BEN_HUR.

1880
BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST
by Lew Wallace
BOOK FIRST.

CHAPTER I.
INTO THE DESERT.

THE Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more in length,
and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it a likeness to a
caterpillar crawling from the south to the north. Standing on its
red-and-white cliffs, and looking off under the path of the rising
sun, one sees only the Desert of Arabia, where the east winds, so
hateful to the vine-growers of Jericho, have kept their playgrounds
since the beginning. Its feet are well covered by sands tossed from
the Euphrates, there to lie; for the mountain is a wall to the
pasture-lands of Moab and Ammon on the west- lands which else had been
of the desert a part.
The Arab has impressed his language upon everything south and east
of Judea; so, in his tongue, the old Jebel is the parent of numberless
wadies which, intersecting the Roman road- now a dim suggestion of
what once it was, a dusty path for Syrian pilgrims to and from
Mecca- run their furrows, deepening as they go, to pass the torrents
of the rainy season into the Jordan, or their last receptacle, the
Dead Sea. Out of one of these wadies- or, more particularly, out of
that one which rises at the extreme end of the Jebel, and, extending
east of north, becomes at length the bed of the Jabbok River- a
traveller passed, going to the tablelands of the desert. To this
person the attention of the reader is first besought.
Judged by his appearance, he was quite forty-five years old. His
beard, once of the deepest black, flowing broadly over his breast, was
streaked with white. His face was brown as a parched coffee-berry, and
so hidden by a red kufiyeh (as the kerchief of the head is at this day
called by the children of the desert) as to be but in part visible.
Now and then he raised his eyes, and they were large and dark. He
was clad in the flowing garments so universal in the East; but their
style may not be described more particularly, for he sat under a
miniature tent, and rode a great white dromedary.
It may be doubted if the people of the West ever overcome the
impression made upon them by the first view of a camel equipped and
loaded for the desert. Custom, so fatal to other novelties, affects
this feeling but little. At the end of long journeys with caravans,
after years of residence with the Bedawin, the Western-born,
wherever they may be, will stop and wait the passing of the stately
brute. The charm is not in the figure, which not even love can make
beautiful; nor in the movement, the noiseless stepping, or the broad
careen. As is the kindness of the sea to a ship, so is that of the
desert to its creature. It clothes him with all its mysteries; in such
manner, too, that while we are looking at him we are thinking of them:
therein is the wonder. The animal which now came out of the wady might
well have claimed the customary homage. Its colour and height; its
breadth of foot; its bulk of body, not fat, but overlaid with
muscle; its long, slender neck, of swan-like curvature; the head, wide
between the eyes, and tapering to a muzzle which a lady's bracelet
might have almost clasped; its motion, step long and elastic, tread
sure and soundless- all certified its Syrian blood, old as the days of
Cyrus, and absolutely priceless. There was the usual bridle,
covering the forehead with scarlet fringe and garnishing the throat
with pendent brazen chains, each ending with a tinkling silver bell;
but to the bridle there was neither rein for the rider nor strap for a
driver. The furniture perched on the back was an invention which
with any other people than those of the East would have made the
inventor renowned. It consisted of two wooden boxes, scarce four
feet in length, balanced so that one hung at each side; the inner
space, softly lined and carpeted, was arranged to allow the master
to sit or lie half reclined; over it all was stretched a green awning.
Broad back and breast straps, and girths, secured with countless knots
and ties, held the device in place. In such manner the ingenious
sons of Cush had contrived to make comfortable the sunburnt ways of
the wilderness, along which lay their duty as often as their pleasure.
When the dromedary lifted itself out of the last break of the
wady, the traveller had passed the boundary of El Belka, the ancient
Ammon. It was morning time. Before him was the sun, half curtained
in fleecy mist; before him also spread the desert; not the realm of
drifting sands, which was farther on, but the region where the herbage
began to dwarf; where the surface is strewn with boulders of
granite, and grey and brown stones, interspersed with languishing
acacias and tufts of camel-grass. The oak, bramble and arbutus lay
behind as if they had come to a line, looked over into the well-less
waste, and crouched with fear.
