I could have been in the paradise of Palladius, or high atop Parnassus, or even above the hills of the Isthmus, for it was an ecstatic vision of purest peace and concord the likes of which I had never before experienced. I sighed with deep contentment, gazing up at the blueness above, desiring nothing but that moment, knowing that God in his beneficence and unfathomable wisdom had bestowed this array of supreme beauty for me alone. For indeed I was alone . . . until I saw her . . .
. . . and she was much lovelier than I had imagined. How disarmingly beautiful she was! How divinely constructed were the bones of her face, how brightly shone her eyes and the jewels of her mouth. She was like mineral springs at their source, like cinnamon and saffron, like frankincense. She was illuminated, radiating all the colours of the spectrum. Like the world contained in a drop of rain; she was intrinsic and extrinsic, diaphanous and crystalline. All that she was, lay clearly before my eyes . . . Isis unveiled.
It was then that I became afraid. Perhaps because of what I had heard about the noon-tide devil; that woman being a feminine creature – and therefore diabolical – was the oldest and most powerful tool of Satan. Perhaps I was afraid because deep inside me I knew this not to be true and therefore could only blame myself for the impurity of my thoughts.
Proverbs tells us that ‘stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant’, and it was indeed pleasant to remain transfixed, desiring to understand this most exquisite and enigmatic creature better. I found that if I could empty my mind of all the trivial little things about her, I could in a sense feel her essential being in a curious way stripped bare before me. I saw that she was good. She was lovely. I feel at a loss, patient reader, to explain why, or rather how, I sensed these things, but they seemed to me as natural as inhaling the brisk mountain air, observing how its crispness enters one’s lungs, purifying them. A kind of fleeting knowledge, an intuition passing over the soul, and finally, oh sweet melancholy . . .
She passed by and in her wake there was the faint scent of jasmine as it is given forth from the hanging gardens of Babylon. Her mouth beckoned me, redder than the wines of Cana, adorned with teeth whiter than milk, each one like a little pearl. She walked as straight as the towers of Lebanon that looketh towards Damascus, her breasts like unto apples, for their scent was sweet, and her eyes like the tranquil waters of Heshbon by the gate of Bathrabbin, for they conveyed peace.
‘Come down, my beloved. Why tarriest thou?’ I heard myself say. ‘O beautiful maiden, rising over the horizon like the moon over Jerusalem. Vanquishing the darkness, and warming the senses like a radiant fire!’ I felt a pang . . . Oh, sweet sweetest love! What miseries dost thou bestow upon a man! I knew that she must be the work of a cunning craftsman for I felt feverish. Who is this woman who, in her necklaces, hides precious fruits shining like the sun? Who, with one blush, could shame all the stars of heaven? I found myself at once relieved and also anguished, lured to the infernal gates of hell.
‘Come to me, my groom!’ she said, for her voice was like honey and it tasted sweet in my mouth, but was bitter in my belly. And my hands became gold rings set with beryl: my belly as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires. My legs were as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: my countenance as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
And then she spoke, her voice like the waters of the Nile.
‘Marry the bride with the groom, oh, my beloved! Marry the fire with the water, for thy mouth is most sweet . . . Set me as a seal upon thy heart. As a seal upon thy arm: for love is as strong as death.’
Together we entwined, and like the best wine that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak, so we, like the waters that merge into one fierce body, like a river breaking its banks, rushed together with one objective. Hastening towards one end we plunged into a sea of molten fire, licked by a flame, consumed by its coolness. Oh, Solomon! Is this the beloved of your songs? I thought, and like a desperate man, climbed upon the peaks of her mountains to see the contours of her country, the formation and symmetry of her kingdom, for she was Jerusalem, the bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. With great care, I went down to the valley, caressing each little hill, drowning my thirst in her estuaries. There I smelt her earth, and stroked it tenderly, moulding it between my feverish fingers, kissing the fruits that, from out of the fertile belly sprouted, like berries, red and delightful. Then I tilled her soil, and reaped her corn, I gathered her roses and drank her milk, and when the storm threatened to tear my country asunder, I found sanctuary within her ample bays, waiting for that moment, the supreme moment when I would be as Moses before the burning bush.