Everything and everybody knows, and always has known, that love loves
the beautiful; and each one according to his light takes advantage of
the fact. So the wild maiden, when love with magic finger touches her
quivering heart, stains her teeth a blacker black, hangs more beads
and shells about her dirty neck and ankles, and practices all her rude
arts of coquetry. And her savage lover, charmed with her charms,
sticks the gayest feathers in his hair, rubs a more liberal supply of
grease upon his polished, shiny skin, and makes himself brave with all
his weapons of war. So the birds only seek love's trysting place in
the springtime when their plumage is the most brilliant and their
songs the sweetest, and the fishes when their colors are the
brightest. And the woman of our day and generation, when love's arrow
"tipped with a jewel and shot from a golden string" pierces her vital
organ, wears her dress a little more décolleté, bangs her hair more
bangy, clasps more diamonds round her throat, dispenses with sleeves
altogether, smiles her sweetest smile and laughs her gayest laugh. And
he, the modern man, caught in the snare, buys the shiniest stovepipe
hat and nobbiest cane, dons his gaudiest neck-tie and widest
trousers--and after all, beasts and birds and fishes, savage and
civilized, we are all alike and ruled by the same instinct and
passion, and "why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"
I presume Zipporah, one of the priest's daughters, had heard about the
elegant and courtly Egyptian who was in the neighborhood, and she no
doubt adorned herself with all her jewels, wore the finest finery in
her wardrobe and wreathed her lips in smiles; for she knew that love
lives and thrives on smiles and roses, coquetry and gallantry, on
laughter and sweet glances, and faints and dies on frowns, neglect and
angry words; and so she tripped down to the well, bent on conquest.
Then she flung back the drapery to show her dimpled arms, and drawing
water filled the trough; then the "shepherds came and drove them away;
but Moses stood up and helped them, and watered their flocks." Was he
not gallant, and a striking contrast to the ugly shepherds?
And of course Moses told her that it almost broke his heart to see her
performing such menial labor, and all such sweet fictitious stuff, and
she glanced at him admiringly from under her long, curling lashes, and
the "rebel rose hue dyed her cheek," and he told her about the great
court where he had been reared, and she whispered that her papa was
the rich priest of Midian; then they clasped hands lingeringly and
said a soft good-night.
It seems the old gentleman kept a pretty close watch on his girls--and
he doubtless had a steady job--for he asked them how it happened that
they had returned so soon. And Zipporah put her arms around his neck,
and placing her cheek against his told him all about the gallant and
courteous stranger. Having an eye to business--as behooves a father
with seven daughters on his hands--he didn't let this eligible young
person slip, but sent and invited him to his house and deluged him
with hospitality and kindness--and Moses and Zipporah were married
"and Moses was content to dwell with the man."
[Illustration: (They clasped hands lingeringly and said a soft good
night.)]
But after a while, first soft and low and then in trumpet tones,
ambition whispered in his ear that he could deliver the Hebrews from
their enemies. "And Moses took his wife and sons and set them upon an
ass, and he returned to the land of Egypt."
And I suppose, though time was young and wore roses then, the days
passed slowly to Zipporah and she grew tired of Moses and the Lord,
tired of the rod that turned into a serpent, of the strife and the
bondage and the river of blood; tired of the frogs and the lice and
the swarms of flies; disgusted with the murrain of beasts and the
boils and terrified at the thunder and fire and rain of hail and all
the horrors of Egypt, and like the woman of to-day, when things get
too awfully unpleasant, she made it uncomfortable for Moses, and "he
sent her back" to her father's house and she took her two sons with
her.
Afterward when Moses became famous and illustrious she returned to him
without asking his consent, or even notifying him of her intention, as
far as we can learn from the official records.
She took her father, the priest Jethro, along to look after her and
take care of her baggage I suppose, and we imagine he didn't relish
the task much, for we hear him saying, rather apologetically we think,
"I, thy father-in-law Jethro, am come unto thee, and thy wife, and her
two sons with her."
I fancy Moses knew the condition of a man who was in the clutches of a
woman, and that woman his wife, so he forgave the old man, for he had
experience himself, "and went out to meet his father-in-law, and did
obeisance, and kissed him; and they asked each other of their
welfare." But there isn't any record that he kissed his wife, or even
shook hands with her, and we infer that their domestic heaven was not
all blue and cloudless.