And now there was an end of path or road. More, than ever the
camel seemed insensibly driven; it lengthened and quickened its
pace, its head pointed straight towards the horizon; through the
wide nostrils it drank the wind in great draughts. The litter
swayed, and rose and fell like a boat in the waves. Dried leaves in
occasional beds rustled underfoot. Sometimes a perfume like absinthe
sweetened all the air. Lark, and chat, and rock-swallow leaped to
wing, and white partridges ran whistling and clucking out of the
way. More rarely a fox or a hyena quickened his gallop, to study the
intruders at a safe distance. Off to the right rose the hills of the
Jebel, the pearl-grey veil resting upon them changing momentarily into
a purple which the sun would make matchless a little later. Over their
highest peaks a vulture sailed on broad wings into widening circles.
But of all these things the tenant under the green tent saw nothing,
or, at least, made no sign of recognition. His eyes were fixed and
dreamy. The going of the man, like that of the animal, was as one
being led.
For two hours the dromedary swung forward, keeping the trot steadily
and the line due east. In that time the traveller never changed his
position, nor looked to the right or left. On the desert, distance
is not measured by miles or leagues, but by the saat, or hour, and the
manzil, or halt: three-and-a-half leagues fill the former, fifteen
or twenty-five the latter; but they are the rates for the common
camel. A carrier of the genuine Syrian stock can make three leagues
easily. At full speed he overtakes the ordinary winds. As one of the
results of the rapid advance, the face of the landscape underwent a
change. The Jebel stretched along the western horizon, like a
pale-blue ribbon. A tell, or hummock of clay and cemented sand,
arose here and there. Now and then basaltic stones lifted their
round crowns, outposts of the mountain against the forces of the
plain; all else, however, was sand, sometimes smooth as the beaten
beach, then heaped in rolling ridges; here chopped waves, there long
swells. So, too, the condition of the atmosphere changed. The sun,
high risen, had drunk his fill of dew and mist, and warmed the
breeze that kissed the wanderer under the awning; far and near he
was tinting the earth with faint milk-whiteness, and shimmering all
the sky.
Two hours more passed without rest or deviation from the course.
Vegetation entirely ceased. The sand, so crusted on the surface that
it broke into rattling flakes at every step, held undisputed sway. The
Jebel was out of view, and there was no landmark visible. The shadow
that before followed had now shifted to the north, and was keeping
even race with the objects which cast it; and as there was no sign
of halting, the conduct of the traveller became each moment more
strange.
No one, be it remembered, seeks the desert for a pleasure-ground.
Life and business traverse it by paths along which the bones of things
dead are strewn as so many blazons. Such are the roads from well to
well, from pasture to pasture. The heart of the most veteran sheik
beats quicker when he finds himself alone in the pathless tracts. So
the man with whom we are dealing could not have been in search of
pleasure; neither was his manner that of a fugitive: not once did he
look behind him. In such situations fear and curiosity are the most
common sensations; he was not moved by them. When men are lonely, they
stoop to any companionship; the dog becomes a comrade, the horse a
friend, and it is no shame to shower them with caresses and speeches
of love. The camel received no such token, not a touch, not a word.
Exactly at noon the dromedary, of its own will, stopped, and uttered
the cry or moan, peculiarly piteous, by which its kind always
protest against an overload, and sometimes crave attention and rest.
The master thereupon bestirred himself, waking, as it were, from
sleep. He threw the curtains of the houdah up, looked at the sun,
surveyed the country on every side long and carefully, as if to
identify an appointed place. Satisfied with the inspection, he drew
a deep breath and nodded, much as to say, "At last, at last!" A moment
after, he crossed his hands upon his breast, bowed his head, and
prayed silently. The pious duty done, he prepared to dismount. From
his throat proceeded the sound heard doubtless by the favourite camels
of Job- ikh! ikh!- the signal to kneel. Slowly the animal obeyed,
grunting the while. The rider then put his foot upon the slender neck,
and stepped upon the sand.
