II. CHARACTER SKETCHES.
| “——Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time; Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper; And other of such vinegar aspect, That they’ll not show their teeth by way of smile, Tho’ Nestor swore the jest were laughable.”— Merchant of Venice. |
CHARACTER SKETCHES.
“With what prudence does the Son of Sirach caution us in the choice of our friends. And with what strokes of Nature, (I could almost say of Humour,) has he described the behavior of a treacherous and self-interested friend!”—Addison.
“The history of the ancient Hebrews,” says George Eliot, “gives the idea of a people who went about their business and their pleasures as gravely as a society of beavers; the smile and laugh are often mentioned metaphorically; but the smile is one of complacency, the laugh of scorn.”
Against the authority of so illustrious a name, the writer of these pages confesses a somewhat different impression. It is difficult to believe that such sentiments as the following could have arisen among a people whose only smile was that of complacency, whose only laughter that of scorn:
“He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast.”
“A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.”
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”
“Go thy way; eat thy bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart.”
“The voice of mirth,” “the voice of gladness” are phrases of frequent occurrence. The ancient Hebrews believed that there was a “time to laugh” as well as a “time to weep.” Grave and serious as they were, there must have been in them, after all, something sunny and pleasant. They did not find the heavens forever black and the earth forever cheerless.
When we turn to the historical and biographical portions of Scripture, we find here and there a bit of quaintness and drollery in pictures of life and delineations of character that must have brought to the faces of those who read them or heard them smiles other than those of complacency; that must have been enjoyed with laughter other than that of scorn.
Mr. Shorthouse says, “Nature and humor do not lie far apart; the source and spring of humor is human life.” “The essence of humor,” Carlyle remarks, “is sensibility; warm, tender fellow-feeling with all forms of existence.” “The man of humor,” writes another distinguished critic, “seeing at one glance the majestic and the mean, the serious and the laughable; indeed, interpreting what is little or ridiculous by light derived from its opposite idea, delineates character as he finds it in life, without any impertinent intrusion of his own indignation or approval.”
The writers of the Bible sketched manners and traits as they found them. Their pencils were faithful to nature. They reported what they saw. The features which provoke the smile, as well as those which move us to admire, condemn or weep, are pictured on their canvas. They had an eye for the ludicrous side of life, as well as for its more sober aspects. So, genial is much of their—often unconscious—humor, so far removed from bitterness or scorn, that it should seem as if Addison and Irving might have drawn some of their inspiration from these old Hebrews.
In this chapter we shall give some illustrations from their sketches of character.
I.—Abimelech.
In the time of the Judges the unprincipled Abimelech contrived to have himself proclaimed king in Shechem. Knowing his unfitness for the throne, and vexed at his successful machinations, Jotham, a man of ready wit, ridicules the pretensions of the monarch and the folly of the people, in an admirable fable. Addison says: “Fables were the first pieces of wit that made their appearance in the world, and have been still highly valued, not only in times of the greatest simplicity, but among the most polite ages of mankind. Jotham’s fable of the Trees is the oldest that is extant, and as beautiful as any that have been made since that time.”
Perching himself upon the top of a hill, that his parable may not be brought to an untimely end, he speaks to the multitude: “The Trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them. And they said to the Olive Tree, Reign thou over us. But the Olive Tree said unto them, Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honor God and men, and go to be promoted over the Trees? Then said the Trees unto the Fig Tree, Come thou and reign over us. But the Fig Tree said unto them, Should I forsake my sweetness and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the Trees? Then said the Trees unto the Vine, Come thou and reign over us. And the Vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine which cheereth God and Man, and go to be promoted over the Trees?” Thus far the Trees have been unsuccessful. They have found among their fellows of the forest no available candidate whose character and record are good. They anticipated a difficulty of more modern times. But they are becoming desperate. They are determined to have a king. In this extremity what step do they take? “Then said all the Trees unto the Bramble, Come thou and reign over us.” The Bramble cannot plead business. It cannot say, as do the Olive and Fig and Vine, “I am of some better use.” There is no reason, so far as any beneficent occupation is concerned, why it should not be king. The offer is eagerly accepted, and the pompous bush delivers itself of this high and mighty coronation address: “If in truth ye anoint me king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow; and if not, let fire come out of the Bramble and destroy the cedars of Lebanon!”
This Bramble, Jotham explains, represents Abimelech, while the misguided trees are the men of Shechem. Having made this application, Jotham became convinced that his mission was ended, and abandoned Mount Gerezim for a place of greater security. “And Jotham ran away and fled, and went to Beer and dwelt there for fear of Abimelech his brother.” He did not wait to see what impression he had made. He was willing to let his story, moral and all, take care of itself; for in that day, as in every subsequent age, there was no room for a satirist in the kingdom of an incompetent ruler.
