happiness in this prayer of the old servant. What he asked for his
young master was not beauty or talent, but a ready and unfailing
outflow of sympathy and kindness. He sought not merely for a
gentle nature, a kind heart, but for a heart so rich in kindness
that it should run even beyond what was asked, and be ready to
anticipate the request with new devices of helpfulness. The lively,
light-hearted kindness that could not be content with waiting on the
thirsty old man, but with cheerful alacrity took upon herself the
care of all the ten camels, this was a gift beyond that of beauty;
yet when it came in the person of a maiden exceedingly fair to look
upon, no marvel that the old man wondered joyously at his success.
When the camels had done drinking, he produced from his treasury a
golden earring and bracelets, with which he adorned the maiden. "And
he said to her, Whose daughter art thou? tell me, I pray thee; is
there room in thy father's house for us to lodge in? And she said
unto him, I am the daughter of Bethuel the son of Milcah, which she
bare to Nahor. She said, moreover, unto him, We have both straw and
provender enough, and room to lodge in. And the man bowed down his
head, and worshiped the Lord. And he said, Blessed be the Lord God
of my master Abraham, who hath not left destitute my master of his
mercy and his truth: I being in the way, the Lord led me to the
house of my master's brethren."
We may imagine the gay delight with which the pretty maiden ran to
exhibit the gifts of jewelry that had thus unexpectedly descended
upon her. Laban, her brother, does not prove either a generous or
hospitable person in the outcome of the story; but the ambassador
of a princely relative, traveling with a caravan of ten camels, and
showering gold and jewels, makes his own welcome. The narrative
proceeds:--"And it came to pass when he saw the earring, and the
bracelets upon his sister's hands, and when he heard the words of
Rebekah his sister, saying, Thus spake the man unto me; that he came
unto the man; and, behold, he stood by the camels at the well. And
he said, Come in, thou blessed of the Lord; wherefore standest thou
without? for I have prepared the house, and room for the camels. And
the man came into the house: and he ungirded the camels, and gave
straw and provender for the camels, and water to wash his feet, and
the men's feet that were with him. And there was set meat before him
to eat: but he said, I will not eat, till I have told my errand. And
he said, Speak on. And he said, I am Abraham's servant, and the Lord
hath blessed my master greatly, and he is become great: and he hath
given him flocks, and herds, and silver, and gold, and men-servants,
and maid-servants, and camels, and asses."
After this exordium he goes on to tell the whole story of his oath
to his master, and the purport of his journey; of the prayer that he
had uttered at the well, and of its fulfillment in a generous-minded
and beautiful young maiden; and thus he ends his story: "And I bowed
down my head, and worshiped the Lord, and blessed the Lord God of
my master Abraham, which hath led me in the right way to take my
master's brother's daughter unto his son. And now, if ye will deal
kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; that
I may turn to the right hand or to the left. Then Laban and Bethuel
answered and said, The thing proceedeth from the Lord: we cannot
speak unto thee bad or good. Behold, Rebekah is before thee; take
her, and go, and let her be thy master's son's wife, as the Lord
hath spoken. And it came to pass, that when Abraham's servant heard
their words, he worshiped the Lord, bowing himself to the earth."
And now comes a scene most captivating to female curiosity. Even in
patriarchal times the bridegroom, it seems, provided a _corbeille
de mariage_; for we are told: "And the servant brought forth
jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them
to Rebekah; he gave also to her brother and to her mother precious
things." The scene of examining jewelry and garments and rich
stuffs in the family party would have made no mean subject for a
painter. No wonder such a suitor, sending such gifts, found welcome
entertainment. So the story goes on: "And they did eat and drink,
he and the men that were with him, and tarried all night; and they
rose up in the morning; and he said, Send me away unto my master.
And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide with us a
few days, at the least ten, and after that she shall go. And he said
unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the Lord hath prospered my way;
send me away, that I may go to my master. And they said, We will
call the damsel and inquire at her mouth. And they called Rebekah,
and said unto her, Wilt thou go with this man? And she said, I will
go. And they sent away Rebekah their sister, and her nurse, and
Abraham's servant and his men. And they blessed Rebekah, and said
unto her, Thou art our sister; be thou the mother of thousands of
millions, and let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate
them." The idea of being a mother of nations gives a sort of dignity
to the married life of these patriarchal women,--it was the motherly
instinct made sublime.
