayer’s wife, then, like other women? But she noticed that the stranger had become even handsomer, more powerful, more masculine.
Sabbath eve came once again and he said grace and sang the holy songs, blessing the Lord with a voice more exalted than ever, more filled than ever with the Sabbath spirit, more than ever inspired and inspiring. Again he looked not often at his hostess, but when he raised his eyes to seek her glance, they had a faraway look filled with admiration and ecstasy, and their colour was the colour of a flaming ruby set in black, as if the Sabbath candles glowed within them.
And again that night on his couch he sang into the darkness of his room various passages from the Bible, which he knew by heart, and in particular many verses from the Song of Songs,the song of love and passion and infinite yearning. His voice throbbed with joy and yet it quivered with a deep unrest; and a great yearning spoke in it, as if calling for something that could render its happiness complete.
And Beruriah lay quite restless in her place. The singer’s voice inundated her being, nor could she banish its magnetic sound. She tried to think of Rabbi Mayer, but instead found herself repeating the passages that came to her from Simeon’s room. And suddenly there flashed upon her the idea that Rabbi Ismael’s son must cherish a love in his heart. It must be a wife or a sweetheart; either he loved her with intense passion or was longing for her endlessly. And if his voice was now so joyful it must be that of the thirty days a third had already passed, and he would soon return to his beloved.
Now, however, she could no longer repeat after him the verses from the Song of Songs, from him toher,—his beloved; his wife or his sweetheart. Beruriah buried her head in herpillows, pulled the coverlet over it, and stopped her ears with her hands so as to keep out Simeon’s voice and his love verses; she turned all her thoughts to Rabbi Mayer and began to recite the other passages from the Song of Songs,—the passages from her to him, and her heart languished for him, for her husband, for her beloved, for her great love and yearning.
And once more, after the Sabbath closing prayers, before he went into his room he turned to her with great tenderness.
“Forgive me the glances, my hostess, that I cast upon you yester eve and to-day.”
She shuddered at the unexpectedness of his words, and could not understand his begging pardon.
“What manner of glances were they?” she asked.
He whispered softly, “Then you did not notice them?”
“They were glances of intensest exaltation, filled with wonderment and deep-felt ardour. However, they did not belong to me.”
“You are wrong. To you!”
“To me?”
She rose to her full height and her face grew pale and austere.
He, in ecstasy, proclaimed, “Yes, to you!—Have you beheld how joyous I have been these last few days?”
“I heard it in your voice.”
“And do you know the cause?”
“Have you, then, told me?”
“I’ll tell you now. The cause was you alone.”
Her face assumed an even colder expression, and her eyes became even sterner. The shadow of anger crossed her forehead and her brows, and he cried out, with delight, as if to drive away the evil shadow:
“Oh, Beruriah, hear me out! For three days and three nights I was filled with the grief of your grief; for three days and three nights I have not ceased to ask why you were so heavily punished with the death of your two little ones—You, the chosen of God,—you, theblessed one! If I asked that even before I knew you, how then must it have cried aloud within me when the greatness of your soul was discovered to me in all its splendour? To think thatyouof all should be martyred so! Thatyoushould be the victim of a never-ending sorrow! And my heart rebelled within me, and like Job I could see no justice in the ways of God. And when one ceases to behold justice in the ways of God, how dark and dreary must the world become! But suddenly, on the fourth day, it seemed to me as if God must have raised a trifle the veil that screens the purpose of His deeds and allowed me to gaze upon their goal. How would the world have realised the grandeur of your soul, if not through the great grief that befell you? How should we have known what Beruriah was, if her heart had not been delivered into the hands of the torturer? Your two sons, had they lived, would have made mankind richer by two living beings,—perhaps worthless ones, unnecessary, unhappy; but through their deaththey made humanity the richer by a living Beruriah. Now for the first time do we conceive what we possess in you; now for the first time do we know your worth. That which lay veiled in darkness has been illuminated by a glorious light. Boundless treasures that have lain buried have been brought forth for the use of all. We have all grown richer through you, and future generations will enjoy that wealth. As from a spring of life humanity will imbibe its power from you, its consolation. ‘See,’ they will say, ‘how Beruriah mastered her enormous grief, her double bereavement. Emulate her and be consoled!’ Oh, Beruriah, when this flashed upon me, how could I help feel joyous, and how could I keep my glances from betraying exaltation and admiration for you?”