CHAPTER II.
MEETING OF THE WISE MEN.

THE man as now revealed was of admirable proportions, not so tall as
powerful. Loosening the silken rope which held the kufiyeh on his
head, he brushed the fringed folds back until his face was bare- a
strong face, almost negro in color; yet the low, broad forehead,
aquiline nose, the outer corners of the eyes turned slightly upward,
the hair profuse, straight, harsh, of metallic lustre, and falling
to the shoulder in many plaits, were signs of origin impossible to
disguise. So looked the Pharaohs and the later Ptolemies; so looked
Mizraim, father of the Egyptian race. He wore the kamis, a white
cotton shirt, tight-sleeved, open in front, extending to the ankles
and embroidered down the collar and breast, over which was thrown a
brown woollen cloak, now, as in all probability it was then, called
the aba, an outer garment with long skirt and short sleeves, lined
inside with stuff of mixed cotton and silk, edged all round with a
margin of clouded yellow. His feet were protected by sandals, attached
by thongs of soft leather. A sash held the kamis to his waist. What
was very noticeable, considering he was alone and that the desert
was the haunt of leopards and lions, and men quite as wild, he carried
no arms, not even the crooked stick used for guiding camels; wherefore
we may at least infer his errand peaceful, and that he was either
uncommonly bold or under extraordinary protection.
The traveller's limbs were numb, for the ride had been long and
wearisome; so he rubbed his hands and stamped his feet, and walked
round the faithful servant, whose lustrous eyes were closing in calm
content with the cud he had already found. Often, while making the
circuit, he paused and, shading his eyes with his hands, examined
the desert to the extremest verge of vision; and always, when the
survey was ended, his face clouded with disappointment, slight, but
enough to advise a shrewd spectator that he was there expecting
company, if not by appointment; at the same time, the spectator
would have been conscious of a sharpening of the curiosity to learn
what the business could be that required transaction in a place so far
from civilized abode.
However disappointed, there could be little doubt of the
stranger's confidence in the coming of the expected company. In
token thereof, he went first to the litter, and, from the cot or box
opposite the one he had occupied in coming, produced a sponge and a
small gurglet of water, with which he washed the eyes, face, and
nostrils of the camel; that done, from the same depository he drew a
circular cloth, red-and-white-striped, a bundle of rods, and a stout
cane. The latter, after some manipulation, proved to be a cunning
device of lesser joints, one within another, which, when united
together, formed a centre pole higher than his head. When the pole was
planted, and the rods set around it, he spread the cloth over them,
and was literally at home- a home much smaller than the habitations of
emir and sheik, yet their counterpart in all other respects. From
the litter again he brought a carpet or square rug, and covered the
floor of the tent on the side from the sun. That done, he went out,
and once more, and with greater care and more eager eyes, swept the
encircling country. Except a distant jackal galloping across the
plain, and an eagle flying towards the Gulf of Akaba, the waste below,
like the blue above it, was lifeless.
He turned to the camel, saying low, and in a tongue strange to the
desert, "We are far from home, O racer with the swiftest winds- we are
far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient."
Then he took some beans from a pocket in the saddle, and put them in
a bag made to hang below the animal's nose; and when he saw the relish
with which the good servant took to the food, he turned and again
scanned the world of sand, dim with the glow of the vertical sun.
"They will come," he said, calmly. "He that led me is leading
them. I will make ready."
From the pouches which lined the interior of the cot, and from a
willow basket which was part of its furniture, he brought forth
materials for a meal: platters close-woven of the fibres of palms;
wine in small gurglets of skin; mutton dried and smoked; stoneless
shami, or Syrian pomegranates; dates of El Shelebi, wondrous rich
and grown in the nakhil, or palm orchards, of Central Arabia;
cheese, like David's "slices of milk"; and leavened bread from the
city bakery- all which he carried and set upon the carpet under the
tent. As the final preparation, about the provisions he laid three
pieces of silk cloth, used among refined people of the East to cover
the knees of guests while at table- a circumstance significant of
the number of persons who were to partake of his entertainment- the
number he was awaiting.