Thus far, this wooing seems to have been conceived and conducted
in that simple religious spirit recognized in the words of the old
prayer: "Grant that all our works may be begun, continued, and ended
in thee." The Father of Nations has been a never-failing presence in
every scene.
The expectant bridegroom seems to have been a youth of a pensive,
dreamy, meditative nature. Brought up with the strictest notions of
filial submission, he waits to receive his wife dutifully from his
father's hand. Yet, as the caravan nears the encampment, he walks
forth to meet them. "And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at
the eventide: and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the
camels were coming. And Rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw
Isaac, she lighted off the camel. For she had said unto the servant,
What man is this that walketh in the field to meet us? And the
servant had said, It is my master: therefore she took a veil, and
covered herself."
In the little that is said of Rebekah, we see always that alert
readiness, prompt to see and do what is to be done at the moment. No
dreamer is she, but a lively and wide-awake young woman, who knows
her own mind exactly, and has the fit word and fit action ready for
each short turn in life. She was quick, cheerful, and energetic in
hospitality. She was prompt and unhesitating in her resolve; and
yet, at the moment of meeting, she knew the value and the propriety
of the _veil_. She covered herself, that she might not unsought be
won.
With a little touch of pathos, the story ends: "And Isaac brought
her into his mother Sarah's tent, and took Rebekah, and she became
his wife; and he loved her: and Isaac was comforted after his
mother's death." We see here one of those delicate and tender
natures that find repose first in the love of a mother, and, when
that stay is withdrawn, lean upon a beloved wife.
So ideally pure, and sweet, and tenderly religious has been the
whole inception and carrying on and termination of this wedding,
that Isaac and Rebekah have been remembered in the wedding ritual
of the catholic Christian churches as models of a holy marriage
according to the Divine will. "Send thy blessing upon these thy
servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy name; that
as Isaac and Rebekah lived faithfully together, so these persons may
surely perform and keep the vow and covenant between them."
In the subsequent history of the family, the dramatic individuality
of the characters is kept up: Isaac is the gentle, thoughtful,
misty dreamer, lost in sentiment and contemplation; and Rebekah the
forward, cheerful, self-confident manager of external things. We
can fancy it as one of the households where all went as the mother
said. In fact, in mature life, we see these prompt and managing
traits, leading the matron to domestic artifices which could only
be justified to herself by her firm belief that the end pursued was
good enough to sanctify the means. Energetic, lively, self-trustful
young women do sometimes form just such managing and diplomatic
matrons.
Isaac, the husband, always dreamy and meditative, becomes old and
doting; conceives an inordinate partiality for the turbulent son
Esau, whose skill in hunting supplies his table with the meat he
loves. Rebekah has heard the prophetic legend, that Jacob, the
younger son, is the chosen one to perpetuate the sacred race; and
Jacob, the tender, the care-taking, the domestic, is the idol of her
heart.
Now, there are some sorts of women that, if convinced there was such
a Divine oracle or purpose in relation to a favorite son, would
have rested upon it in quiet faith, and left Providence to work out
its ends in its own way and time. Not so Rebekah. The same restless
activity of helpfulness that led her to offer water to all the
camels, when asked to give drink for the servant, now led her to
come to the assistance of Providence. She proposes to Jacob to make
the oracle sure, and obtain the patriarchal blessing by stratagem.
When Jacob expresses a humble doubt whether such an artifice may not
defeat itself and bring on him the curse rather than the blessing of
his father, the mother characteristically answers: "Upon me be the
curse, my son: only obey my voice." Pages of description could not
set a character before us more sharply and distinctly than this one
incident, and nothing can show more dramatically in whose hands was
the ruling power in that family.
