Part 8 (1/2)

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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sociations of her youth. Her heart turned back to the old house at home, where there is always more suns.h.i.+ne and stars.h.i.+ne, 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 G.o.d my G.o.d:

”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 G.o.d shall be my G.o.d”--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?”