Prince Ahab lived in a palace of stone and fragrant cedarwood, on a
hill above the village of Gath-Hepher, and almost within sight of the
little cottage occupied by Jonah’s mother. The prince, whose large
holdings in the North had increased in value due to the success of
the war in Syria, surrounded himself with every luxury. Nevertheless,
in the midst of jewels, silks, slaves, and the richest perfumes, he
himself remained simple and straightforward. Of a martial, almost to
say gloomy appearance, he affected the stern manners of the Assyrians,
with whose thick gold fringes he decorated his cloak and his girdle.
He was heavy, but he was vigorous and active; like the nobles of
Assur, he took endless pleasure in hunting, for which he imported
blooded falcons and swift horses from Iran. He lived in the saddle;
and he complained of the degeneracy of Israel. “Effeminate people,” he
exclaimed, “you do not exercise enough.” And the sleepy citizens of
Bethel would be awakened by the trampling of horses and the sound of
horns, as Ahab rode out at dawn to hunt boar in the forests of Baal
Hazor.
In the afternoon, while the king deliberated with his nobles upon
affairs of state, Ahab dozed. Upon being reminded of the presence
before the council of important matters, he remarked that he had been
out riding. And he exclaimed with enthusiasm:
“Exercise is the thing.”
An old woman by the name of Sarah kept house for him in his palace
of cedarwood and broadstone. She was sharp and severe, but she knew
her own value. By noticing the faults of other people, she kept her
self-respect. She managed the house and the slaves, and acted as nurse
to Ahab’s niece, his sister’s child, Judith.
Judith at sixteen possessed a voluptuous body, a pious spirit, and an
inexperienced mind. Her gentle soul united in itself the gay ardors of
a child with the cloudy desires of a woman. Everything surprised her,
and everything pleased her; she was anxious to know everything, and she
knew nothing. Eager and trusting, her brown eyes explored with sympathy
but without understanding the life she saw all about her. She was happy
and dreamy by turns; but sometimes at night her pillow was wet with
tears. She would have said that something beautiful had made her cry,
perhaps a thought, perhaps a feeling. But she could not have explained
what it was, not even to Sarah, to whom she told everything. Perhaps it
was the moonlight in the courtyard, and the scent of jasmine or lotus
from the garden. But that was lovely; why should it make her cry? Such
things perplexed her.
Sometimes she wished she were a boy, so that she might go hunting with
her uncle. Then she saw herself seated on a white horse, with her green
cape blowing in the wind, galloping and shouting. But at the thought
of piercing an animal with her spear, she turned away with quick
displeasure. “No,” she thought, “I should not like to go hunting.”
And she told her uncle that she was glad she was a girl. “So am I,” he
replied, “because if you were a boy, I should be disgusted with you.”
He loved his niece, but he liked people to be active and hardy. “The
women of to-day,” he often said, “do not amount to much.
“They have no enthusiasm.”
Now Judith sat before her bronze mirror, twisting her long brown hair
into plaits. As she sat, she sang:
“_My love is a shepherd in Sharon,
By rivers he waters his sheep,
Blue are the waters of Sharon,
Rivers of Sharon are deep._”
She knew no one in Sharon. Nevertheless her nurse said to her angrily,
“Now tell me, what sort of song is that for a young girl to sing?”
Judith replied that it was just a song. She added with a smile, “You
are vexed because you do not know any shepherds, and because you have
no lover.”
“That is my own business,” said Sarah, drawing herself up with dignity.
“However, I must say that it does not become you to speak of things
like that. What do you know about love? Nothing, I sincerely hope. You
should be thinking of marriage, with respectful modesty.”
“Well,” said Judith, “as a matter of fact, I think love is silly. It
does not interest me, really. Were you ever in love? Tell me honestly,
Sarah; I cannot imagine such a thing.”
Sarah gazed gloomily at her mistress. Presently a blush overspread her
sallow countenance. “In love?” she exclaimed; “certainly not. With
what, if I may ask? The trouble with you is that your head is full of
nonsense. When I was your age I had more decorum. I was prettier than
I am to-day, and I attracted the attention of a very handsome man, a
camel driver, but such a wild one. He was not good enough for me, and I
sent him about his business. I knew my own worth.”
So saying she tossed her head, with an air. But Judith clapped her
hands. “A camel driver,” she exclaimed, “why, Sarah, you never told me.
Did he take you up on his camel? Just think, how delightful. That’s
really life, isn’t it, Sarah?”