And before Beruriah could open her lips to make reply, he fell to his knees and kissed the hem of her garment, pressing it to his lips far longer than the first time; then he arose and left the room, holding his head erect, half-dancing, in token of his jubilation. And soon his voicewas resounding through the house,—a ringing, singing, joyous, jubilant voice, filled with power and fervour. Was not Beruriah now full of him? Had he not won her now?
Beruriah sat in confusion, indeed full of his voice and his presence, and at times it seemed as if an angel from heaven were addressing her. Only when she was able to give thought to what he had said could she liberate herself from his spell. Her mind grew clearer and with a sigh she rose. And this is what she told her unhappy mother-heart:
“It is possible that the world has been made richer, and that such was the purpose of God when he took from me my two children. He has His goal and His aims, and His ways are hidden from our sight. But I have become so poor, so poor....”
During the whole of the first day of the new week his voice was scarcely heard, and Beruriah wondered. Had anything happenedto him? She fairly longed for his voice. The aged servant, however, brought her the news that the guest, for the most part, paced back and forth in his room. And when he seated himself at his table, he buried his head in his arms and remained thus motionless.
And Beruriah said that surely he had encountered a difficult passage in the Torah. Rabbi Mayer, too, was in the habit of acting so when confronted by a perplexing problem, and the student must take after the master.
Yet that same evening his voice was heard again, but altogether altered. There was in it nothing of its former joyousness, and nothing of its still earlier sorrow. There was, however, a certain something that made Beruriah listen, pouring unrest into her soul. It was a note of yearning, and a note of entreaty. A sort of petulance, as if from a pampered child, and a kind of supplication, like a beggar at the door. What did his voice wish now to say? What did it mean now? To whom was he now speaking? To God? To his own heart? Inwhat measure was she, Beruriah, here involved? If at first it had been she who sounded in his voice, what did he wish of her now? Was he praying to God in her behalf? What did he ask of God for her?
She tossed from side to side upon her bed, and thought how really wondrous was this man. She saw him stand before her in all his beauty, with his sadness and his fervour, and with his eyes in which the colours dissolved; she heard his voice, which penetrated her heart and her very soul; she exiled her thoughts with the ardent prayer that the thirty days should pass as quickly as possible.
But the days that followed dragged on frightfully, for they were filled with a rising pathos and plaintiveness in Simeon’s voice,—with increasing supplication and entreaty. It rose to an ever louder appeal for pity, an ever more languishing cry for love. The air in Beruriah’s room became difficult for her to breathe and she began to seek calm in long walks and frequent visits, but she was hauntedby the sensation that there in her room resounded Simeon’s yearning, imploring voice. And the voice followed her into the distant streets, walked with her into the strangers’ houses, took part in all her conversations. Returning to her home became for Beruriah a trial. She could not bear to listen to the voice; she feared it, and feared even more an accidental meeting with him, for the far-off gaze of his eyes, which had now become quite black, gleamed with such desire and love-entreaty that it was impossible for a human soul to bear it.
She awaited the Sabbath eve with a throbbing bosom. The approach of the holy day brought her no pleasure. Her first thought was to have notified him that she was ill and could not come to table. But her second thought was that Beruriah, the wife of Rabbi Mayer, should not resort to pretexts, or hide from any one. What, indeed, was Simeon to her? What mattered to her the unrest of his heart? She should never have noticed the quality of his voice or the colour of his eyes.And if he should ask again whether she had remarked his glances, she would reply that she did not wish to be questioned so, since his glances were of no concern to her. Let him better ask of Rabbi Mayer whether he might inquire of her about his glances.
And thus she remained to hear his Sabbath blessings and his Sabbath songs.
But his voice no longer rang with its Sabbath tones. It was like a melodious violin that had cracked. He thanked God and blessed Him, but as one whomustthank andmustbless, and whose heart is not in his deeds, because he is discontent and wronged. He ate, too, as one who compels himself, without appetite, against his will and sparingly. His cloud-grey eyes looked less at the food before him than at Beruriah, and his glances were Desire itself,—Yearning itself.
