Part 4

At once murmurs of protest arose. The old man who had caused the philosopher to be sent home expressed the opinion that such an act was not customary. “What does he mean, ‘Enjoy yourself,’” he exclaimed. “Is that a way to speak to God? Or does he think that the Eternal One and he are such good friends already?”

Prince Ahab shrugged his shoulders. “What do you expect of young people to-day?” he inquired. “It only surprises me that he did not call God something even more irreverent.”

Uncle David went anxiously about among the guests with apologies. “He is a little wild,” he said to several people; “you must excuse it ... the life he leads, in the sun....” He tapped his head significantly. “He is not all there.”

Deborah, on the other hand, did not seem at all disturbed. In a calm manner she explained that very likely there were different ways of making a sacrifice. “After all,” she said, “my son is a prophet, and therefore closer to God than any of us here. Did you see the feather he brought home, actually from an angel? Besides, if you ask me, why shouldn’t God enjoy Himself, if He likes?”

But she gave Jonah a look, when no one was watching, which said plainly, “What a trouble you always make for yourself and for me.”

When the sacrifice was over, Jonah hurried back to the tree where he had left Judith. But she was gone; Sarah had come to take her home.

As if in a dream he wandered off in the moonlight, down the road and through the fields. Behind him the lights and the hum of the feast faded out; he was alone, in the silence of night. About him the pastures, bathed in dew, shone like silver under the moon which covered the earth with delicate mist. Everything was peaceful, everything breathed a quiet and resigned joy. Only in the heart of the man, filled with bliss, there was no peace.

He spread out his arms, “I am happy,” he cried, “I am happy.”

He thought of the Deity to whom he had so often prayed. “Thank You,” he whispered.

And he gazed with love at the heavens, pale, and shining with stars.

He began to imagine the future. “What does it matter if we are poor?” he thought. “One cannot buy beauty. We will live in a little house, and I will do great things, like Nathan, or Elisha.”

But that mood did not suit his spirit for long. “No,” he exclaimed, “I will never allow her to be poor. I will make a large fortune, to keep her comfortably.”

But how? He did not trouble to find out. Already he was living in his palaces, surrounded by slaves.

All night he walked through the fields soaked with dew, through the woods, silent and dark. The moon floated on to the west, and went down over seas and lands unknown, undreamed. The world slept; even the frogs were still. But there was no sleep for Jonah that night; his joy kept him awake. Accustomed to sorrow and indignation, he could not bear his own happiness.

“Judith,” he cried over and over, in a sort of amazement. “Judith.”

Dawn broke in the east, and hunger turned him homeward. On the road near the village he passed a golden litter, also bound for Gath-Hepher, on whose curtains were woven in silver the little doves of Eryx. The litter was followed by several donkeys, laden with merchandise, and a number of servants in the livery of the Phœnicians. “There goes a rich man,” thought Jonah, “but I am happier than he. I will buy his litter and give it to Judith, because of the little silver doves on the curtains.”

It was Hiram, a merchant of Tyre, on his way to visit Prince Ahab, with dyed silks from Sidon, sandalwood, and cloves. Jonah had no forebodings. Cold, wet, weary, but overborne by happiness, he went on home to his mother’s house for breakfast.

VIII

That morning Jonah said to his mother, “Mother, I am going to be married.”

Deborah did not stop singing to herself as she sat mixing curds. But she looked at Jonah as though to say, “Are you preparing some new trouble for us both?”

At last, since Jonah did not offer any further information, she remarked quietly:

“What of your career?”

“What of it?” replied Jonah. “I have been alone a long while; now I am going to take a wife.”

Deborah went on stirring her curds. But she stopped singing. Presently she put down her wooden spoon and sat still, staring at her son.

“You know,” she said gravely, “that I want you to be happy. But what are you doing? Your father also had a great deal of talent. He might have been a priest, but he preferred to marry me; and he died by being gored by a bull. Marriage is a serious thing, and nothing for a prophet.”

“Do you think prophets are made of wood or stone?” cried Jonah irritably. “They also have feelings, like any one else.”

Deborah nodded her head. “I suppose so,” she said. “Still, how much better it would be if you could find something else to do with those feelings.”

