For a long time nothing was heard beneath the sycamore save Miriam’s low
moans and the impatient footsteps of the warrior who, while struggling
for composure, did not venture to disturb her.
He could not yet understand what had suddenly towered like a mountain
between him and the object of his love.
He had learned from Hur’s words that his father and Moses rejected all
mediation, yet the promises he was bearing to the people seemed to him
a merciful gift from the Most High. None of his race yet knew it and,
if Moses was the man whom he believed him to be, the Lord must open
his eyes and show him that he had chosen him, Hosea, to lead the people
through his mediation to a fairer future; nor did he doubt that He could
easily win his father over to his side. He would even have declared a
second time, with the firmest faith, that it was the Most High who had
pointed out his path, and after reflecting upon all this he approached
Miriam, who had at last risen, with fresh confidence. His loving heart
prompted him to clasp her in his arms, but she thrust him back and her
voice, usually so pure and clear, sounded harsh and muffled as she asked
why he had lingered so long and what he intended to confide to her.
While cowering under the sycamore, she had not only struggled and prayed
for composure, but also gazed into her own soul. She loved Hosea, but
she suspected that he came with proposals similar to those of Uri, and
the wrathful words of hoary Nun rang in her ears more loudly than ever.
The fear that the man she loved was walking in mistaken paths, and the
startling act of Hur had made the towering waves of her passion subside
and her mind, now capable of calmer reflection, desired first of all to
know what had so long detained him whom she had summoned in the name of
her God, and why he came alone, without Ephraim.
The clear sky was full of stars, and these heavenly bodies, which seem
to have been appointed to look down upon the bliss of united human
lovers, now witnessed the anxious questions of a tortured girl and the
impatient answers of a fiery, bitterly disappointed man.
He began with the assurance of his love and that he had come to make her
his wife; but, though she permitted him to hold her hand in his clasp,
she entreated him to cease pleading his suit and first tell her what she
desired to know.
On his way he had received various reports concerning Ephraim through a
brother-in-arms from Tanis, so he could tell her that the lad had been
disobedient and, probably from foolish curiosity, had gone, ill and
wounded, to the city, where he had found shelter and care in the house
of a friend. But this troubled Miriam, who seemed to regard it as a
reproach to know that the orphaned, inexperienced lad, who had grown up
under her own eyes and whom she herself had sent forth among strangers,
was beneath an Egyptian roof.
But Hosea declared that he would undertake the task of bringing him back
to his people and as, nevertheless she continued to show her anxiety,
asked whether he had forfeited her confidence and love. Instead of
giving him a consoling answer, she began to put more questions, desiring
to know what had delayed his coming, and so, with a sorely troubled and
wounded heart, he was forced to make his report and, in truth, begin at
the end of his story.
While she listened, leaning against the trunk of the sycamore, he paced
to and fro, urged by longing and impatience, sometimes pausing directly
in front of her. Naught in this hour seemed to him worthy of being
clothed in words, save the hope and passion which filled his heart. Had
he been sure that hers was estranged he would have dashed away again,
after having revealed his whole soul to his father, and risked the ride
into unknown regions to seek Moses. To win Miriam and save himself from
perjury were his only desires, and momentous as had been his experiences
and expectations, during the last few days, he answered her questions
hastily, as if they concerned the most trivial things.
He began his narrative in hurried words, and the more frequently she
interrupted him, the more impatiently he bore it, the deeper grew the
lines in his forehead.
Hosea, accompanied by his attendant, had ridden southward several hours
full of gladsome courage and rich in budding hopes, when just before
dusk he saw a vast multitude moving in advance of him. At first he
supposed he had encountered the rear-guard of the migrating Hebrews,
and had urged his horse to greater speed. But, ere he overtook the
wayfarers, some peasants and carters who had abandoned their wains
and beasts of burden rushed past him with loud outcries and shouts of
warning which told him that the people moving in front were lepers. And
the fugitives’ warning had been but too well founded; for the first, who
turned with the heart-rending cry: “Unclean! Unclean!” bore the signs
of those attacked by the fell disease, and from their distorted faces
covered with white dust and scurf, lustreless eyes, destitute of brows,
gazed at him.