The managing, self-reliant Rebekah, ready to do her full share in
every emergency, and to run before every occasion with her busy
plannings, is not a character of patriarchal ages merely. Every age
has repeated it, and our own is no exception. There are not wanting
among us cheerful, self-confident, domestic managers, who might take
a lesson from the troubles that befell the good-hearted, but too
busy and officious Rebekah, in consequence of the success of her own
schemes. The account of this belongs to our next chapter.
[Illustration: LEAH AND RACHEL]
LEAH AND RACHEL.
In the earlier portions of the Old Testament we have, very
curiously, the history of the deliberate formation of an influential
race, to which was given a most important mission in the world's
history. The principle of _selection_, much talked of now in
science, is the principle which is represented in the patriarchal
history as operating under a direct Divine guidance. From the
calling of Abraham, there seems to have been this continued
watchfulness in selecting the party through whom the chosen race was
to be continued. Every marriage thus far is divinely appointed and
guided. While the Fatherly providence and nurture is not withdrawn
from the rejected ones, still the greatest care is exercised to
separate from them the chosen. The latter are selected apparently
not so much for moral excellence in itself considered, as for
excellence in relation to stock. The peaceable, domestic, prudent,
and conservative elements are uniformly chosen, in preference to the
warlike and violent characteristics of the age.
The marriage of Isaac and Rebekah was more like the type of a
Christian marriage than any other on record. No other wife shared
a place in his heart and home; and, even to old age, Isaac knew
no other than the bride of his youth. From this union sprang twin
boys; between whom, as is often the case, there was a remarkable
difference. The physical energy and fire all seemed to go to
one, the gentler and more quiet traits to the other. Esau was
the wild huntsman, the ranger of the mountains, delighting in
force,--precisely adapted to become the chief of a predatory tribe.
Jacob, the patient, the prudent, the submissive, was the home child,
the darling of his mother. Now, with every constitutional excellency
and virtue is inevitably connected, in our imperfect humanity, the
liability to a fault. The peace-loving and prudent, averse to
strife, are liable to sins of artifice and deception, as stronger
natures are to those of force and violence. Probably, in the calm
eye of Him who sees things just as they are, the one kind of fault
is no worse than the other. At all events, the sacred narrative is
a daguerreotype of character; it reflects every trait and every
imperfection without comment. The mild and dreamy Isaac, to save his
wife from a rapacious king, undertakes to practice the same artifice
that his father used before him, saying, "She is my sister"; and the
same evil consequence ensues. The lesson of artifice once taught
in the family, the evil spreads. Rebekah, when Isaac is old and
doting, commands Jacob to personate his older brother, and thus
gain the patriarchal blessing, which in those days had the force
of a last will and testament in our times. Yet, through all the
faults and errors of the mere human actors runs the thread of a
Divine guidance. Before the birth of Jacob it was predicted that
he should be the chosen head of the forming nation; and by his
mother's artifice, and his own participation in it, that prediction
is fulfilled. Yet the natural punishment of the action follows. Esau
is alienated, and meditates murder in his heart; and Jacob, though
the mother's darling, is driven out from his home a hunted fugitive,
parted from her for life. He starts on foot to find his way to
Padan-Aram, to his father's kindred, there to seek and meet and woo
the wife appointed for him.
It is here that the history of the patriarch Jacob becomes
immediately helpful to all men in all ages. And its usefulness
consists in just this,--that Jacob, at this time in his life, was no
saint or hero. He was not a person distinguished either by intellect
or by high moral attainment, but simply such a raw, unformed lad
as life is constantly casting adrift from the shelter of homes.
He is no better and no worse than the multitude of boys, partly
good and partly bad, who, for one reason or another, are forced to
leave their mothers and their fathers; to take staff in hand and
start out on the great life-journey alone. He had been religiously
brought up; he knew that his father and his mother had a God,--the
Invisible God of Abraham and Isaac; but then, other gods and lords
many were worshiped in the tribes around him, and how did he know,
after all, which was the right one? He wanders on over the wide,
lonesome Syrian plains, till dark night comes on, and he finds
himself all alone, an atom in the great silent creation,--alone,
as many a sailor-boy has found himself on the deck of his ship, or
hunter, in the deep recesses of the forest. The desolate lad gathers
a heap of stones for a pillow and lies down to sleep. Nothing could
be more sorrowfully helpless than this picture; the representative
portrait of many a mother's boy to-day, and in all days. We cannot
suppose that he prayed or commended his soul to God. We are told
distinctly that he did not even remember that God was in that place.