“Well, I can’t,” said Jonah. And he relapsed into gloomy silence.

His mother began to stir her curds again. “If that is the case,” she said at last, “you had better tell me all about it, and we will see what can be done.”

Since Jonah did not reply, she added, “I suppose it is some woman of Bethel, or perhaps a girl from the desert.”

“It is Judith,” said Jonah simply, “Ahab’s niece.”

The spoon fell with a clatter into the bowl. “Ak,” cried Deborah. And she gazed at her son in consternation.

“Have you gone out of your mind?” she exclaimed at last. “Do you imagine for a single moment such a thing would be allowed? Who are you, Jonah, the grandson of King David? Or are you perhaps a nephew of King Hiram of Tyre? You must be mad, my son.”

And she added, shaking her head, “It is always something difficult or impossible with you.”

Jonah raised his eyes, burning with enthusiasm, to his mother. “After all,” he said with dignity, “it was I who led the Jews against Aram. Is that nothing? Is it nothing that I have spoken with God? Or is a noble a greater person in Israel than the God of the Jews? Let him order the angels, then.”

“What does a noble know about God?” cried Deborah. “I am poor, and your mother; I know what it means to be a prophet. But a noble--no, my son, you have taken leave of your senses. All he knows is what he can buy, which is nearly everything.”

“Can he buy love?” asked Jonah scornfully.

Deborah thought to herself, “Yes, love, too”; but she did not say so. Putting aside her bowl, she asked more gently,

“Do you love her so much?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And does she love you, my son?”

When Jonah nodded his head, she arose and, coming over to him, put her hand a moment on his hair.

“Poor Jonah,” she whispered.

“Well,” she said, after a silence, sighing, “well ... I will see what I can do.”

Taking down her best shawl, she went to find Uncle David, to discuss the matter.

At first Uncle David was frightened. “He is crazy,” he exclaimed. But after a while, when he had listened to Deborah, he began to take a more hopeful point of view. “Who knows,” he said, “perhaps God is with him.”

He thought: “It is not as though our family were just a common one.”

And he began to feel that he was already connected with nobility. But he had no scented oil for his hair, and he wished to make a good impression when he went to call. Therefore, as there was a little oil of olives left over from the feast, he put this on his hair, and, taking also his me’il, or over-garment, which he kept for special occasions, he exclaimed hopefully to his sister,

“Now, leave all this to me, because I know Prince Ahab very well, and we understand each other, he and I.”

And he began to rehearse what he would say to the Prince. “Of course,” he declared, with a wave of his hand, “the difference in wealth.... But you are a man of the world. You know that a prophet is not born every day.”

“And such a good son,” said Deborah.

“And such a good son,” added Uncle David.

“Also, I say to you as one father to another, or, at least, an uncle, what is there in the world like youth? Can we old ones tell the young how to behave?”

“Come,” said Deborah; “you are only wasting time.”

Gravely, with slow steps and thoughtful expressions, they went up through the village to the palace. Uncle David helped Deborah over the rough places, and she leaned upon his arm.

Prince Ahab came to meet them in his hall in which a single fountain sang. There a peacock led his long tail across the floor set in triangles of marble and ebony. Rich silks adorned the walls, which exhaled an odor of musk and cedar.

After greeting them cordially, the Prince offered his guests cakes in which cinnamon, spices, and poppy-seeds were happily mingled. Then he said in a hearty voice,

“What a splendid feast you gave us last night. I wish to thank you in the name of my household, all of whom enjoyed themselves.”

“Thank you,” said Deborah shyly. She was timid and ill at ease, yet she managed to appear calm and smiling. “It was nothing, or at least for such an occasion, nothing....”

And she gave Uncle David a nudge with her elbow. But now that Uncle David found himself called upon to say something, confusion rendered him speechless. “Yes,” he said feebly, “an occasion....”

Prince Ahab broke in, with a smile: “A feast in honor to a prophet. Do you think I have forgotten what is due your son for his help against Aram? A feast like that is not too good for him.”

Warmed by his tone, Deborah said eagerly: “If you only knew him; such kindness, with all that talent besides. He has made a great success, and he is still a very young man.”

“I do not doubt it,” replied Prince Ahab.