Miriam, although a prophetess and a sister of Aaron, was't very
angelic, at least the glimpses we catch of her don't impress us with
the fact that she was. When the seashore was strewn with the dead,
white faces of the drowned Egyptians, and the waves were flecked with
their pallor and dashed their helpless arms about, Miriam "took a
timbrel in her hand: and all the woman went out after her with
timbrels and with dances." And Miriam answered them, "Sing ye to the
Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath
he thrown into the sea."
[Illustration: (Alas, my lord, I beseech thee.)]
Now this may have been natural and all right for the times, only you
know it don't look well when compared with the action of our women of
to-day, who drop tears and roses on the graves of their enemies.
Further on we find Miriam, womanlike, talking about Moses because he
had married an Ethiopian woman, and saying seditiously to Aaron, "Hath
the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? hath he not spoken also by us?"
And the Lord heard it and his anger "was kindled against them," and my
lady "became leprous, white as snow."
As she was the one punished for daring to talk rebellion against
Moses, God's chosen one, we suppose she was the ringleader and
instigator, and Aaron was only the tool in this plot that budded but
never bloomed.
"And Aaron looked upon Miriam, and behold, she was leprous," and of
course she threw her arms around his neck and with streaming eyes
besought his aid, and Aaron turned the smoothly flowing river of his
eloquence into resistless words of appeal and said unto Moses, while
Miriam knelt at his feet: "Alas, my Lord, I beseech thee, lay not the
sin upon us," and "let her not be as one dead;" and Moses, moved, as
men have always been moved, by woman's tears, "cried unto the Lord,
saying, Heal her now, O, God I beseech thee," and after seven days the
curse was removed.
SOME MANAGING WOMEN.
SOME MANAGING WOMEN.
The women of the Old Testament always wanted something, and it is a
noticeable fact that they always asked for it--and got it too.
So the daughters of Zelophehad had a grievance, and they didn't go
among the neighbors bewailing their hard lot, they didn't sit and wish
from morning till night that something would turn up to help them, or
sigh their lives away in secret, but they put on their most radiant
attire and jauntiest veils and "stood before Moses, and before
Eleazar the priest, and before the princes and all the congregation,"
and demanded their father's possessions, and even argued the
question reasonably and logically. There was not any of the St.
Paul-women-should-not-speak-in-meeting doctrine about the Biblical
women of those elder days.
They didn't endeavor to persuade Moses' wife to influence her husband
to use his power in their behalf. They did not retain the services of
Aaron, the finest orator of the day, to plead their cause, but they
did their own talking, and they got what they asked for--their
father's possessions--and husbands thrown in without extra charge.
Being clever as well as ambitious women, they probably foresaw that
husbands would follow after the inheritance, and although they would
not ask for lords and masters of course, they had their eyes on them
just the same. As there were several of them, all unmarried, they were
no doubt _not_ "fair to look upon," so they laid a little plot to
secure husbands. And they succeeded and were happy, for marriage was
the aim and end of a woman's existence then, and there was a better
market and more of a demand for husbands than in these modern days.
We only catch a glimpse of one woman named Achsah, but that is enough
to show us that she possessed the prevailing and prominent
characteristic of all the other "holy women."--she wanted something.
After she had married her warrior lover, who conquered Kirpathsepher
for her sweet sake, the very first thing we find is that "she moved
him to ask of her father a field." Now naturally a young man would
dislike to approach his father-in-law upon such a delicate subject,
and so soon too, but _she_ asked him and he obeyed--like all the men
of the Old Testament.
And even then she was not satisfied; but of course she embraced her
father and kissed him, and told him he was the most indulgent father
in the whole wide world.
Now Caleb no doubt had had dozens of love affairs, and experience had
made him a connoisseur of female character, and understanding all
their little scheming ways and little designing tricks, without
beating around the bush at all he came to business at once and asked,
"What would'st thou?"
[Illustration: (What would'st thou?)]
"Give me a blessing; for thou hast given me a south land, give me also
springs of water," she said.
Springs of water were a bonanza in those days--something like a gold
or silver mine to us moderns--but she had requested it and of course
he could not refuse, "and he gave her the upper springs and the nether
springs."