II.—Samson.
Farther on in the book of Judges, we have the portrait of Samson. How quaintly is the character drawn! A great lubberly, good-natured giant, but now and then bursting out into fits of unreasoning and uncontrolled anger,—not unlike Ajax in the play. He is constantly making himself ridiculous in his love affairs.
In Love’s Labor Lost, the following dialogue occurs:—
“Armado.—Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love?
“Moth.—Hercules, Master.
“Arm.—Most sweet Hercules! More authority dear boy, name more; and sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.
“Moth.—Samson, Master; he was a man of good carriage, for he raised the town gates on his back like a porter; and he was in love.”
He tries to joke in clumsy riddles: “Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forth sweetness.” But his jokes were usually of a more practical and even more disastrous kind. L’Estrange, in his History of Humor, says: “The first character in the records of antiquity that seems to have had anything quaint or droll about it is that of Samson. Standing out amid the confusion of legendary times, he gives us good specimens of the fierce, wild kind of merriment relished in ancient days; and was very fond of making very sanguinary sport for the Philistines. He was an exaggeration of a not very uncommon type of man in which brute strength is joined to loose morals and whimsical fancy. People were more inclined to laugh at sufferings formerly than now, because they were not keenly sensitive to pain, and also had less feeling and consideration for others. That Samson found some malicious kind of pleasure and diversion in his reprisals on his enemies and made his misfortunes minister to his amusement, is evident from the strange character of his exploits. ‘He caught three hundred foxes, and took firebrands, and turned tail to tail, and put a firebrand in the midst between two tails, and when he had set the brands on fire, he let them go into the standing corn of the Philistines, and burned up both the shocks and also the standing corn of the Philistines, with the vineyards and olives.’ On another occasion, he allowed himself to be bound with cords and thus apparently delivered powerless into the hands of his enemies; he then broke his bonds ‘like flax that was burnt with fire,’ and taking the jawbone of an ass which he found, slew a thousand men with it. His account of this massacre shows that he regarded it in a humorous light: ‘With the jawbone of an ass, heaps upon heaps, with the jawbone of an ass, I have slain a thousand men.’ We might also refer to his carrying away the gates of Gaza to the top of a hill that is before Hebron, and to his duping Delilah about the seven green withes. * * * Samson was evidently regarded as a droll fellow in his day.”
What a touch of human nature there is in the scene between Samson and his wife, when she asks for the solution of that wretched riddle! “Thou dost but hate me,” is her reproach, “and lovest me not; thou hast put forth a riddle unto the children of my people, and hast not told it to me.” What! is there a domestic storm already brewing? There is something of a thunderclap in the angry retort of the husband: “Behold, I have not told it to my father and my mother,” (as if that would make any difference to her!) “and shall I tell it to thee?” Comparisons of this sort are but little noted for their conciliatory tendencies, and so we are fully prepared for what follows: “And she wept before him the seven days while the feast lasted.” Poor Samson is not proof against woman’s tears. He could rend the lion as a kid, and carry off the gates of Gaza as easily as a shepherd could bear a lamb upon his shoulders, but his superhuman strength is of no avail against “women’s weapons, water-drops.” We are not surprised to find that “it came to pass on the seventh day he told her.” Thus did conjugal quarrels end in the time of the Judges.
But if Samson was worsted in the encounter with his wife, he scored a victory against the Philistines who had frightened her into telling them the answer to the riddle. When they came with an air of insolent triumph and said: “What is sweeter than honey? and what is stronger than a lion?” he rather impolitely retorted,—traces of gall and wormwood at his recent humiliation by his wife still rankling in his mind,—“If ye had not ploughed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.” But he paid the debt of honor he owed them, the wager he had lost. “He went down to Ashkelon, and slew thirty men of them, and took their spoil and gave changes of raiment unto them which expounded the riddle.” Thersites would have said of him as he did of Achilles, “His wit was his sinew.” Samson had wonderful muscular power of repartee.