Hosea soon recognized individuals, here Egyptian priests with shaven
heads, yonder Hebrew men and women. With the stern composure of a
soldier, he questioned both and learned that they were marching from
the stone quarries opposite Memphis to their place of isolation on the
eastern shore of the Nile. Several of the Hebrews among them had heard
from their relatives that their people had left Egypt and gone to seek
a land which the Lord had promised them. Many had therefore resolved to
put their trust also in the mighty God of their fathers and follow the
wanderers; the Egyptian priests, bound to the Hebrews by the tie of a
common misfortune, had accompanied them, and fixed upon Succoth as the
goal of their journey, knowing that Moses intended to lead his people
there first. But every one who could have directed them on their way had
fled before them, so they had kept too far northward and wandered near
the fortress of Thabne. Hosea had met them a mile from this spot and
advised them to turn back, that they might not bring their misfortune
upon their fugitive brethren.
During this conversation, a body of Egyptian soldiers had marched from
the fortress toward the lepers to drive them from the road; but their
commander, who knew Hosea, used no violence, and both men persuaded
the leaders of the lepers to accept the proposal to be guided to the
peninsula of Sinai, where in the midst of the mountains, not far from
the mines, a colony of lepers had settled. They had agreed to this plan
because Hosea promised them that, if the tribes went eastward, they
would meet them and receive everyone who was healed; but if the Hebrews
remained in Egypt, nevertheless the pure air of the desert would bring
health to many a sufferer, and every one who recovered would be free to
return home.
These negotiations had consumed much time, and the first delay was
followed by many others; for as Hosea had been in such close contact
with the lepers, he was obliged to ride to Thabne, there with the
commander of the garrison, who had stood by his side, to be sprinkled
with bird’s blood, put on new garments, and submit to certain ceremonies
which he himself considered necessary and which could be performed
only in the bright sunlight. His servant had been kept in the fortress
because the kind-hearted man had shaken hands with a relative whom he
met among the hapless wretches.
The cause of the delay had been both sorrowful and repulsive, and not
until after Hosea had left Thabne in the afternoon and proceeded on his
way to Succoth, did hope and joy again revive at the thought of seeing
Miriam once more and bringing to his people a message that promised so
much good.
His heart had never throbbed faster or with more joyous anticipation
than on the nocturnal ride which led him to his father and the woman he
loved, and on reaching his goal, instead of the utmost happiness, he now
found only bitter disappointment.
He had reluctantly described in brief, disconnected sentences his
meeting with the lepers, though he believed he had done his best for the
welfare of these unfortunates. All of his warrior comrades had uttered
a word of praise; but when he paused she whose approval he valued above
aught else, pointed to a portion of the camp and said sadly: “They are
of our blood, and our God is theirs. The lepers in Zoan, Pha-kos and
Phibeseth followed the others at a certain distance, and their tents
are pitched outside the camp. Those in Succoth--there are not many--will
also be permitted to go forth with us; for when the Lord promised the
people the Land for which they long, He meant lofty and lowly, poor
and humble, and surely also the hapless ones who must now remain in the
hands of the foe. Would you not have done better to separate the Hebrews
from the Egyptians, and guide those of our own blood to us?”
The warrior’s manly pride rebelled and his answer sounded grave and
stern: “In war we must resolve to sacrifice hundreds in order to save
thousands. The shepherds separate the scabby sheep to protect the
flock.”
“True,” replied Miriam eagerly; “for the shepherd is a feeble man,
who knows no remedy against contagion; but the Lord, who calls all His
people, will suffer no harm to arise from rigid obedience.”
“That is a woman’s mode of thought,” replied Hosea; “but what pity
dictates to her must not weigh too heavily in the balance in the
councils of men. You willingly obey the voice of the heart, which is
most proper, but you should not forget what befits you and your sex.”