He lies down, helpless and forlorn, on his cold stone pillow, and
sinks, overcome with fatigue, to prayerless slumber. And now, in
his dreams, a glorious light appears; a luminous path opens upward
to the skies,--angels are passing to and fro upon it, and above, in
bright benignity, stands a visible form, and says: "I am the Lord
God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac: the land whereon
thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed; and thy seed
shall be as the dust of the earth; and thou shalt spread abroad
to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south;
and in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be
blessed. And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all
places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again unto this land;
for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have
spoken to thee of. And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said,
Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not. And he was
afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! This is none other but
the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven. And Jacob arose
up early in the morning, and took the stone that he had put for his
pillow, and set it up for a pillar, and poured oil upon the top of
it. And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will
keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and
raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in
peace, then shall the Lord be my God: and this stone, which I have
set for a pillar, shall be God's house: and of all that Thou shalt
give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee."
In one night how much is born in that soul! The sentiment of
reverence, awe of the Divine,--a conviction of the reality of God
and an invisible world,--and the beginning of that great experiment
by which man learns practically that God is his father. For, in
the outset, every human being's consciousness of God must be just
of this sort. Have I a Father in heaven? Does he care for me? Will
he help me? Questions that each man can only answer as Jacob did,
by casting himself upon God in a matter-of-fact, practical way in
the exigencies of this present life. And this history is the more
valuable because it takes man in his earlier stages of imperfection.
We are apt to feel that it might be safe for Paul, or Isaiah, or
other great saints, to expect God to befriend them; but here a poor,
untaught shepherd boy, who is not religious, avows that, up to this
time, he has had no sense of God; and yet between him and heaven
there is a pathway, and about him in his loneliness are ministering
spirits; and the God of Abraham and of Isaac is ready to become
his friend. In an important sense, this night dream, this gracious
promise of God to Jacob, are not merely for him, but for all erring,
helpless, suffering sons of men. In the fatherly God thus revealed
to the patriarch, we see the first fruits of the promise that
through him all nations should be blessed.
The next step of the drama shows us a scene of sylvan simplicity.
About the old well in Haran, shepherds are waiting with their
flocks, when the stripling approaches: "And Jacob said unto them,
My brethren, whence be ye? And they said, Of Haran are we. And he
said unto them, Know ye Laban the son of Nahor? And they said, We
know him. And he said unto them, Is he well? And they said, He is
well: and, behold, Rachel his daughter cometh with the sheep. And
he said, Lo, it is yet high day, neither is it time that the cattle
should be gathered together. Water ye the sheep, and go and feed
them. And they said, We cannot, until all the flocks be gathered
together, and till they roll the stone from the well's mouth; then
we water the sheep. And while he yet spake with them Rachel came
with her father's sheep; for she kept them. And it came to pass,
when Jacob saw Rachel, the daughter of Laban, his mother's brother,
and the sheep of Laban, his mother's brother, that Jacob went near,
and rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of
Laban, his mother's brother. And Jacob kissed Rachel, and lifted up
his voice, and wept; and Jacob told Rachel that he was her father's
brother, and that he was Rebekah's son: and she ran and told her
father. And it came to pass, when Laban heard the tidings of Jacob,
his sister's son, that he ran to meet him, and embraced him, and
kissed him, and brought him to his house."
In the story of Isaac, we have the bridegroom who is simply the
submissive recipient of a wife at his father's hands; in that of
Jacob, we have the story of love at first sight. The wanderer,
exiled from home, gives up his heart at once to the keeping of his
beautiful shepherdess cousin, and so, when the terms of service
are fixed with the uncle, the narrative says: "And Laban had two
daughters; the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the
younger was Rachel. Leah was tender-eyed; but Rachel was beautiful
and well-favored. And Jacob loved Rachel, and said, I will serve
thee seven years for Rachel, thy younger daughter. And Jacob served
seven years for Rachel, and they seemed unto him but a few days, for
the love he had to her."