“He speaks to angels,” continued Deborah proudly, “but he is like a lamb with his own mother.”

“Say something,” she whispered to Uncle David; “make an effort.”

“Yes,” said Uncle David.

“I congratulate you upon your son,” said Prince Ahab heartily; “there are too few in Israel like him. I am proud to have him in my village. I was saying as much the other day to my niece, the Lady Judith.”

And he added hopefully, “Does he speak of another war?”

“No,” said Deborah, “he is not thinking of wars just now.” She hung her head, and gazed at the floor. Presently she lifted her head again, and looked, full of blushes, at the Prince. “He has something else on his mind,” she said.

“Are you dumb?” she whispered in Uncle David’s ear.

Uncle David gave a start. “As a matter of fact,” he said huskily, “it is this way: Jonah is thinking of settling down.”

“Ah,” said Prince Ahab, and curled his beard idly in his fingers. “Well, that would be too bad. Such men as he have work to do in the world. We cannot afford to lose such optimistic voices. To whom is Israel to look for her glory if not to such prophets as your son, my good Deborah? No, no, I hope he will not settle down.”

“He has made up his mind,” said Deborah; “I cannot argue with him.” And she added in a voice too low for Ahab’s ears, “He is like a goat.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Uncle David suddenly, “he has made up his mind to marry.”

“To marry?” exclaimed Prince Ahab. “What?” And he stood frowning with disappointment.

“Then there will be no more wars,” he declared gloomily.

But Deborah replied with conviction: “One can marry and still be a prophet. And my son is particularly suited to be a husband. He is gentle and pure.”

“That must please you,” said Ahab, “although I do not know if it is the best thing in a husband.

“Well,” he said, with a sigh, “I dare say there is no help for it. So tell me what I can do for you, my good Deborah.”

And he gazed amiably at the two who stood before him shifting on their feet with embarrassment.

It was Deborah at last who spoke.

“My brother should by rights speak for me,” she said, looking indignantly at Uncle David, “but as he is so dumb, I shall have to speak for myself.”

She took a deep breath. “Prince Ahab,” she said, “my son Jonah, the prophet, wishes to marry your niece, the Lady Judith.”

“That’s it,” said Uncle David; “that’s what we came to say.”

The smile died upon Prince Ahab’s face, and he stared at them in amazement. “What?” he exclaimed; “did I hear you aright?”

Deborah repeated in a firmer tone what she had said; then, raising her eyes to his, looked at him with a candid and satisfied expression. Now that the declaration was out, she felt entirely different.

But Prince Ahab began to laugh.

“My good woman,” he cried, “are you mad? Such a thing is impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?” asked Deborah calmly. “I do not see anything impossible about it. Do you, David?”

“No,” said David hurriedly, “no. Of course it seems impossible; I said at once that it looked absurd. Still ... there you are.

“Ha ha.”

And he also essayed a laugh like a croak.

Prince Ahab controlled himself with an effort. “Madam,” he said, “what does this extraordinary son of yours offer as price for my niece, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

Deborah at least had the grace to blush. “Nothing,” she said in a low tone. “But he thought, being a prophet ... and what is wealth to you, who have so much?”

Prince Ahab let out a sudden roar of anger. The joke no longer amused him. “Nothing,” he cried.

“He wishes to give me nothing for the Lady Judith.

“What impudence.”

“What did I tell you?” said David, trembling, turning to his sister. “He has insulted her. O my God.”

Prince Ahab spread his legs apart, and clutched his beard with both hands. “Woman,” he cried in thunderous tones, “let me tell you that my sister’s daughter will not marry a pauper, prophet or no prophet. A fig for your prophets. They are dirty, unhealthy, meddlesome creatures. Tell your son to go back to the desert where he belongs. And as for my niece, she has been given too much liberty. I shall see that she is properly guarded hereafter.

“What ideas. I tell you there is no respect in this unhappy country.”

Summoning his slaves, he bade them hustle Deborah from his sight. Then he went off in a violent mood to find his niece. Fortunately for Judith she was not in the garden; instead he came upon Hiram, the Phœnician, strolling among the flowers. Prince Ahab took the wealthy merchant by the arm. “Come,” he said, “I am in a rage. Let me show you my horses. I have some things to talk over with you. I have had a shock this morning, and I do not know what the world is coming to. What ideas. What impudence. Let us go riding for a while; it will do me good.”