A deep flush crimsoned Miriam’s cheeks; for she felt the sting contained
in this speech with two-fold pain because it was Hosea who dealt the
thrust. How many pangs she had been compelled to endure that day on
account of her sex, and now he, too, made her feel that she was not
his peer because she was a woman. In the presence of the stones Hur
had gathered, and on which her hand now rested, he had appealed to her
verdict, as though she were one of the leaders of the people, and now
he abruptly thrust her, who felt herself inferior to no man in intellect
and talent, back into a woman’s narrow sphere.
But he, too, felt his dignity wounded, and her bearing showed him that
this hour would decide whether he or she would have the mastery in
their future union. He stood proudly before her, his mien stern in its
majesty--never before had he seemed so manly, so worthy of admiration.
Yet the desire to battle for her insulted womanly dignity gained
supremacy over every other feeling, and it was she who at last broke
the brief, painful silence that had followed his last words, and with
a composure won only by the exertion of all her strength of will, she
began:
“We have both forgotten what detains us here so late at night. You
wished to confide to me what brings you to your people and to hear, not
what Miriam, the weak woman, but the confidante of the Lord decides.”
“I hoped also to hear the voice of the maiden on whose love I rely,” he
answered gloomily.
“You shall hear it,” she replied quickly, taking her hand from the
stones. “Yet it may be that I cannot agree with the opinion of the man
whose strength and wisdom are so far superior to mine, yet you have
just shown that you cannot tolerate the opposition of a woman, not even
mine.”
“Miriam,” he interrupted reproachfully, but she continued still more
eagerly: “I have felt it, and because it would be the greatest grief
of my life to lose your heart, you must learn to understand me, ere you
call upon me to express my opinion.”
“First hear my message.”
“No, no!” she answered quickly. “The reply would die upon my lips. Let
me first tell you of the woman who has a loving heart, and yet knows
something else that stands higher than love. Do you smile? You have a
right to do so, you have so long been a stranger to the secret I mean to
confide....”
“Speak then!” he interrupted, in a tone which betrayed how difficult it
was for him to control his impatience.
“I thank you,” she answered warmly. Then leaning against the trunk of
the ancient tree, while he sank down on the bench, gazing alternately at
the ground and into her face, she began:
“Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow. When I
was a little girl, there was not much to distinguish me from others. I
played like them and, though my mother had taught me to pray to the God
of our fathers, I was well pleased to listen to the other children’s
tales of the goddess Isis. Nay, I stole into her temple, bought spices,
plundered our little garden for her, anointed her altar, and brought
flowers for offerings. I was taller and stronger than many of my
companions, and was also the daughter of Amram, so they followed me
and readily did what I suggested. When I was eight years old, we moved
hither from Zoan. Ere I again found a girl-playfellow, you came to
Gamaliel, your sister’s husband, to be cured of the wound dealt by a
Libyan’s lance. Do you remember that time when you, a youth, made the
little girl a companion? I brought you what you needed and prattled
to you of the things I knew, but you told me of bloody battles and
victories, of flashing armor, and the steeds and chariots of the
warrior, You showed me the ring your daring had won, and when the wound
in your breast was cured, we roved over the pastures. Isis, whom you
also loved, had a temple here, and how often I secretly slipped into the
forecourt to pray for you and offer her my holiday-cakes. I had heard so
much from you of Pharaoh and his splendor, of the Egyptians, and their
wisdom, their art, and luxurious life, that my little heart longed to
live among them in the capital; besides, it had reached my ears that my
brother Moses had received great favors in Pharaoh’s palace and risen
to distinction in the priesthood. I no longer cared for our own people;
they seemed to me inferior to the Egyptians in all respects.
“Then came the parting from you and, as my little heart was devout and
expected all good gifts from the divine power, no matter what name
it bore, I prayed for Pharaoh and his army, in whose ranks you were
fighting.
“My mother sometimes spoke of the God of our fathers as a mighty
protector, to whom the people in former days owed much gratitude, and
told me many beautiful tales of Him; but she herself often offered
sacrifices in the temple of Seth, or carried clover blossoms to the
sacred bull of the sun-god. She, too, was kindly disposed toward the
Egyptians, among whom her pride and joy, our Moses, had attained such
high honors.
