FROM the city of Samaria to the banks of the Jordan was some thirty-five miles, considerably more than a day’s journey each way. It lacked an hour of noon when they started, so Naaman’s party was obliged to encamp over night, and it was late the following afternoon when they finally reached their destination. With an eagerness that knew no faltering, no uncertainty, Isaac had led the way. Now, finding a shallow spot in the turbulent river near one of the fords, a spot warmed for hours by the summer sun, Naaman had dipped seven times, as directed, the seventh turning vague hope into joyous certainty. He was healed every whit! Joy knew no bounds. The king’s representatives had embraced him and each other. Israel was saved! The Syrian embassy was scarcely less contained. Even the camel drivers from the desert and the lowest of the servants shouted with loud voices and great enthusiasm and Naaman beamed upon them all, but it was Isaac to whom his first words of relief and happiness had been addressed, and Isaac upon whom he smiled with tenderness and even affection.
With hearts attuned to see the wonderful yellows and browns of the Valley of Jezreel in late summer, their horses’ hoofs had again pattered its long expanse, the laden camels and asses driven in the rear. One more night they had encamped and now they came straggling up the hill they had descended three days before. But the young leader had made a slight error in judgment as to the time of arrival. It was shortly after sunset, a few minutes past the hour when the city closed its gates—and no man came to open! Lemuel, companion of Isaac’s old scouting days, approached him with a respect so profound that its insincerity was patent.
“Sir, there be not room among this crowd of mendicants,” glancing contemptuously at other belated travelers, “to spread our camping equipment with due regard to our importance, and without it we shall find the night dews too heavy to be pleasant. I pray thee have the gates opened without delay that thy servants may render thee the honor due so great a captain.”
Annoyed, Isaac ceased thundering at the gates and became aware of the murmuring among his own party and the derision of the merchants and others who, like themselves, seemed doomed to spend the night with only the city walls for a covering while the chill air of the mountains penetrated even the thickest of garments. The voice of Naaman commanded silence. He spoke compassionately to Isaac.
“My son, he at whom the multitude throws roses feels mostly the thorns. He who by any act becomes more noticeable than his fellows is the target for their envy. Only a brave man can afford to be prominent. Do I not know, I, the veteran of a hundred wars and judged of all? Courage in the peril of battle I know thou hast, Isaac, for with mine own eyes have I beheld, but courage in the peril of success, hast thou fortitude sufficient for this?”
The Syrian party had unconsciously drawn closer together, away from the motley crowd of late-comers who were striving to make themselves comfortable in the shadow of the walls and were fighting energetically for the best places. The king’s representatives, in another group, were making a determined onslaught upon the stout gates with their swords and spears. Lemuel again drew near Isaac, this time in hurried pompousness.
“Answer thou wisely,” he said in an undertone. “He meaneth to reward thee. Remember that I have been thy friend, thy companion since boyhood, intimate enough for such jesting as I had with thee a moment ago.”
Isaac shook off the counsel impatiently. His action had been inspired with no thought of reward, save in the joy of the little maid; yet Naaman was rich and generous and a gift not unlikely. If given a choice, he knew what he should ask. He had considered the matter, but the plan did not include Lemuel. The latter fell back a pace. His words had reached no other ears than those for whom they were intended, being drowned in the din of the pounding on the gate. Naaman, amiable in the delight of physical relief, gave a few brief directions and his party settled down to waiting with whatever calmness they could muster. Audible complaints ceased. At last, on top of the city wall, a watchman was seen approaching from the tower at the far corner. At first a speck in the distance as he made the rounds of the wall leisurely, he finally stood near enough to the gate to survey the assemblage outside. With unsympathetic eye he viewed the poorer travelers and the belated merchants, but a change came over his countenance as he beheld the king’s representatives and the Syrian embassy. Instantly he disappeared within the city and the party without drew a sigh of content.
Yet the gate was not opened; that is, not the great gate. A smaller one within the larger was flung wide and the watchman appeared with obsequious interest: “Behold the needle’s eye. Enter thou and thy beasts.”
The men could get through readily, and even the horses could with difficulty, but hard is it indeed for a camel to go through the eye of a needle! They were made to kneel and then, with much tugging and cursing and shouting their drivers at last succeeded in getting them through its narrow space. The asses required almost as much effort, having to be unladen and their burdens strapped upon them once more on the city-side of the gate. Finally, only the chariots and the least important luggage remained under guard without while the watchman closed the small gate decisively against the envious groups left deriding and pleading and cursing in the shadow of the walls.
The next morning Naaman’s company again stood before the abode of Elisha. Again was it surrounded by gaping throngs. Again had the city of Samaria cause to be both curious and joyful. Did not all wish to gaze upon this great foreign diplomat who had been healed in the Jordan? Did not his recovery mean that war had been averted from Israel? What would he say to the prophet and what part of his goodly treasure would he leave behind? Part of this question had been answered before it had been asked; answered before he left the palace, when he had proffered a gift to the king, a gift generous in itself but small in comparison with what he had brought, most of which was intended for the Man of God.
Naaman’s visit to the prophet, however, had an even greater significance than the crowd surmised. In fact, his errand was threefold. First, he had come to bring a thank-offering. Second, he wished to make public confession of his belief in that Jehovah who, though Israel’s national God,[5] should now be his own. Third, he desired greatly to have the prophet’s advice on a matter which weighed heavily upon his mind. This time he was not required to deal with the servant, Gehazi. Instead, with all the elaborate courtesy of the East, Naaman was received by Elisha in person. Not with the abruptness and haste which we of the West are pleased to call “business,” but with deliberation and delicacy, Naaman made known his errand.