“Ak,” cried the nurse, “where do you get such ideas?”
And turning to Prince Ahab, who was entering the room at that moment,
she exclaimed,
“God knows who puts such things into her head.”
Prince Ahab replied, with a discouraged gesture, “Do not ask me, Sarah,
for I do not know who puts anything into people’s heads nowadays. I
assure you, the entire world is mad. Do you know what the king is
doing, now that the war is over? You would think he would be getting
ready for the next one. Not at all; he prefers to discuss the marriage
laws with Prince Absalom. What a state of affairs. Do not expect me to
know what makes a young girl foolish besides.”
“I am not foolish, Uncle,” said Judith; “when I am older, I shall be
just as wise as you or Sarah.”
“Be respectful to your uncle,” said Sarah.
Ahab shrugged his shoulders. “No one is respectful any more,” he said;
“I simply wonder that people do not go around with their fingers
actually to their noses. But, then, with so many prophets filling the
air with groans and complaints.... Amos, Joel, Hosea, they are enough
to fill the mind of anybody with disrespect.”
“And Jonah?” asked Judith.
Ahab replied gravely: “Jonah is not like the others. He comes of a
worthy family of Zebulon; as a matter of fact, his home is here in this
village. So, you can see, there is something to him. His brother is the
village herdsman. Yes, Jonah is quite a different thing altogether.”
Judith looked lazily at her face in the mirror. “Tell me what he is
like,” she said.
“What’s that to you?” asked Sarah. She added that she supposed he was
old and had a long white beard.
“No,” replied Ahab, “he is not old. He is young, and enthusiastic. His
eyes seem to burn. He is a little thin, but one can understand that,
living in the desert, and probably starving most of the time. It is not
a healthy life. I came upon him during the battle against the Aramæans;
the fighting had made him sick. He is not what I would call a very
robust individual.”
“And did he really see an angel,” asked Judith, “as they say he did?”
“Why not?” said Ahab. “Is there any reason why a man from my own
village should not see an angel? He has certainly as much right to see
one as Amos of Tekoa; or do you imagine that angels only appear to the
men of Judah?”
“What an idea,” cried Sarah.
And she added with conviction, “For myself, I would sooner take the
word of a man from Zebulon.”
But when Prince Ahab had gone, she said, sniffing the air with
vexation, “Men ought to stay out of the women’s apartments, where they
have no business, whether they are uncles or not.” Seizing a vial of
sweet-smelling oil, she began to sprinkle its contents in the room.
This consoled her nose, which had been outraged by the prince, who, as
usual, had come from the stables.
Judith went out into the warm spring morning. The bees were humming in
the blossoms, the birds sang quietly and gaily in the trees, and trees
and blossoms stretched themselves luxuriously in the bright sunshine.
Judith took a deep breath of the hot, sweet air; it was like eating
flowers, she thought. Underfoot, in the grass, beetles moved gravely to
and fro on their mysterious business; the world of stones and twigs was
being explored by little eager ants; wasps hung and buzzed. The earth
exhaled the beneficent fragrance of spring; everywhere was drowsy joy,
tranquil activity. A tanager flew overhead with scarlet wings, turned,
shone, and fled among the trees. The girl paused, and looked up at the
sky, blue as a robin’s egg. “I should like to dance,” she thought.
A moment later she added doubtfully, “But perhaps it would be wrong.”
At her feet a beetle with a bright green coat which reflected the light
was walking soberly toward his house. Presently an ant approached him
and gave him a bite on the leg. The beetle turned an anxious look on
his tiny assailant, whose head barely came up to his knee, “Come,
come,” he exclaimed, “have you no respect for beauty? Do you think God
enjoys having you bite me? He would be very much upset if anything
happened to me.”
Disdaining to reply, the ant went away to find his friends and discuss
the situation. “I gave it to him,” he said; “I gave him a bite he won’t
forget in a hurry. Now he knows who I am.”
Left to himself, the beetle hurried home in an agitated manner. And
Judith, remarking his awkward gait, cried,
“There, you are dancing, you strange creature, with your lovely green
coat. But that is quite another matter, because you are a beetle, and
not a Jew.”
She had a sudden thought. “Perhaps,” she said, “that is why you are
dancing. Perhaps you are a little god, with such a fine green coat.
Well, go in peace, I will not step on you. I will make a wish, instead.
Little beetle, tell me what love is. It does not interest me, really; I
would simply like to know....”
