Joshua, Volume 3.

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JOSHUA

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XV.

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.

CHAPTER XVI.

Fear of her own weakness soon made Miriam release herself from her
lover's embrace, but she listened with eager happiness, seeking some new
sign from the Most High in Joshua's brief account of everything he had
felt and experienced since her summons.

He first described the terrible conflict he endured, then how he regained
entire faith and, obedient to the God of his people and his father's
summons, went to the palace expecting imprisonment or death, to obtain
release from his oath.

He told her how graciously the sorrowing royal pair had received him, and
how he had at last taken upon himself the office of urging the leaders of
his nation to guide them into the wilderness for a short time only, and
then take them home to Egypt, where a new and beautiful region on the
western bank of the river should be allotted to them. There no foreign
overseer should henceforward oppress the workmen, but the affairs of the
Hebrews should be directed by their own elders, and a man chosen by
themselves appointed their head.

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