instigation of Bath-sheba, for there is no wickedness like the
wickedness of an ambitious, faithless wife), honored and feasted him,
and the favored young man, happily unconscious of his wife's
treachery, perhaps dreaming bright waking dreams of the wealth, fame
and power he would win to lay at Bath-sheba's feet, felt himself
honored by being made a special envoy to carry a letter from the King
to his greatest general, Joab--and in it the King wrote:
"Set ye Uriah in the fore-front of the hottest battle, and retire ye
from him, that he may be smitten and die;" and Joab "assigned Uriah
unto a place where he knew the valiant men were," and he was smitten
and died.
And David and Bath-sheba were married, but surely, as they stood by
the cradle of the little boy who died, the cold hands of the valiant,
betrayed Uriah must often have pushed them asunder, and a dark shadow
born of their guilty hearts must have passed between them and the
child. Perhaps when the feast was the gayest a battle field rose
before them, and when the music was the loudest and the sweetest,
thrilling through it, they heard a dying moan.
When Joab wanted to reconcile David to Absalom, he wished a mediator
with wit, tact and delicacy; with the eloquence of an orator and the
subtle flattery of a Decius Brutus, and whom did he choose? A man? No:
He sent for "a wise woman," and we read that he instructed her what to
do, but judging from other women we are sure she instructed
him--anyway she went to the King, and she talked like a lawyer, she
plead with eloquence, she confessed charmingly, and she flattered with
the cunning of her sex, saying, "for as an angel of God, so is my Lord
the King to discern good and bad," and "my Lord is wise, according to
the wisdom of an angel of God," which you will admit was putting it
pretty strong. But then, men who didn't work for their living in those
days were used to strong language--of praise. Perhaps it is
superfluous for me to add that the "wise woman" accomplished her
mission.
We are told in poetic language that David "was ruddy, and withal of a
beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to," and perhaps that was
the chief reason (although women always adored a man of valor,
intelligence and strength) that "Michal, Saul's daughter, loved
David," and thus gave him the proud distinction of being the first man
who was ever loved by a woman--at least the first one we have any
authentic, official record of.
Once upon a time David had prepared to wipe Nabal, who was a very rich
man, and his followers, from the very face of the earth, because a
young man "told Abigail, Nabal's wife, saying, Behold, David sent
messengers out of the wilderness, to salute our master, and he railed
on them."
Nabal was a churlish miser and little to be trusted, and it seems
Abigail, who "was a woman of good understanding and of a beautiful
countenance," had heard nothing of this little affair, but she was
equal to the emergency and she at once prepared many presents of wine,
and figs, and raisins and other good things, and made haste to go out
and meet David, and if possible avert the impending calamity. "And
she said unto her servants, Go on before me; behold I come after you.
But she told not her husband," which shows conclusively that although
he was "churlish and evil in his doings" she was not under his
dominion to any great extent, or afraid of his anger, for she took
things in her own hands and ran the government to suit herself, for
the time being at least.
So she met David, made a telling speech, pleaded eloquently, flattered
skillfully, and David, who never could withstand the beauty and
oratory of another man's wife, granted her every request, as he
himself confessed and said (I notice David always got particularly
pious when he was going to do or had done anything particularly mean)
to Abigail:
"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel which sent thee this day to meet
me: and blessed be thy advice."
I don't know what kind of a bargain they had made, but it sounds a
little queer to hear him saying to her, "go up in peace to thine
house; see, I have hearkened to thy voice and have accepted thy
person."
Abigail returned home and found her husband had been having a gay time
while she was away, and "his heart was merry within him, for he was
very drunken," so she waited till the morning "when the wine had gone
out of Nabal," as it is quaintly put, and then she "told him these
things," but as there was nothing but good news in "these things" she
must have told him something else that is not recorded, for "his heart
died within him, and he became as stone."
Now, I wouldn't cast a suspicion on Abigail for any consideration, but
it does seem a little strange that ten days after her memorable
meeting with the handsome and musical David, "the Lord smote Nabal
that he died."
"And David sent and communed with Abigail, to take her to him to
wife."
I simply mention this little romance to prove that there was no
evidence of obedience in Abigail's conjugal relations.
THE FAMOUS WIDOW OF MOAB.
THE FAMOUS WIDOW OF MOAB.
And Naomi, weary of the land of Moab, in the shadows of whose
mountains, guarded by the angel of eternal sleep, lay the graves of
her husband and sons, longed in her loneliness for the friends and
associations of her youth. Her heart turned back to the old house at
home, where there is always more sunshine and starshine, softer
breezes and sweeter bird-songs, more silvery streams and fragrant
flowers, than in any other clime, and she was about to take her
departure for the "land of Judah."
Now it seems that Naomi was a very loveable elderly lady, since her
daughter-in-law seemed to like her very much, though I haven't the
slightest idea that Ruth was really so madly in love with her as we
have been taught to believe.