And when, in the darkness of the night, there began to resound through the house verses from the Song of Songs, in a voice as of doves cooing, like the cry of a heart dissolvingin desire, Beruriah laid her pillow upon her head and placed her fingers in her ears, and her heart began to beat most rapidly. She knew that the verses were meant for her, were sent to her, spoke to her, longed for her, implored her.
And as she lay, she spoke to her heavy heart:
“Lord of the universe, is it not enough that Thou hast punished my heart? Must Thou punish another heart through me? If I am to be a consolation unto them who believe in Thee, how dost Thou now wish to make me the great grief and the despair of one of Thy worshippers? Lord of the universe, was Beruriah, Thy chosen one, Thy blessed one, born to experience misfortune and to spread it? Lord God, I wept not on Thy holy Sabbath, when both my little children passed away. Wouldst Thou have me now to weep before Thee? Oh, God of Abraham, turn his heart from me, and turn his thoughts to Thee. Reveal me that infinite grace, Lord of the universe!”
And because Simeon, at this juncture, ceased his singing, overcome by grief and weariness assleep, like a heavy burden, pressed his lids, it seemed to Beruriah that God had heard her prayer. She now removed the pillow from her head and placed it underneath with a sigh of relief, filled with gratitude. Then she fell into a peaceful slumber.
On the following day, however, Beruriah saw that God had not heard her prayer nor answered it. For the voice of Rabbi Ismael’s son was charged with supplication and his eyes brimmed over with desire. And it was after the closing prayers, when Simeon had turned to Beruriah to ask about his glances. Beruriah was not to be seen. She had disappeared, because she knew that his mouth could be stopped and his lips sealed by neither sharp speech nor angry rebuke. His accumulated yearning would find a way, and his passion would burst from his heart; he would sin grievously against God with his words and his deeds. And how would she then be able to keep him under her roof? And the thirty days were not yet over.
But Simeon knew that Beruriah had noticedhis glances and interpreted his voice aright. His heart was therefore flooded with joy and hope. She had disappeared because she felt her weakness; her strength had begun to waver. The struggle within her had already commenced, and he would be her conqueror.
For three days longer the yearning and the entreaty continued. And of a sudden the voice was transformed into a wild, unbearable shrieking. Simeon had fallen into despair. The thirty days were fast drawing to a close and his love for Beruriah had flamed up like the fires of hell. He lost his peace of mind entirely, and his body began to be consumed by passion. His cheeks grew thin, his eyes looked sunken, reddish-yellow, ill. It seemed to him as if his body were incessantly smitten, and within, his being cried aloud its pain. His voice took up the cry. But it was the cry of the ox for the cow,—only more passionate, more pain-stricken, more excruciating.
When Beruriah heard such a voice she was seized with trembling; a feeling of disgust surged over her. For days at a time she shunned her very dwelling, but the suffering of repulsion she carried plainly with her. Whoever met her said, “Beruriah is stricken with an evil illness.” And her friends questioned her, “What has befallen you?” She avoided all encounter with Simeon, and at night in her room she had her aged servant stay with her. Friday evening she had Simeon notified that she could not come to table, but that she would hear his saying of grace from where she lay. His saying of grace, however, caused her to shudder. He groaned it rather than recited it. His breath came like that of an animal wounded unto death. His voice was hoarse and choked with angry tears. He barely approached his food and looked around with savage eyes. The old domestic heaved a sigh of thankfulness when Simeon dashed from the dining-room. Had he sung the Sabbath songs? Had he blessed the Lord? Or had he been utteringblasphemy altogether? His voice rang more with upbraiding than with benediction. Now he knew that God had forsaken him, and had showed him Beruriah only to crush him. Need he restrain himself? Need he pretend? Let the woman know how he was suffering through her,—how he loved her, how he desired her.
And amidst the gloom of his room, he repeated in a voice made hoarse with lust, passages from the Song of Songs,—those impregnated with most love and passion.
“How fair and how pleasant art thou, Oh love, for delights! This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes. I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the branches thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples.”