And it came to pass that Joshua sent two men, two spies, saying, "Go
view the land, even Jericho," and I suppose they disguised themselves
and went by secret ways; anyway they eluded the vigilance of their
enemies and entered the city, even Jericho, and let me whisper it in
your ear, they went to see a woman named Rahab--and she wasn't a very
nice woman either--and "lodged there."
But their visit leaked out, as such things always do and always will,
though the stars should pale their fires to shield them, the moon
withdraw behind the clouds to hide their shadows, the rain pour and
the thunder crash to drown their footsteps. Perhaps the children told
the neighbors, perhaps the hired girl whispered to her friend, perhaps
some jealous watching lover told of it, but at any rate we read:
"And it was told to the King of Jericho, saying: Behold there came two
men in hither to-night of the children of Israel, to search out the
country."
"And the King of Jericho sent unto Rahab, saying: Bring forth the men
that are come to thee, which are entered into thy house: for they be
come to search all the country."
Now does one suppose for a moment that she obeyed the mandate of the
King? Of course not, if one is a student of the Bible, but if one is
not, I'll just say that she took them up through the skylight and hid
them, piling flax over them, and then she said innocently and
convincingly to the King's officers:
"There came two men unto me, but I wist not whence they were: And it
came to pass about the time of shutting of the gate, when it was dark,
that the men went out: pursue after them quickly; for ye shall
overtake them."
Then she went up on the roof and talked to the men like a lawyer. I
notice that these old women--I mean women of old--were all good
talkers, and they didn't speak like meek, passive, submissive girls
wrought up to sudden action by wrong, indignation or revenge, but they
spoke with a freedom, vigor and fluency that betokened everyday
practice.
St. Paul says that woman should "Keep silence," and that "they are
commanded to be under obedience," but he evidently had some
remarkable ideas upon this and other topics. Perhaps he never had read
the official records, and we know he was never married, and so we
don't censure him so much for his ignorance of female character,
having never had a wife, or, so far as we know, a love affair, for
what does a man born blind know about the sunshine, or the lightning's
awful flash, or one born deaf know of the pealing, clashing thunder?
The women of his day were no doubt obstreperous and extravagant, and
hence his famous but perfectly ineffectual teaching that they should
not "broider their hair, or wear gold or silver or costly array," and
that they shouldn't talk in meeting, and if they wanted to know
anything, ask their husbands, and drink of their intellectual
superiority. But to return.
So Rahab made the spies swear that when the doom of destruction fell
upon Jericho, she and her father and mother and all her
relations-in-law should be saved, and then she let them down from the
window of her house, which was very conveniently built upon the town
wall, with a scarlet rope.
So you see, by deceit, strategy, disobedience and a succession of neat
little lies, she thwarted the King, betrayed the city, and saved her
own precious self all at one fell swoop.
[Illustration: (She let them down from the window of her house.)]
When the walls of Jericho fell and childhood in its innocence,
ambitious manhood, fiery youth, despairing maidens and loving mothers,
were swept by maddening flames and glittering swords into the oblivion
called death, from whose silent gloom no smile or tear, no laughter or
wail, ever yet has come, then Rahab and all that she had was saved.
She had asked it, and schemed for it, and of course she did not fail.
Next we come to Deborah, a prophetess, who judged Israel at that time,
and from the little that is said of her husband, we infer she was the
head of the house and ruled him besides attending to her professional
duties.
Well, Deborah sent for Barak and commanded him to meet "Sisera, the
captain of Jabin's army," in battle array. But he was afraid, and to
inspire him by her courageous example she went with him to the field
of battle, and every man of Jabin's host "fell upon the edge of the
sword; and there was not a man left." But Sisera "fled away on his
feet" to Jael, the wife of his friend. Sisera, like another defeated
general, had lost his horse.
And she went out to meet him, and gained his entire confidence by
smiles and deception, and took him into her tent and gave him milk to
drink, covered him with a mantle, and said in her sweetest tones,
"Fear not." Then when he slept the sleep of perfect exhaustion, defeat
and despair, she "took a nail of the tent, and a hammer in her hand,"
and softly, with bated breath and step that often paused and ear that
bent to listen, she approached him, and then--quicker than the
lightning's flash or tiger's spring "she smote the nail into his
temples, and fastened it into the ground: and he was fast asleep and
weary. So he died."