“So in happy intercourse with the others I reached my fifteenth year.
In the evening, when the shepherds returned home, I sat with the young
people around the fire, and was pleased when the sons of the shepherd
princes preferred me to my companions and sought my love; but I refused
them all, even the Egyptian captain who commanded the garrison of the
storehouse; for I remembered you, the companion of my youth. My best
possession would not have seemed too dear a price to pay for some magic
spell that would have brought you to us when, at the festal games, I
danced and sang to the tambourine while the loudest shouts of applause
greeted me. Whenever many were listening I thought of you--then I poured
forth like the lark the feelings that filled my heart, then my song was
inspired by you and not by the fame of the Most High, to whom it was
consecrated.”
Here passion, with renewed power, seized the man, to whom the woman he
loved was confessing so many blissful memories. Suddenly starting up,
he extended his arms toward her; but she sternly repulsed him, that she
might control the yearning which threatened to overpower her also.
Yet her deep voice had gained a new, strange tone as, at first rapidly
and softly, then in louder and firmer accents, she continued:
“So I attained my eighteenth year and was no longer satisfied to dwell
in Succoth. An indescribable longing, and not for you only, had taken
possession of my soul. What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed
shallow, and the monotony of life here in the remote frontier city amid
shepherds and flocks, appeared dull and pitiful.
“Eleasar, Aaron’s son, had taught me to read and brought me books, full
of tales which could never have happened, yet which stirred the heart.
Many also contained hymns and fervent songs such as one lover sings to
another. These made a deep impression on my soul and, whenever I was
alone in the evening, or at noon-day when the shepherds and flocks were
far away in the fields, I repeated these songs or composed new ones,
most of which were hymns in praise of the deity. Sometimes they extolled
Amon with the ram’s head, sometimes cow-headed Isis, and often, too, the
great and omnipotent God who revealed Himself to Abraham, and of whom
my mother spoke more and more frequently as she advanced in years. To
compose such hymns in quiet hours, wait for visions revealing God’s
grandeur and splendor, or beautiful angels and horrible demons, became
my favorite occupation. The merry child had grown a dreamy maiden, who
let household affairs go as they would. And there was no one who could
have warned me, for my mother had followed my father to the grave; and I
now lived alone with my old aunt Rachel, unhappy myself, and a source
of joy to no one. Aaron, the oldest of our family, had removed to
the dwelling of his father-in-law Amminadab: the house of Amram, his
heritage, had become too small and plain for him and he left it to
me. My companions avoided me; for my mirthfulness had departed and I
patronized them with wretched arrogance because I could compose songs
and beheld more in my visions than all the other maidens.
“Nineteen years passed and, on the evening of my birthday, which no one
remembered save Milcah, Eleasar’s daughter, the Most High for the first
time sent me a messenger. He came in the guise of an angel, and bade me
set the house in order; for a guest, the person dearest to me on earth,
was on the way.
“It was early and under this very tree; but I went home and, with old
Rachel’s help, set the house in order, and provided food, wine, and all
else we offer to an honored guest. Noon came, the afternoon passed away,
evening deepened into night, and morning returned, yet I still waited
for the guest. But when the sum of that day was nearing the western
horizon, the dogs began to bark loudly, and when I went to the door a
powerful man, with tangled grey hair and beard, clad in the tattered
white robes of a priest, hurried toward me. The dogs shrank back
whining; but I recognized my brother.
“Our meeting after so long a separation at first brought me more fear
than pleasure; for Moses was flying from the officers of the law because
he had slain the overseer. You know the story.
“Wrath still glowed in his flashing eyes. He seemed to me like the god
Seth in his fury, and each one of his slow words was graven upon my
soul as by a hammer and chisel. Thrice seven days and nights he remained
under my roof, and as I was alone with him and deaf Rachel, and he was
compelled to remain concealed, no one came between us, and he taught me
to know Him who is the God of our fathers.