He sang them again and again, wildly, passionately, lustfully.
And Beruriah was engulfed in still deeper loathing. It was as though some one had made her body unclean. She huddled together, shuddering.She opened her eyes wide, peering into the dense darkness, speaking to God as if she beheld Him there before her, in the gloom.
“I accepted as a boon the grievous sorrow Thou sentest unto me. But this indignity I cannot suffer. How have I merited it? What is Thy aim? How have I sinned that Thou so shouldst humble me? My heart is weak and wracked; wouldst Thou rend it utterly? Then tear it out, Oh Lord, and I will thank Thee. But remove from me the burden of this insult. Deliver me from this uncleanliness.”
The lustful voice, however, did not cease. Indeed, it rang with even greater lust, grovelling before her, embracing her, clawing her. And Beruriah groaned like a wounded deer, taking refuge beneath her pillow and her coverlet, as if to smother herself, prepared to die—
All that Sabbath day she remained in her room, behind lock and key,—indignant, overcome by aversion, anger, fury. Too, on the other days she avoided Simeon, even as anauseating leper is tremblingly shunned. But on the thirtieth day Simeon lay in waiting, and late in the afternoon met her face to face. He was dressed ready for his departure, staff in hand and wallet across his shoulder. But not the proud, handsome Simeon stood before her; not the Adonis who had turned Jew. He was wan, thin, bent; his face sallow, his eyes sunken, feverish and red; his beard unkempt; his head-covering awry. Adonis had forgotten to be beautiful. Adonis had become infirm and old. Adonis bore in his heart a fatal wound.
Beruriah straightened up in all her pride, in all her beauty, and looked at him ruthlessly, haughtily, wishing to pass him by. But he barred her way. A moment they eyed each other without a word; then he opened his lips and spoke to her:
“Cursed be the day when I first gazed upon you, but sevenfold accursed be the day on which my companions chose me to be your touchstone, and seventy-seven times accursed be the day on which I crossed the threshold of your home.May these days be obliterated from God’s year, and may the memory of them be a curse for generations. May they be days of calamity——”
Beruriah interrupted his malediction, speaking with merciless austerity:
“Job, too, did once the same and cursed a day of God’s. You may spare yourself this art of imprecation. Go your way and thank God that he led you to Beruriah’s home, and brought you not to greater sin,—Thank Him that two souls were rescued from eternal perdition. But before you leave, explain one thing to me. What do you mean when you say that your companions chose you to be my touchstone? If I understand you aright——”
Her glance was sharp and deeply penetrating, and Simeon replied, “You have understood me aright!”
With eyes agape and quickening breath she questioned further.
“And the story of the agents was a lie?”
Simeon answered feverishly, trembling in every limb.
“The tale was false from the beginning to the end. No single word of truth was in it. The Academy, who knew the fortitude of your heart against death, wished to know, too, the strength of your heart against love. And they chose me——”
Again she interrupted his account, with staring eyes and breath that came in gasps.
“And—Rabbi—Mayer?”
“Hedevised the plan.”
She uttered a shriek as if her heart had suddenly been pierced, breathed heavily and shut her eyes. A moment later she asked, with her eyes still closed, “Did Rabbi Mayer, too, desire to know the fortitude of my heart against sinful love?”
And Simeon answered weakly, wearily:
“At first he flew into a fury against the students for their doubts as to your virtue, but afterwards their mistrust became his mistrust.”
Beruriah, astounded, groaned with pain, and Simeon continued his account:
“‘The apple is wondrous fair,’ said Rabbi Mayer, ‘but who can say what passes in its heart?’”
Beruriah moaned, more heavily grieved than ever. And Simeon, mercilessly, indifferently, wearily added, “And he said, ‘What does one do to learn whether the beautiful apple is sound at the core? He cuts it open——’”
Beruriah turned, wincing as if under knives, and suddenly wailed in a voice that was not her own, “Go!” Then she rushed into her room, her eyes closed, stupefied, stunned.
And Simeon went forth upon his way, slowly, exhaustedly, his head bowed and his limbs heavy, like one who has been banished into exile,—homeless and forlorn.