Nice way for a woman to treat her husband's friend, wasn't it?
[Illustration: (She smote the nail into his temples.)]
Abimelech killed seventy of his brothers to become King, and after
wars and battles too numerous to mention he came to "Thebez, and
encamped against Thebez, and took it." But there was a strong and
mighty tower in the city and a thousand men and women, stained with
blood, expecting no mercy, but defiant to the last, fled there for a
few hours of safety.
"And Abimelech came unto the tower and fought against it, and went
hard unto the door of the tower to burn it with fire."
And all the men stood aghast, helpless and despairing, waiting a
terrible death. Then a woman with a vision of blood and moans, dying
men and ravished women before her, with a courage born of desperation
and a wit sharpened with intense fear, boldly stepped to the window
ledge, and in the glare of bursting flames and the sound of dying
groans "cast a piece of a millstone upon Abimelech's head, and all to
break his skull."
"Then he called hastily unto the young man his armour-bearer, and said
unto him, Draw thy sword, and slay me, that men say not of me, A woman
slew me. And his young man thrust him through, and he died," as a man
naturally would who had been hit on the head with a millstone and
pierced through with a sword; and every one in the tower was saved.
I'm not telling you this to harrow up your feelings, but just to show
you that the holy women of old were not such nonentities as some of
us have supposed.
[Illustration: (Cast a piece of a millstone upon Abimelech's head.)]
And time, undelayed by the roses of June or the snows of winter, by
sunshine or starshine, by laughter or sighs, by birth or death,
hurried on and the Jews fought and triumphed, bled and died "and did
evil, and the Lord delivered them into the hands of the Philistines."
And after a while Samson was born, and what do you suppose he did
just as soon as he became a man? Why he went down to Timnath and fell
deeply, desperately, madly, in love with a Philistine girl, and he
went straight home and told his father and mother about it and they
did not approve of it--they never do, it seems--but he was determined
to have her, for there was not another female for him in the whole
wide world--they all think that for the time being--and of course he
married her. Then he made a seven-day feast, and unfortunately he
amused the company with a riddle. Of course his wife was dying to know
the answer, and her people threatened her if she did not find it out,
and altogether it was a lively discussion, and she made his life a
burden and a delusion and she wept before him and said:
"Thou dost but hate me and lovest me not; thou hast put forth a riddle
unto the children of my people and hast not told it to me." And Samson
declared he hadn't told it to his father or mother or any living soul
and swore he would not tell _her_--but he did. For "she wept before
him the seven days while the feast lasted," and on the seventh day,
exhausted by her upbraidings, deluged by her tears and wearied by her
everlasting persistence, he whispered it in her ear, and she told the
children of her people.
It is safe to conclude that Samson was angry, and the wedding feast
broke up in confusion and dismay, and he went and killed thirty
people, and the woman who had "pleased him well" he repudiated with
such dispatch that it suggests Idaho and the modern man, and "Samson's
wife was given to his companion, whom he had used as a friend." The
views we get of married life and the domestic relations in the Old
Testament make us almost think that marriage was a failure--in those
days.
[Illustration: (And she betrayed him.)]
Then Samson, after a little affair which I do not care to dwell upon
with a woman of Gaza, who was no better than she should have been,
fell blindly in love with Delilah. And, being in love, he profited not
by his late experience (what man or woman ever does who is in love?)
and again he told the dearest secret of his heart to a woman, because,
forsooth, "she pressed him daily with her words, and urged him, so
that his soul was vexed unto death." And then with her fine arms
around his neck and her kisses on his lips, he fell asleep on her
knees--and she betrayed him.
ANOTHER GROUP OF THEM.
ANOTHER GROUP OF THEM.
The great array of the Philistines "came and pitched in Shunem, and
Saul gathered all Israel together, and they pitched in Gilboa," and
unseen by any of the mighty hosts death and rapine, treachery, revenge
and murder, smilingly waited for the desperate battle.