“Trembling and despairing, I listened to his powerful words, which
seemed to fall like rocks upon my breast, when he admonished me of God’s
requirements, or described the grandeur and wrath of Him whom no mind
can comprehend, and no name can describe. Ah, when he spoke of Him and
of the Egyptian gods, it seemed as if the God of my people stood before
me like a giant, whose head touched the sky, and the other gods were
creeping in the dust at his feet like whining curs.
“He taught me also that we alone were the people whom the Lord had
chosen, we and no other. Then for the first time I was filled with pride
at being a descendant of Abraham, and every Hebrew seemed a brother,
every daughter of Israel a sister. Now, too, I perceived how cruelly
my people had been enslaved and tortured. I had been blind to their
suffering, but Moses opened my eyes and sowed in my heart hate, intense
hate of their oppressors, and from this hate sprang love for the
victims. I vowed to follow my brother and await the summons of my
God. And lo, he did not tarry and Jehovah’s voice spoke to me as with
tongues.
“Old Rachel died. At Moses’ bidding I gave up my solitary life and
accepted the invitation of Aaron and Amminadab.
“So I became a guest in their household, yet led a separate life among
them all. They did not interfere with me, and the sycamore here on their
land became my special property. Beneath its shadow God commanded me
to summon you and bestow on you the name ‘Help of Jehovah’--and you,
no longer Hosea, but Joshua, will obey the mandate of God and His
prophetess.”
Here the warrior interrupted the maiden’s words, to which he had
listened earnestly, yet with increasing disappointment:
“Ay, I have obeyed you and the Most High. But what it cost me you
disdain to ask. Your story has reached the present time, yet you have
made no mention of the days following my mother’s death, during which
you were our guest in Tanis. Have you forgotten what first your eyes and
then your lips confessed? Have the day of your departure and the evening
on the sea, when you bade me hope for and remember you, quite vanished
from your memory? Did the hatred Moses implanted in your heart kill love
as well as every other feeling?”
“Love?” asked Miriam, raising her large eyes mournfully to his. “Oh no.
How could I forget that time, the happiest of my life! Yet from the
day Moses returned from the wilderness by God’s command to release the
people from bondage--three months after my separation from you--I have
taken no note of years and months, days and nights.”
“Then you have forgotten those also?” Hosea asked harshly.
“Not so,” Miriam answered, gazing beseechingly into his face. “The love
that grew up in the child and did not wither in the maiden’s heart,
cannot be killed; but whoever consecrates one’s life to the Lord....”
Here she suddenly paused, raised her hands and eyes rapturously, as
if borne out of herself, and cried imploringly: “Thou art near me,
Omnipotent One, and seest my heart! Thou knowest why Miriam took no note
of days and years, and asked nothing save to be Thy instrument until
her people, who are, also, this man’s people, received what Thou didst
promise.”
During this appeal, which rose from the inmost depths of the maiden’s
heart, the light wind which precedes the coming of dawn had risen,
and the foliage in the thick crown of the sycamore above Miriam’s head
rustled; but Hosea fairly devoured with his eyes the tall majestic
figure, half illumined, half veiled by the faint glimmering light. What
he heard and saw seemed like a miracle. The lofty future she anticipated
for her people, and which must be realized ere she would permit herself
to yield to the desire of her own heart, he believed that he was hearing
to them as a messenger of the Lord. As if rapt by the noble enthusiasm
of her soul, he rushed toward her, seized her hand, and cried in
glad emotion: “Then the hour has come which will again permit you to
distinguish months from days and listen to the wishes of your own soul.
For to I, Joshua, no longer Hosea, but Joshua, come as the envoy of the
Lord, and my message promises to the people whom I will learn to love as
you do, new prosperity, and thus fulfils the promise of a new and better
home, bestowed by the Most High.”
Miriam’s eyes sparkled brightly and, overwhelmed with grateful joy, she
exclaimed:
“Thou hast come to lead us into the land which Jehovah promised to His
people? Oh Lord, how measureless is thy goodness! He, he comes as Thy
messenger.”
“He comes, he is here!” Joshua enthusiastically replied, and she did not
resist when he clasped her to his breast and, thrilling with joy, she
returned his kiss.