But when the wedding comes, in the darkness and secrecy of the night
a false bride is imposed on the lover. And Jacob awoke, and behold
it was Leah. Not the last man was he who has awakened, after the
bridal, to find his wife was not the woman he had taken her to be.
But the beloved one is given as a second choice, and seven years
more of service are imposed as her price.
The characteristics of these two sisters, Leah and Rachel, are less
vividly given than those of any of the patriarchal women. Sarah,
Hagar, and Rebekah are all sharply defined characters, in and of
themselves; but of Leah and Rachel almost all that can be said is
that they were Jacob's wives, and mothers of the twelve tribes of
Israel.
The character of their father Laban was narrow, shrewd, and hard,
devoid of any generous or interesting trait, and the daughters
appear to have grown up under a narrowing and repressing influence.
What we learn of them in the story shows the envies, the jealousies,
the bickerings and heart-burnings of poorly developed natures. Leah,
the less beloved one, exults over her handsomer and more favored
sister because she has been made a fruitful mother, while to Rachel
the gift of children is denied. Rachel murmurs and pines, and
says to her husband, "Give me children, or I die." The desire for
offspring in those days seemed to be an agony. To be childless, was
disgrace and misery unspeakable. At last, however, Rachel becomes a
mother and gives birth to Joseph, the best-beloved of his father.
The narrative somehow suggests that charm of personal beauty and
manner which makes Rachel the beloved one, and her child dearer than
all the rest. How many such women there are, pretty and charming,
and holding men's hearts like a fortress, of whom a biographer could
say nothing only that they were much beloved!
When Jacob flees from Laban with his family, we find Rachel secretly
taking away the images which her father had kept as household gods.
The art by which she takes them, the effrontery with which she
denies the possession of them, when her father comes to search for
them, shows that she had little moral elevation. The belief in the
God of her husband probably was mixed up confusedly in her childish
mind with the gods of her father. Not unfrequently in those dim
ages, people seemed to alternate from one to the other, as occasions
varied. Yet she seems to have held her husband's affections to the
last; and when, in giving birth to her last son, she died, this son
became the darling of his father's old age. The sacred poet has made
the name of this beloved wife a proverb, to express the strength of
the motherly instinct, and "Rachel weeping for her children" is a
line that immortalizes her name to all time.
Whatever be the faults of these patriarchal women, it must be
confessed that the ardent desire of motherhood which inspired them
is far nobler than the selfish, unwomanly spirit of modern times,
which regards children only as an encumbrance and a burden. The
motherly yearning and motherly spirit give a certain dignity to
these women of primitive ages, which atones for many faults of
imperfect development.
Twenty-one years elapse, and Jacob, a man of substance, father
of a family of twelve children, with flocks and herds to form a
numerous caravan, leaves the service of his hard master to go back
to his father. The story shows the same traits in the man as in the
lad. He is the gentle, affectionate, prudent, kindly, care-taking
family-man, faithful in duty, and evading oppression by quiet skill
rather than meeting it with active opposition. He has become rich,
in spite of every effort of an aggressive master to prevent it.
When leaving Laban's service, he thus appeals to him: "These twenty
years have I been with thee: thy ewes and thy she-goats have not
cast their young, and the rams of thy flock have I not eaten. That
which was torn of beasts I brought not unto thee; I bare the loss of
it. Thus was I: in the day the drought consumed me, and the frost
by night, and my sleep departed from mine eyes. Thus have I been
twenty years in thy house. I served thee fourteen years for thy two
daughters, and six years for thy cattle; and thou hast changed my
wages ten times. Except the God of my father, the God of Abraham,
and the fear of Isaac, had been with me, surely thou hadst sent me
away now empty. God hath seen my affliction and the labor of my
hands, and rebuked thee yesternight."