Deborah: A tale of the times of Judas MaccabaeusLudlow, James M. (James Meeker)
History
Deborah: A tale of the times of Judas Maccabaeus
Ludlow, James M. (James Meeker)
Jewish fiction; Jews -- History -- 586 B.C.-70 A.D. -- Fiction; Maccabees -- Fiction
A few days after her conversation with Mattathias, the venerable man,
shaken by age, and by the strain of duties that would have broken the
energy of the youngest and strongest, laid himself down to die.
Earth has witnessed few scenes so humanly sublime as that in the
rock-formed chamber, where the priest and warrior committed his work to
his children, and his soul to God.
His sons knelt around the couch. To them he gave special counsel,
correcting the weakness or encouraging the peculiar strength which
his prophetic soul saw in each. For Jonathan he invoked caution; for
Simon, courage; for all, faith in the Presence of the Lord, "who," said
he, "will surely appear for our deliverance. But by whose arm will He
smite? I know not. And yet----"
He looked long upon Judas. He put his thin hands upon his son's head.
Then his own uplifted face became strangely luminous--doubtless as once
was that of Moses. His lips parted as if they were burdened with some
glorious prophecy; but they uttered no further word. There issued from
them only--his soul.
They laid the body of Mattathias back upon the couch. A light seemed
for a while to glow about his head, and then to be absorbed into the
marble whiteness of his features.
Never was funeral cortege of warrior or monarch more impressive than
that which wound among the hills far away to Modin, watched by hostile
eyes, and guarded by the sharp swords of a band of patriots who
determined that their dead chieftain should not be deprived of burial
in the sepulchre of his fathers. The mournful train was accompanied for
a short distance from the Fort of the Rocks by the entire multitude of
women and children, wailing with low outcries, rending their garments,
and flinging handfuls of dust into the air until the armed procession
was out of sight.
The soul of Deborah had been too mightily stirred by these occurrences
to allow her to speak much with her people. A deep ravine hard by
became sacred to her as a place of meditation. There was something in
the very formation of this place that helped her thought. An enormous
rock projected many feet from a precipitous palisade, and overhung the
narrow width of the ravine. It seemed about to fall and crush her as
she sat beneath it. Yet she knew that it could not fall, for the mass
of visible stone was more than counterbalanced by a larger proportion
of the rock imbedded out of sight, in the hillside.
"So," she said, "I am always under impending danger. A black shadow is
always on my soul. But I can trust the unknown goodness of the Lord,
which outweighs and prevents the threatening evil!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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