It appears that back in the "land of Judah," Naomi had a kinsman of
her husband's, "a mighty man of wealth of the family of Elimelech; and
his name was Boaz."
You know it is true that when we go to live in a strange country, we
tell our new acquaintances, incidentally and casually, perhaps, but we
tell them just the same, about our wealthy and famous relatives, while
the names of those who were hanged because they may have loved horse
flesh "not wisely but too well," were arrested for gambling, eloped
with some other woman's husband, or made garden on shares for the
neighbors, are kept locked in our hearts as too sacred to mention to
curious ears. Of course Naomi was no exception, and so Ruth had often
listened, spellbound, to Naomi's description of this "mighty man of
wealth;" of his fields undulating in golden waves, far and near; of
the springs that gushed and sparkled and flowed down the hillsides; of
the shining streams idly wandering in his verdant valleys, whose blue
waves rose to caress the flowers on the bank that dipped to be kissed;
of his costly array, his men servants and maid servants and all the
show and grandeur that was his.
So Ruth went down to the river one day and gazed at her own reflection
in the liquid depths, took an honest inventory of her charms, and the
pride and confidence of the embryo conqueror thrilled her veins, the
rose hue of triumph dyed her dark cheek, and knowing that Boaz was,
according to the law of the Jews, her future husband--if she could
please him--she went back and said to Naomi with the inherent
eloquence of a brilliant widow bent on conquest:
"Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee;
for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will
lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:
"Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do
so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."
And Naomi, the dear old lady, was very much flattered and had perfect
confidence in her daughter-in-law's professions, and so do we also
believe her words--that is, moderately.
When she says, "thy people shall be _my_ people," we believe she meant
it--as far as Boaz was concerned at least; but when she adds "thy God
shall be my God"--well, we have known many people who were quite pious
when they were about to do something they wished to cover up, and
their prayers were a little more fervent at that time, just to throw
people off the track, so to speak. And Ruth had decided to capture
Boaz's heart with her midnight eyes, wear his gems upon her breast,
and plunge both hands deep down in his golden shekels. But of course
she didn't intend to confide this dead secret to a garrulous old lady,
and have it reach the ears of the mighty man of wealth perhaps, for
the cunning, witty, pretty widow knew that a man never likes to be
caught.
So one day she (with Naomi) arrived at Bethlehem with a half a dozen
things in her favor, any one of which would have made her noted, at
least.
She had youth (she was not more than twenty-eight perhaps) the divine
gift of beauty, the luck of being a stranger, the advantage of being a
widow, the prestige of a convert, and the novel notoriety of being the
first woman in the world who ever was in love with her mother-in-law.
Is it any wonder "that all the city was moved about them?"
Well, no doubt Ruth found out all she wanted to know about Boaz,
learned his habits and characteristics, made all the inquiries she
wished in a way that "was childlike and bland," and at last having
her arsenal well armored with the big guns of wit and beauty and
garrisoned by facts and observations and the experience of an ex-wife,
she was ready for Love's war, where the bullets are soft glances, the
sword thrusts kisses and the dungeon of the captive is the bridal
chamber, and she went to her mamma-in-law and said sweetly, "let me go
now to the field and glean ears of corn after him (you see she
admitted she was after him) in whose sight I shall find grace."
"And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers;
and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz."
Wonderful, wasn't it, that it was her "hap" to light on a part of the
field belonging to Boaz?
And lo, in the morning ere the sun was half way up the blue sky, Boaz
came into the barley field and his eyes fell upon the beauteous Ruth
gleaning with the reapers, and delighted at the sight, he called the
general manager and said:
"Whose damsel is this?" And he answered and said: "It is the Moabitish
maiden that came back with Naomi out of the country of Moab."
[Illustration: (Turned her pretty head aside and blushed.)]
It seems Boaz had never seen her before, although her fame had reached
his ears, and he spoke to her softly and kindly, praised her for her
devotion to her mother-in-law (you see that captured his fancy and
admiration, as it has every one's since), and then she smiled and
thanked him very ardently, and then the wily widow turned her pretty
head aside and blushed. And Boaz, who had never heard the advice to
"beware of the vidders," was taken in and done for in that one short
interview. He hung around the fields, deserted the city, cared naught
for its pleasures, forgot the dames of high degree, and lingered for
hours among the reapers to catch a glance from her dark eye, or a
smile from her ruby lips, and I suppose they sometimes rested in the
shade and talked sweet nonsense, or sat in the intoxicating silence
when love speaks unutterable things to the heart alone, and the "old
sweet story was told again" in the harvest field near Bethlehem.
"Boaz commanded his young men saying, Let her glean even among the
sheaves, and reproach her not: And let fall also some of the handfuls
of purpose for her, and leave them, and rebuke her not."
