Jonah
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.”