She broke off with a start. A shadow had fallen on the grass at her
feet, and she looked up with surprise. There, behind her and to one
side, stood a young man. He was not good-looking, but his expression
was gentle and kind. He had on an old, tattered cloak, and he leaned
thoughtfully upon a rough staff which easily supported his weight.
Judith looked at him with wide-open eyes.
“Oh, my,” she said.
And she added faintly, but in accents of hope, “Are you also a camel
driver?”
The young man shook his head. “No,” he said, “I am not a camel driver.”
Seeing that his reply had disappointed the young woman, he added simply,
“I am Jonah, the prophet.”
V
Jonah and Judith sat on a bank of ferns and moss beneath the shade of a
giant sycamore tree. Already they were friends; they talked earnestly
together, and twisted in their fingers the ferns with their tough
stalks and cool leaves.
“Well, but tell me,” said Judith, “did you really see an angel? Just
imagine, how exciting that must be. What was this angel like? Very
beautiful, I suppose.” And she looked down with a frown.
“Such beauty,” said Jonah gravely, “I cannot describe to you.
Because, actually, one does not see beauty, one feels it. One looks
at something, and suddenly one feels a pain in one’s heart. Then one
thinks ‘what a beautiful thing.’”
“Yes,” said Judith. “Well, tell me, did this angel have dark hair too,
like mine?”
“I do not know,” replied Jonah candidly. “I did not exactly see any
hair. But I remember the wide, white, folded wings, and the glow which
entered my heart at the sight of that serene face.”
Judith pouted. “Didn’t you notice anything at all?” she enquired. “For
instance, what did she wear. And was she young or old? What a strange
fellow you are; you saw almost nothing, or at any rate, nothing of any
consequence.”
“Why do you speak always of ‘her’?” asked Jonah. “This angel was not a
woman. At least, I did not think so.”
“Then he was a man,” cried Judith.
“No,” said Jonah slowly, “he was not a man, either.”
“You see,” said Judith, “I was right; she was a woman. And besides, if
she was so beautiful, naturally she was a woman.”
“I confess,” admitted Jonah, “that had not occurred to me.”
“Of course not,” said Judith. “But it occurred to me, because I am a
woman.”
And she added with a smile,
“Even if I am not as beautiful as an angel.”
“You are very pretty,” said Jonah shyly. “But it is not the same
thing.” And he dug in the moss with his staff.
“Do you really think I am pretty?” asked Judith. “Sarah, my nurse, says
that to be pretty is nothing, because any one can be pretty. She would
rather I were virtuous, because virtue is woman’s richest jewel. Of
course I mean to be virtuous, and to do what is expected of me.”
She began to weave some ferns into a chaplet. “Sometimes,” she said in
a low voice, “I look at myself in my mirror, and I give myself a little
kiss. Do you think it is wrong? Nobody sees me.”
Jonah moved uncomfortably in the moss. “God...?” he said.
“Oh,” said Judith. “Well, God ... old God.
“Anyway,” she added, “I don’t think He sees me.”
She looked at the garden from which an overpowering fragrance arose,
at the flowers languidly lifting their bright-colored faces to the
sun, drinking in the warmth and the light. “I have a little dove,”
she said, “made all of silver. It is a copy of the doves of Eryx, and
it is sacred to Astarte. My uncle brought it to me from Tyre. It is
pretty, because it is of silver, with eyes of rubies. I put it on the
window-sill of my room. It brought the birds; they came and sang on my
window-sill.
“My little dove sees me kiss myself in my mirror.
“Is it wrong, Jonah?”
When Jonah did not reply, she said, “Tell me what it is like in the
desert. Just imagine, to live all alone in a little hut or a cave, how
exciting that is.”
Jonah began to tell her of his life in the desert. Seated in the shade
on the moss, while the bees hummed outside in the sun, he described the
way in which the prophets came together for study and meditation. “I
have a little cell,” he said, “in Golan, near a tiny stream which rises
in the hills. It is clear and cold, and many prophets live beside its
banks among the rushes. In the morning, after we have prayed, we gather
in the shade to listen to some learned man, or eminent saint. Our
midday meal is simple, a few dates, some maize, a little oil or wine,
perhaps a fish from the deep waters of Cinnereth across the hills.
And in the afternoon we meditate upon the Law, and the history of our
people.