And he hurried to the stables.

Deborah walked home with her head in the air, the color bright on her face. In the village she stopped to speak a few words to the gossips, who greeted her with curiosity and interest.

“Well,” she said, “Jonah is going back to the desert soon. God will need him again shortly.

“Such excitement last night; I couldn’t sleep after it. So I still have on my shawl, taking some air in the morning.”

She passed on, humming a little tune to herself.

Uncle David hurried home before her. Dripping with perspiration, and with a white face, he burst into the house, and sank dejectedly upon a bench.

“All is lost,” he cried.

“Woe is me.”

He could say no more. Deborah, when she came home, told Jonah the story.

IX

When Prince Ahab told his niece that she was not to be allowed to marry Jonah, she wept bitterly. For an entire day she refused to eat or speak; for she thought her heart was broken. In the evening she went to the tree in the garden where she had sat with Jonah; and, as she leaned her cheek against its bark, she saw again in her mind the dark, thin face of her lover, the brown eyes speaking to her in silence. She heard his voice:

“Beauty often makes people sad. It is something they would like to have in their hearts, and their sadness is their longing.”

“Oh, Jonah, Jonah....”

And her tears fell unchecked.

When she returned to the house, Sarah said to her indignantly,

“Do you know that your young man wished to marry you for nothing? What an impertinence.”

Judith replied tearfully, “He has nothing, the poor fellow.”

“That is what makes the insult all the harder to bear,” said Sarah. “If he has nothing, he should keep quiet, for your sake. What would people think of you if you were to marry for nothing? You would be ruined socially.”

Judith sat up straight, with red cheeks. “Why,” she exclaimed, “what an idea.”

But she remained thoughtful for the rest of the evening. The next morning she said to Sarah, “He is so gentle and sweet. I love him.” And she added,

“Men are so thoughtless.”

At once Sarah, who knew what she was doing, exclaimed, “My poor lamb, you have been badly treated.”

Judith’s eyes filled with tears again. “I am a young girl,” she thought, “and already my heart has been broken.”

All day she was pale, and said nothing. Occasionally she wept, but without violence. In the evening she walked among her flowers, composed and quiet, her brown eyes sad and wondering, like a child’s. And as the sky faded from the color of roses to the color of leaves, she breathed a name sadly, but so faintly, into the air.

“Jonah....”

No one answered, and her heart vibrated with sadness and with peace. “I have lived,” she thought, “I have loved, I have been unhappy.

“That is life, isn’t it....”

And coming upon Hiram the Phœnician among the roses, she gave him a dignified bow.

In the morning, in the bright sunshine, she said to herself, “Men are so selfish. Just imagine, if I were married for nothing, what would people think of me?”

And she said seriously to Sarah, “I feel so old, Sarah. I feel as old as Methuselah.”

“You are a little pale,” said Sarah, “but that does not do any harm.”

“Do I look well?” asked Judith in surprise. “No.”

“You are like a lily,” said Sarah.

But Judith insisted that she looked, at least, a little thin. “And my eyes are all red from crying,” she added.

She did not walk in her rose garden that night. In the morning Sarah said to her, “You are yellow as a dead leaf.” And she brought the little mirror for her mistress to look into.

Judith looked at her reflection for a long time. She seemed a little proud and a little vexed at what she saw. “It is because I have suffered so much,” she said at last to Sarah. And she added,

“Men are so cruel.”

In the afternoon she dressed in white, with a girdle of silver about her hips. And Hiram, meeting Sarah in the court, cool with its fountain, said to the nurse,

“The Lady Judith has a very spiritual face. Is she unhappy about something?”

But Sarah threw up her hands at the mere thought of such a thing. “‘Unhappy’?” she cried; “what an idea. She knows nothing of life. She is like a lily. If she looks a little sad, it is because of her gentle nature.”

That night Judith dined with her uncle and his guest. Her cheeks were pink as the youngest roses in her garden, her lips red again, like poppies. Ahab, seeing her blooming so, was satisfied. And Hiram also watched her carefully, with his shrewd dark eyes.

