careless days of his youth were the only happy ones he knew. In order to retain his throne, and to save Israel from foreign domination, he could never sheathe the sword; bloodshed was chronic. Prince Absalom inherited the manly beauty of the house of Jesse: "from the sole of his foot even to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him." Especially noticeable was his magnificent hair; it was so thick and glossy that every year when he had it cut it was like taking a harvest off a field. But he had no more moral sense than Alcibiades; he was a traitor to his father and to the nation. He stole away the hearts of the people by promises as fair as his face; and finally he felt himself strong enough to organise open rebellion. The uprising was so general that David left the holy city in shame and disgrace, like a hunted man with a price on his head. But in a decisive battle, in which the king's forces were led by the two sons of Zeruiah-Joab and Abishai-Absalom's forces were routed. Before the battle, David gave public orders that no harm must come to the person of Absalom; as so often happens in tragic quarrels between fathers and sons, the father loves his child with a passionate intensity greater than in harmonious days. Anyone who has observed life must have seen this, which, if we did not know something of the strange workings of the human heart, would be indeed a mystery. Joab was a plain fighting man; he saw in Absalom the most dangerous foe of the state, and when the retreating prince was caught by the head in the boughs of a great oak, Joab slew him with no more compunction than one would kill a rattlesnake. The king sat between the two gates, awaiting news from the front; he was far more interested in the welfare of Absalom than in his own kingdom. The watchman, standing aloft, saw a man running alone, followed soon by another. Ahimaaz arrived first, and shouted joyously the news of the great victory; but the king enquired, Is the young man Absalom safe? Ahimaaz did not dare tell him, but muttered something about a great tumult, the significance of which he had not waited to know. Then Cushi arrived in the same spirit of exultation; and the king asked, Is the young man Absalom safe? Cushi, with diplomatic tact, replied, May the enemies of the king all be as that young man now is. The overwhelming grief in David's heart left no room for any other emotion; his personal gain was forgotten in the loss of his selfish and cruel son. No cry of anguish that has come down from all the immeasurable woe of the past is more poignant than David's lamentation: O my son Absalom, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son! The years of imperial pride and glory, which have made monsters out of so many men, had never hardened the nature of David; the tenderness of his heart was ever greater than his ambition. General Joab was disgusted with David's behaviour, and told him exactly what he thought of it. David had never liked Joab or his family, and he did not forget this speech, which was like a knife in a green wound. He appointed Amasa in Joab's place; but he did not live to take it. Joab came up to Amasa affectionately, and said, “Art thou in health, my brother?" took him by the beard to kiss him, and with the other hand ran him through. Amasa wallowed in blood in the midst of the highway; a crowd gathered about his dead body, for this cold-hearted and treacherous murder shocked the whole nation. Joab retained his position as Captain of the host, and David seems to have been afraid of him; but after a long career of fighting loyally for the king, his good sense deserted the old soldier at last, and he made the fatal mistake of supporting Prince Adonijah, who, in David's old age, rebelled against his father, and announced himself king. David was too feeble to exert himself; but Bathsheba came in, and reminded him of his promise that Solomon should be his heir. He therefore made a public proclamation to that effect, which caused such general rejoicing that the followers of Adonijah disappeared like a mist, and left him in ridiculous isolation. On his deathbed, David sent for Solomon and said, as Joshua had said before him: I go the way of all the earth: be thou strong therefore, and shew thyself a man: And keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in His ways . . . . . as it is written in the law of Moses. He left two death warrants for Solomon to execute; one for Joab, and one for Shimei, a blackguard who had cursed him during the temporary success of Absalom. But those who then stood by him were to be remembered in kindness by his son. No figure in history is more real than David; he stands before us, with his grandeur and his littleness, his virtues and his crimes. No warrior was ever more beloved by the mighty men who fought for him, and the episode where he refused to drink of the water that his captains had brought to him at the risk of their lives—for they had to fight their way to the well, and then fight their way back, spilling blood without spilling water-is perhaps the most charming in his career; for it shows not only the greatness, but the fineness of his nature. No modern historian, whatever his personal bias, can injure David or blacken his memory, for the simple reason that we already know the worst that can be said against him; the Bible does not spare him. But in the opinion of most unprejudiced readers, David is not only an imposing but an attractive personality; we admire the great king and we love the true-hearted man. |