“Behold, now know I that there is no God in all the earth but in Israel; now therefore, I pray thee, take a blessing of thy servant,” and Naaman stretched forth his hand toward the camels laden with treasure, those rich stores of which Damascus was proud and which, brought in this form, was the current idea of wealth.
Elisha demurred. “As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, I will receive none.”
Naaman stared. Surely he did not mean it. This was merely the usual reluctance, the hypocritical hesitancy which might be expected. All over the Orient it was customary to give presents to the various holy men who were successful interpreters of the wills of their respective gods, and none ever refused. This man had a different manner: a courtesy without servility, an assurance without bigotry, self-respect without self-esteem, but he was human! Once and again Naaman urged acceptance of the offering, but Elisha was firm. A murmur of surprise ran through the ranks of the Syrians and Naaman turned impatiently, commanding their withdrawal that he and the seer might converse in private. Isaac, sole attendant upon his master, as Gehazi was upon Elisha, communed with himself: “So saith the little maid,” and went over in his mind her protests against this gift and his own worldly-wise replies. So different was Jehovah from other gods! So unusual a man was his prophet!
Finding insistence useless, Naaman with fine feeling ignored the benefit he had thought to confer and begged instead that a favor be granted him. “Shall not then, I pray thee, be given to thy servant two mules’ burden of earth?” From the land Jehovah was supposed to especially bless Naaman would take sufficient holy ground to erect in heathen Syria an altar to this new God. “For thy servant will henceforth offer neither burnt-offering nor sacrifice unto other gods but only unto Jehovah.”
The prophet graciously gave consent and dispatched Gehazi with servants of their visitor to see that proper attention be given the matter.
Naaman’s brow clouded as his host stood waiting in dignified civility. Drawing nearer, he spoke in tones which betrayed his agitation of mind. “In this thing, however, the Lord pardon thy servant; that when my master, the king, goeth into the House of Rimmon to worship there (for thou knowest that my master, the king, leaneth upon the hand of thy servant) and I must needs bow myself in the House of Rimmon as its worship requireth; when I bow myself I make request that the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.”
For a moment the prophet did not speak and Naaman waited anxiously. His was not a nature which could practice deception or tolerate it in others, yet between his own religious convictions and his official duties as a member of the Syrian Court was a great gulf fixed. Elisha’s answer fell upon his hungry heart like a refreshing shower on parched ground.
“It is well. Go thou in peace.”
The great soldier prostrated himself before the seer, who politely bade him rise, and their farewells over—those long farewells of the Orient—the Syrian embassy turned its face homeward, wondering greatly at what it had seen and heard.
Through the gate of the house just left peered a frowning face. Gehazi, servant to the prophet, had regarded his master’s decision concerning the gift with some displeasure. True, Elisha was not poor, but to allow wealth to pass as lightly through his fingers as a man openeth his hand and droppeth seed in sowing time! But stay, should not his own services be rewarded with a little, a very little indeed, of what this foreigner was reluctantly carrying away? His eyes, lighted with cupidity, grew cautious as they searched the apartments within for trace of his master. In a moment he had shut the gate softly and stepped outside.
Isaac, hearing behind them the footsteps of a runner, looked backward curiously, checking his horse. Naaman, hearing at the same moment, commanded his charioteer to stop while he dismounted. Walking a few steps toward the runner, whom he perceived to be the prophet’s servant, he greeted him anxiously.
“Is all well?”
The man reassured him. “All is well, but my master hath sent me, saying, ‘Behold even now there be come to me from Mount Ephraim two young men of the Sons of the Prophet. Give them, I pray thee, a talent of silver and two changes of garments.’”
In answer to this request, Naaman generously insisted upon giving more than was desired: “Be content, take two talents,” and although Gehazi objected with well simulated humility there was in his tones no such decisive finality as had been present in the voice of his master.
Calling two of the servants, Naaman saw to it that they bore before the messenger the heavy silver, cut and weighed, and the two changes of fine raiment. Well satisfied that at least something of all he had taken had been accepted, the Syrian captain reentered his chariot and the party waited for the return of the burden bearers. Isaac looked after the trio questioningly.
“There be many Sons of the Prophet,” he reasoned with himself, “would their leader, the Man of God, honor two above the rest? Nay, it seemeth not so to me. Somehow I like not this man Gehazi. Never once, in all of our dealings, hath he looked my master or me straight in the eye!”
At the same moment another mind was dealing with the same problem. Gehazi, elated at Naaman’s generosity, had been likewise perplexed. To receive a present was one thing, to dispose of it quite another, especially in view of the two servants who carried the treasure and before whom he must act the part of Elisha’s messenger as he had represented himself to be. At the tower in the vineyard at the foot of the hill he dismissed the men and took the burden himself, staggering under its weight. Within the house he hastily disposed of his new possessions and betook himself to his master, wondering if his absence had been noted and striving to assume an air of innocence by busying himself about necessary tasks.
Elisha’s keen eye rested upon the guilty countenance: “Whence comest thou, Gehazi?”
“Thy servant went no whither.”
The prophet’s righteous indignation was kindled at the falsehood. “Went not my heart with thee when the man turned back from his chariot to meet thee?”
The fear in the craven face opposite told its own story. The prophet’s wrath overflowed. To have upheld the honor of the Lord of Hosts and then this misrepresentation! “Is it a time to receive money and to receive garments and olive-yards and vineyards and sheep and oxen and men servants and maid servants? The leprosy therefore of Naaman shall cleave unto thee and unto thy seed forever.”
Gehazi cowered, weeping and pleading, but the stern edict had gone forth. Already he knew himself to be the loathsome object Naaman had once been, and at the same hour when Isaac lay down to sleep with a smile upon his face, Gehazi rent his garments and cried aloud outside the gate through which Greed had driven him.