In Judith’s apartments Sarah put away the pots of red and pink paste, the myrrh and cassia buds, and the little silver mirror. Then with a sigh she sat down to await the return of her mistress. She was content; she felt that the worst was over.

“A woman should know her own worth,” she said to herself; “in that way she saves every one a lot of trouble.”

X

Jonah stood again before Amaziah, the High Priest. On his face, dark with woe, were drawn lines of determination. He held out his hands, empty, and brown as the earth.

“I have not brought you anything this time,” he said, “not even an eagle’s feather.”

Amaziah chose to ignore this greeting. “What now, Jonah,” he exclaimed cheerfully; “do you not bring me another war? The presence of my favorite prophet fills me with the liveliest hopes.”

But Jonah shook his head. “I am weary of being a prophet,” he said simply; “I have come to ask you to make me a priest.”

Without losing the serenity of his expression, Amaziah looked thoughtfully at the young man whose weary face expressed dissatisfaction and bitterness. The old High Priest seemed to be reaching back into his own past, to the time when he, too, had had a choice to make. And his face, as he gazed at Jonah, softened; an expression almost of pity crossed his features, sharp and cruel as a hawk’s.

“This is bad news, Jonah,” he said gently. And he was silent, waiting for an answer.

But Jonah had nothing further to say.

Amaziah stroked his chin. “Tell me,” he said at last, “what has caused you to look with dissatisfaction on your career at the very moment when all Israel speaks of you with admiration?”

“What is the good of admiration?” asked Jonah sadly. “I have a living to make.”

“Ah,” said Amaziah, and his face clouded, “so that is it. What a nuisance.”

And he sat looking before him with a frown.

“You do not really wish to be a priest,” he said at last; “for one thing the duties would soon prove irksome to one of your temperament.”

Jonah threw out his hands. “What is there for me to do?” he cried. “Shall I keep cattle, like my brother Aaron? Or am I to beg, with a bowl?”

“There are worse things than begging,” said Amaziah. “In the desert every one is a beggar.”

“I am tired of the desert,” said Jonah; “I am not going to live there any longer.”

But Amaziah held up his hand reprovingly. “My son,” he said gravely, “one does not change the course of one’s life with impunity, or for no reason.”

“There is a reason,” said Jonah. He looked down at his feet; then he looked boldly up again. “I wish to marry,” he said.

The High Priest made a gesture of discouragement. “I might have guessed,” he murmured. And he gazed sadly at the prophet, on whom he had been counting to help further his own plans. Presently he said with a sigh,

“I can see that this maiden’s father does not wish to give her away for nothing.”

“He is wealthy,” said Jonah gloomily. “For that reason he cannot abide a poor man for a son-in-law.”

Amaziah nodded his head. “Naturally,” he agreed; “if he is wealthy, he feels obliged to add to his fortune. It is only those without anything who can give away what they have, without suffering an overbearing sense of loss. For one thing they do not lose as much, and for another, having nothing, they are not required to succeed in the world, and so they can afford to be generous.”

As Jonah did not reply to this observation, he continued in a grave voice:

“Are you really determined upon this thing, my son? Think well. Marriage in your case may well be a calamity. You have a name already famous in Israel. You are at the outset of a career like that of Samuel. It is safe to predict that you will go far. And you wish to give this up in order to be married? Such a thing is incredible. Farewell to glory, Jonah.”

Jonah folded his arms, and regarded the High Priest with a gloomy and obstinate look. “Nevertheless,” he said firmly, “that is my decision.”

“It is not even your loss,” continued Amaziah earnestly, “wholly; it is Israel’s. It is you who shine like a lamp in her darkness; yours is the voice of hope in her night. If you were Amos, or Hosea, I should say that Israel could get along without you. But you are different; you are the messenger of God’s geniality. Israel cannot afford to lose you, Jonah, my son.”

However, Jonah was proof against arguments of this kind. Seeing which, Amaziah exclaimed,

“What will God think of His prophet, who no longer listens to His voice?”

Jonah replied with an effort: “Is God only audible in the desert? And must He be silent in the Temple? I tell you, He will speak to me wherever I am.”

Almost at once he astonished Amaziah by crying out in a muffled voice, full of pain, “Do you think this is easy for me?”