On another occasion Samson amused himself by telling monstrous lies about the secret of his strength: “If they bind me with seven green withes that were never dried, then shall I be weak and be as another man;” “if they bind me fast with new ropes;” “if thou weavest the seven locks of my head with the web;” and so on. As Prince Hal said of the stories of his boon companion, “These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable.” Delilah, wearied with these practical jokes, exclaims at last, “How canst thou say ‘I love thee,’ when thine heart is not with me? Thou hast mocked me these three times, and hast not told me wherein thy great strength lieth.” Then she began a course of teasing and entreaty that finally proved successful. “It came to pass when she pressed him daily with her words, so that his soul was vexed unto death, that he told her all his heart.” Samson was great physically, but so weak mentally and morally that he is continually reducing himself to an absurd spectacle. He could not resist Delilah’s persistent importunities, nor had he sufficient resolution to betake himself from the presence of temptation. He had, no doubt, laughed loud and long at the victims of his huge falsehoods, but he is finally harassed by a woman whose reproaches and entreaties are like “a continual dropping on a rainy day,” into telling the fatal truth. Upon the whole, as we look upon the portrait of Samson, we find it impossible to respect him. We can only smile at his folly. The one flash of genuine nobility comes at the last. “Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.” After all, that heroic death more than half redeems the vacillating career it closes.
III.—Nabal.
There is quite a different character in the first book of Samuel. His name is Nabal. The word itself means “fool;” and the man’s wife, Abigail, volunteered the opinion that it was a very accurate description of her husband: “As his name is, so is he: Nabal is his name and folly is with him.” He is self-satisfied, hard-headed, irritable, obstinate. We are told that he was “churlish and evil in his doings.” He is blunt in speech, rude, and even boorish in manners. He stands out of the story like an old, gnarled tree. It would not be a matter of marvel if he suggested to Fielding the character of Squire Western. They have many points in common. The servants of Nabal are afraid of him: “He is such a son of Belial that a man cannot speak to him!” He is fond of wine, and sometimes falls asleep over his cups. When David asks a favor of him, he exclaims: “Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse? There be many servants now-a-days that break away, every man from his own master!” As much as to say, “The country is full of runaways and tramps, and how do I know but this David is one of them?” Then he goes on—“Shall I take my bread and my water, and my flesh that I have killed for my shearers, and give it unto men whom I know not whence they be?” Let this David look out for himself; it is all that I can do to provide for my own family and servants! How exactly in the Squire Western vein: “It’s well for un I could not get at un; I’d spoiled his caterwauling; I’d a taught un to meddle with meat for his master. He shan’t ever have a morsel of meat of mine, or a varden to buy it with!” Just the man, after he has stormed his life away, to die of apoplexy! And Nabal did die suddenly, a few days after he had been “very drunken.”
IV.—Jonah.
There are some elements of genuine humor in the story of Jonah. Whatever may be thought of the miraculous portions of the narrative, the character of the shirking and whimpering prophet is faithfully drawn. He first tries to escape the command of the Lord by fleeing to Tarshish, but finds that he who runs away from duty runs into danger. Thoroughly alarmed by the disastrous outcome of his attempt to get away from responsibility, he finally goes to Nineveh, but is not reconciled to his task. He did not go because he was anxious to serve the Ninevites, but because he wished to avert further danger from himself. He is in just the mood to complain of everything, to snatch at any straw of justification for his former conduct. Contrary to his expectations, and even, it must be confessed, to his secret wishes, the Ninevites were moved to repentance by his half-hearted preaching, with its undertone of grumbling, and God forgave them and turned away the threatened destruction of their city. But when the forty days expire, and the city does not fall, Jonah is angry, and he insists that he does well to be angry. He has been obliged to trudge through the streets of the city day after day shouting his predictions of doom, and now he is denied the poor satisfaction of seeing the bolts fall from heaven in vengeance. He has even gone so far as to prepare for himself a booth in a safe place, under whose shadow he might sit and enjoy the spectacle,—“where he might see what would become of the city.” And now there is nothing to come of it all! “It displeased Jonah exceedingly and he was very angry.” Surely the Lord is not considerate of the feelings of his prophet. Jonah’s pent-up displeasure breaks forth: “I pray thee, O Lord, was not this my saying while I was yet in mine own country?” Did I not tell you so? Did I not say then and there how this whole affair would turn out? “Therefore I fled before unto Tarshish.” Why should I blister under the sun of Nineveh, when I might take mine ease in Tarshish? “For I knew that Thou art a gracious God, slow to anger and of great kindness and repentest thee of the evil,”—too good-natured to do this thing! And now that I have come, my prophecy has failed and my mission is a farce. These wretches are spared and the prophet of God is a laughing-stock! “I do well to be angry, even unto death!” He goes farther: “I beseech thee, take away my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live.” It is better to die than to be made ridiculous. Nothing could reconcile Jonah, just then, to the thought of further existence. Like Mr. Mantilini, he was determined to become a “body.”
V.—Absalom.