Having alighted upon an easy task, Ruth knew it. "So she kept fast by
the maidens of Boaz to glean unto the end of barley harvest and of
wheat harvest: and dwelt with her mother-in-law."
And yet it seems the gentleman did not propose. So Naomi and Ruth
talked it over together, for by this time his infatuation was the talk
of the city, and sentimental, romantic old Naomi, who must have been a
charming woman in her day, was interested in this love affair. For no
matter how old a woman or man may be, the perennial stream of love and
sentiment flows on in the heart, although hid 'neath white hairs and
wrinkles, and bound by the wintry shackles of age and custom; still it
is there, and often breaks the icy barriers of the years and betrays
itself by a late marriage, or in the matchmaking proclivities of all
elderly women.
And Naomi gave Ruth some instructions which we blush to think of, but
she followed them implicitly. And the middle-aged Boaz was caught. We
suppose he was forty-five or fifty from the fact that he called Ruth
"my daughter," and commended her because she didn't run after the
gilded youths of society, but preferred him above them all. And Boaz
and Ruth were married, and like most marriages between widows and old
bachelors it proved a happy one.
But Ruth's shrewd scheming and successful venture as related in the
inspired records confirms our belief that it was Boaz the "mighty man
of wealth," and not Naomi's love or Naomi's God that induced Ruth to
emigrate to the city of Bethlehem.
[Illustration: (And Boaz and Ruth were married.)]
We are told that Jezebel, unknown to her husband, "wrote letters in
her husband's name and sealed them with his seals," and had a man
stoned to death without his knowledge, not the man's, but her
husband's.
That doesn't look as if she were ruled over much, does it?
The sacred history says, speaking of Hagar and Ishmael, "and his
mother took him a wife out of Egypt" which means that she selected the
girl and told him to marry her--and he obeyed. And we find that
Solomon gave to the queen of Sheba "whatsoever she asked," which is an
example of generosity we would recommend to the men of to-day.
HE GAVE IT UP TOO.
HE GAVE IT UP TOO.
I had reached this point in my study of the Bible, when one evening,
just as I had seated myself to begin work and was idly sharpening my
pencil, the door bell rang.
I had not seen my lover for weeks; not since he had so sarcastically
advised me to peruse the Scriptures. I had waited for his coming, but
in vain; the mail brought no letter; he sent no word by friend or foe.
And I made no sign. His had been the fault and his should be the
reparation, and so a profound silence fell like a pall between us.
But love, the god of gods, strung the invisible wires of mental
telegraphy between our hearts, and over the mystic, unseen lines our
thoughts, bright as hope, dark as sin, lighter than the thistle down,
heavily charged with the electricity of doubt and trust, faith and
fear, love and longing, flew noiselessly back and forth through the
stillness and drew us unconsciously together; and so it happened that
he stood upon the doorstep and pulled the bell.
There was always a triumphant peal to his ring that seemed to say to
my heart, "Lo, the conquering hero comes." And now that vital organ
bounded gladly in my breast, then stood still; my pulses throbbed with
delight and triumph. Ten minutes before I would have thrown the world
away, if it had been mine, for one smile from his lips, but now--I
seized my pencil and wrote rapidly on the tablet on my knee as he
entered the hall, came into the room, and stood beside me, then with a
little start I looked up and exclaimed in feigned surprise:
"You here?"
"I think I am," he said, "but if you want me to, I'll look in the
mirror to make sure." And then we both laughed, for 'tis so easy to
laugh when one is happy and all the world is gay.
"Well," said he, sitting down beside me, clasping my hand in his as
lovers sometimes do, and taking up the conversation where it had been
dropped weeks and weeks before, "they say you can buy a good cooking
stove for forty dollars--and I've had my salary raised ten dollars a
month."
Then I smiled and he said abruptly:
"When are you going to marry me?"
"I haven't completed my study of the Bible yet, and I don't think I
could be submissive, and----"
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" he exclaimed, impolitely interrupting me, "I don't
want you to be submissive; I just want you to love me and--and--boss
me," he added, in the very depth of repentance.
"But you demanded obedience," I insisted.
"I was foolish then," he said softly, "but absence from you and
silence has taught me wisdom. When I left you and you made no sign,
sent no word of recall, left the dread quiet unbroken, I told myself
that you cared nothing for me, and I tried desperately to fall in love
with some other girl, but they were all 'flat, stale and unprofitable'
compared to you. There was no light in their eyes, no roses on their
cheeks, no pleasure in their presence, no rapture in their
touch--and--Oh, hang it! you know I can't talk, but I love you, and as
long as cooking stoves and marriage licenses are so cheap and
ministers are so plenty what's the matter with having a wedding
to-morrow?"
And I said--but never mind what I said.
[Illustration: (And I said--)]
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Vignette titles from the List of Illustrations are shown in parentheses.
Captioned illustrations are shown in ALL CAPITALS.