“Evening comes suddenly in the wilderness. The shadows lengthen, and
night approaches across the desert. The wind of night blows upon the
east, which turns dark and blue with cold. In the west the sun goes
down into the sea; the sky turns yellow, then green, and shines like
a lamp. The stars appear, the dews descend, and the wings of angels
begin to sweep through the skies. It is cold, and the desert is silent,
save for the prayers of the hermits, which rise in a soft sigh from the
earth. As it grows darker the voices of animals begin to mingle with
our psalms, and we hear, far off, the roaring of lions on their way to
drink. Then our fires are lighted, to guide the Hosts of Heaven to our
homes.
“The animals are our friends. The little divinities of the rocks and
streams know and reverence us. They bring us food, and they tell us of
the approach of demons in the form of ostriches and jackals. Against
such beings as these our holiness is sufficient protection while we are
on God’s land.
“Well, that is all, really. It is a simple life, but it has its beauty.
In the quiet of the desert our hearts expand like flowers in warm
weather, and in our minds blossom lovely and tranquil thoughts.”
Moved by a sweet emotion, Judith replied, “How delightful it must be to
live in the desert.”
She continued in a low tone, “When you speak of God, I seem to feel Him
in my heart. It is such a strange feeling, so peaceful and yet a little
painful.”
And she looked at him with surprised and shining eyes.
Suddenly she looked down; the dark lashes rested softly against her
cheeks warm as sunny roses. “I must go home now,” she murmured.
“Good-by.”
She got swiftly to her feet. “I will not look in my mirror any more,”
she said, “if you think it is wrong.”
And she ran away without once looking behind her. When she got home
she hid her mirror in a box of ivory and sandalwood. Then she went to
put her silver dove away also. But all at once, instead of hiding it,
she gave it a kiss on its ruby eyes.
“Little dove,” she said, “tell me what love is.”
Going to her box, she took out her mirror again, and gazed for a long
time, and with a smile, at her own reflection.
Jonah went thoughtfully home. There he found his Uncle David, who
had stopped in for a moment to see if anything was being cooked.
Deborah was filling the lamps for the Sabbath. When she saw Jonah she
straightened her bent back, and remarked anxiously, “Where have you
been all morning?”
“I have been out walking,” replied Jonah evasively. And he sat gloomily
down in a corner of the room, as far as possible from his uncle. Then
all at once he burst out laughing. When his mother asked him what he
was laughing at, he answered,
“I was thinking of a green beetle.”
“You see,” said Uncle David, nodding his head, “he is not all there.”
Deborah arose, and went to fetch more oil for the lamps. As she passed
her son, she touched his forehead with her hand. “What is there so
peculiar about that?” she demanded of her brother. “Or perhaps you have
never seen a green beetle? Well, I have been amused by them myself.”
“Sit still for a little,” she said anxiously to Jonah; “after walking
so much in the sun.”
Uncle David settled himself comfortably in his seat. “To-day,” he said,
“who should I meet but Bildad, the water carrier. He said to me, ‘This
is fine news about your nephew, Jonah. I suppose that we shall hear
from you soon,’ and with that he gave me a look full of meaning.
“I did not reply; naturally, because I had nothing to say. Could I tell
him the truth? We should be the laughing-stock of the entire village.
I simply wrinkled my forehead and looked as grave as possible. At any
rate, my expression struck him as peculiar, because he said as he went
away, ‘Excuse me for intruding in your affairs.’”
“I have been thinking of something,” said Deborah. “It has occurred to
me that if we do not give a feast, people might begin to think that we
wished to give ourselves airs.”
“There you are,” said David; “that is the way I feel about it, word for
word. Speak up, and people believe you. Otherwise what is the good of
all this?”
Jonah stirred uneasily in his corner. “Mother,” he said, “do you really
insist upon giving a feast for me? I think it is foolish. Still, if it
would give you pleasure ... but who would come? The whole village, I
suppose. Would you actually ask the prince, and his niece?”
“What?” cried David; “what? I shall ask him myself, because I am
acquainted with him in a humble way.”
“Well,” said Jonah, hesitating.... “But what would you wear, Mother?”
he asked with sudden anxiety. “These old rags.... And who would pay for
it? No, it is impossible.”
“Do not worry about what I would wear,” returned Deborah sharply. “You
will not be ashamed of me. As for who is to pay for it ... you need not
worry about that, either, because it will not be you, at all events.”
Jonah sat for a long time without speaking. At last he sighed. “Very
well,” he said, “if you like....
“I will stay a few days longer.”