We must not pass by that exquisite likeness of the demagogue in Second Samuel. “Absalom rose up early and stood beside the way of the gate; and it was so that when any man that had a controversy came to the king for judgment, then Absalom called unto him and said, Of what city art thou? and he said, Thy servant is one of the tribes of Israel. And Absalom said unto him, See, thy matters are good and right, but there is no one deputed of the king to hear thee.” Things are getting very loose in the government; the country is going to the dogs. The present administration has been so long in power, that it has grown careless of the interests of the people. Absalom said, moreover, “O that I were made Judge in the land; that any man which hath any suit or any cause might come unto me, and I would do him justice!” We need a change. Put our party in power and see whether the rights of the people will not be better regarded; see whether there will not be reform in all departments of the government, and better times in the nation. “And it was so that when any man came to him to do him obeisance, he put forth his hand and took him and kissed him.” Really, here we have the origin of the hand shaking candidate of to-day. Here are the beginnings of that cajolery of the “poor laboring man,” “the honest farmer,” “the oppressed people,” which the modern aspirant to office so earnestly affects. “And in this manner did Absalom to all Israel that came unto the King for judgment; so Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel.” In one point the comparison between Absalom and his later imitators fails. Absalom, it will be remembered, closed his career by getting hung upon a tree. It is greatly to be regretted that many of our modern demagogues do not complete the parallel.
VI.—Shimei.
If Absalom is a type of the demagogue, Shimei surely is a type of the sycophant. While David was in power, Shimei was devoted. When David was supplanted by the scheming Absalom and went forth heart-broken and weary from the city where he had reigned, Shimei basely deserts him to become the tool of Absalom, and heaps insults upon the head of the fallen monarch. Here is a specimen of his conduct and language: “He cast stones at David and at the servants of King David. * * * And thus said Shimei when he cursed, Come out, come out, thou bloody man and thou man of Belial: the Lord hath returned upon thee all the blood of the house of Saul in whose stead thou hast reigned; and the Lord hath delivered the kingdom into the hand of Absalom thy son; and behold thou art taken in thy mischief because thou art a bloody man.” This exhibition of meanness rouses the just wrath of Abishai, who wishes to put an effectual stop to the miserable proceeding: “Why should this dead dog curse my lord, the King? Let me go over, I pray thee, and take off his head.” But David forbids, and Shimei secure in the continued possession of his head followed after David and his men and “cursed as he went, and threw stones at him and cast dust.” But the scene changes. Absalom lies dead under a heap of stones in the forest. David is returning to Jerusalem as king. A boat has carried him across the Jordan. Who is this that meets him as he lands and fawns upon him? The wretch who stoned and cursed him the other day. It is Shimei who forsook him and pelted him when he was unfortunate, but who returns to offer, “in a bondman’s key,” his humble services when David is restored to power. “Let not my Lord impute iniquity unto me, neither do thou remember that which thy servant did, the day that my lord the king went out of Jerusalem, that the king should take it to heart.” Do not grieve over it, do not take it too sorely. I admit that it was rather hasty and ill-advised. “For thy servant doth know that I have sinned.” To be sure I threw some stones, and kicked up a little dust, and swore a few oaths,—very inconsiderate it seems now; but I am willing to forget the whole affair. And see what splendid atonement I offer! “Behold, I am come first this day of all the house of Joseph, to go down to meet my Lord, the King.” Think of that! Ah, it is “my lord, the king” to-day; no longer a “man of Belial.” My lord the king can grant favors. Any little trifle of an office for which he may want an incumbent would be considered. Remember, “I am come this day, the first of all the house of Joseph to go down to meet my lord the king.”
Sterne says: “The wheel turns round once more; Absalom is cast down, and David returns in peace. Shimei suits his behavior to the occasion, and is the first man also who hastens to greet him; and had the wheel turned round a hundred times, Shimei, I dare say, in every period of its rotation would have been uppermost.” Then he adds: “O Shimei, would to heaven when thou wast slain, that all thy family had been slain with thee and not one of thy resemblance left. But ye have multiplied exceedingly and replenished the earth; and if I prophesy rightly, ye will in the end subdue it. Go where you will, in every quarter, in every profession, you see a Shimei following the wheels of the fortunate through thick mire and clay.”
It is not claimed that the writers of the Bible drew these portraits for the purpose of making ludicrous those whom they painted, but the features were in the originals, and they who wrote were simply faithful to nature. They portrayed what they saw. They did not blind themselves to facts; and now worthless usurper, weak-willed giant, churlish country squire of Palestine, grumbling prophet, scheming demagogue and oily sycophant live forever on their canvas. “Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time;” and some of those “strange fellows” lived in Judea thousands of years ago.