Then Saul, gazing upon the great army of his enemies and terrified at
the countless thousands, thought he would like to have his fortune
told and said, "Seek me a woman that hath a familiar spirit," and they
took him to the witch of Endor, and Saul prayed her to materialize
Samuel for his especial benefit. And did she do it? Not at all, or at
least not until she had made her own conditions. "And Saul sware to
her by the Lord, saying: as the Lord liveth, there shall no punishment
happen to you for this thing." And then having brought the King to
terms, by cunning hocus-pocus she summoned Samuel from the cold, cold
grave. First there was a hush, then a sweeping in of chill, damp air,
a scent of decay, the shaking out of a shroud that never rustled, a
rush of silent footsteps, and suddenly the door untouched swung
noiselessly open and Samuel, with the old regal air, but with the
savor of death clothing him like a mantle, and the mildew of death on
his brow, stood before them.
You will observe he was far too courteous a ghost to censure a
woman--who really was the one who deserved it, since she had wrought
the mischief--but said sternly to Saul:
"Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?"
The inference is that after all his triumphs and defeats, his loves
and illusions, his glory and fall, he was taking the sweet and silent
rest of utter oblivion, and very naturally he did not like to be
disturbed, and so he told Saul some things that very nearly scared the
lingering hope out of him, and almost reduced him to a condition where
he himself was a fit candidate for a companionship with Samuel. Then
suddenly the air grew warmer and fresher, the birds began to twitter
in the first faint flush of the morning, and looking around one could
not see Samuel any more.
Then the witch of Endor wanted Saul to take some refreshment, "But he
refused and said, I will not eat."
But the woman did not pay any attention to his refusal, but killed a
calf and cooked it, and made some biscuits "and she brought it before
Saul, and before his servants, and they did eat" of course, since she
smilingly invited them to.
We suppose Saul's wife--at least one of them--was a lady who carried
things with a high hand, ruled the servants, nagged her husband,
delivered curtain lectures by the hour, scolded him to sleep and then
scolded him awake again.
"And whipped the children, and fed the fowls,
And made his home resound with howls;"
since we hear him saying to his son Jonathan, "Thou son of the
perverse, rebellious woman."
And behold Saul and David were the firmest friends, and every act of
David's pleased Saul, and every smile delighted him, and Saul honored,
trusted and advanced him, until the women came to have a hand in the
affair and then all was changed.
It seems that no one had noticed, or dared to give voice to the
thought, that David was becoming a dangerous rival of the great King,
until the women, with keen penetration, looking upon the handsome
David, saw there was a greater one than Saul. And so one day when
David returned from a great slaughter of the Philistines, the girls
came and danced and sung and waved their white hands and smiled, and
despite the probable indignation of the King at the open preference
and approval of the young man, they played and said, "Saul hath slain
his thousands, and David his ten thousands."
And Saul was jealous and "very wroth" and--well, that ended that
friendship, and it wasn't the last time that women's smiles and
honeyed words of praise have blighted the friendship between men
"whose souls were knit together."
And there was a woman whose name was Bath-sheba, and she was very
beautiful. Her midnight hair curled softly away from her snowy brow,
her long black lashes hiding her love-lit eyes swept her rosy cheeks,
and her light step dashed the dew from the grass in the garden, while
the blossoms fell from the boughs to kiss her shoulders as she passed.
And one eventide, David, walking upon the roof of his palace, saw her
bathing. And the last red rays of the sinking sun touched her softly
and changed her into a perfect statue of warm pink marble, and David's
soul was ravished by her beauty; and with the impetuosity of a king
and the reckless passion of a lover he sought to beguile her. And
Bath-sheba, flattered by the preference of the mighty King, allured by
imperial grandeur and enticed by royal appeals, tried to forget the
husband, who was off to the wars and away, and who had in the first
flush of youth won her by his love, his "brow of truth" and a soul
untouched by sin--but the King--the King, the pomp and the power!
Ambition was roused in her heart and she wanted to be clothed in the
purple and fine linen of majesty, and to wear a jeweled crown upon her
brow. And so she forgot a husband's love, a wife's honor, a woman's
virtue, and while angels wept and devils laughed, the memory of Uriah
vanished from her mind as a star vanishes before the fire-bursting
storm-cloud.
Then black-browed conspiracy and red-handed murder, the boon
companions of unholy love, whispered in their ears; and though a
vision of Uriah often rose unbidden and unwelcome before her, it was
dimmed and obscured by the glitter of jewels and the gleam of costly
array, that should yet flash upon her arms and throat and clothe her
limbs.