All was now ready. He stepped out: lo! in the east a dark speck on
the face of the desert. He stood as if rooted to the ground; his
eyes dilated; his flesh crept chilly, as if touched by something
supernatural. The speck grew; became large as a hand; at length
assumed defined proportions. A little later, full into view swung a
duplication of his own dromedary, tall and white, and bearing a
houdah, the travelling litter of Hindostan. Then the Egyptian
crossed his hands upon his breast, and looked to heaven.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, his eyes full of tears, his
soul in awe.
The stranger drew nigh- at last stopped. Then he, too, seemed just
waking. He beheld the kneeling camel, the tent, and the man standing
prayerfully at the door. He crossed his hands, bent his head, and
prayed silently; after which, in a little while, he stepped from his
camel's neck to the sand, and advanced towards the Egyptian, as did
the Egyptian towards him. A moment they looked at each other; then
they embraced- that is, each threw his right arm over the other's
shoulder, and the left round the side, placing his chin first upon the
left, then upon the right breast.
"Peace be with thee, O servant of the true God!" the stranger said.
"And to thee, O brother of the true faith!- to thee peace and
welcome," the Egyptian replied, with fervour.
The new-comer was tall and gaunt, with lean face, sunken eyes, white
hair and beard, and a complexion between the hue of cinnamon and
bronze. He, too, was unarmed. His costume was Hindostani; over the
skull-cap a shawl was wound in great folds, forming a turban; his body
garments were in the style of the Egyptian's, except that the aba
was shorter, exposing wide flowing breeches gathered at the ankles. In
place of sandals, his feet were clad in half-slippers of red
leather, pointed at the toes. Save the slippers, the costume from head
to foot was of white linen. The air of the man was high, stately,
severe. Visvamitra, the greatest of the ascetic heroes of the Iliad of
the East, had in him a perfect representative. He might have been
called a Life drenched with the wisdom of Brahma- Devotion
Incarnate. Only in his eyes was there proof of humanity; when he
lifted his face from the Egyptian's breast they were glistening with
tears.
"God only is great!" he exclaimed, when the embrace was finished.
"And blessed are they that serve Him!" the Egyptian answered,
wondering at the paraphrase of his own exclamation. "But let us wait,"
he added, "Let us wait; for see, the other comes yonder!"
They looked to the north, where, already plain to view, a third
camel, of the whiteness of the others came careening like a ship. They
waited, standing together- waited until the new-comer arrived,
dismounted, and advanced towards them.
"Peace to you, O my brother!" he said, while embracing the Hindoo.
And the Hindoo answered, "God's will be done!"
The last comer was all unlike his friends; his frame was slighter;
his complexion white; a mass of waving light hair was a perfect
crown for his small but beautiful head; the warmth of his dark-blue
eyes certified a delicate mind, and a cordial, brave nature. He was
bareheaded and unarmed. Under the folds of the Tyrian blanket which he
wore with unconscious grace appeared a tunic, short-sleeved and
low-necked, gathered to the waist by a band, and reaching nearly to
the knee; leaving the neck, arms, and legs bare. Sandals guarded his
feet. Fifty years, probably more, had spent themselves upon him,
with no other effect, apparently, than to tinge his demeanour with
gravity and temper his words with forethought. The physical
organization and the brightness of soul were untouched. No need to
tell the student from what kindred he was sprung; if he came not
himself from the groves of Athene, his ancestry did.
When his arms fell from the Egyptian, the latter said, with a
tremulous voice, "The Spirit brought me first; wherefore I know myself
chosen to be the servant of my brethren. The tent is set, and the
bread is ready for the breaking. Let me perform my office."
Taking each by the hand, he led them within, and removed their
sandals and washed their feet, and he poured water upon their hands,
and dried them with napkins.
Then, when he had laved his own hands, he said, "Let us take care of
ourselves, brethren, as our service requires, and eat, that we may
be strong for what remains of the day's duty. While we eat, we will
each learn who the others are, and whence they come, and how they
are called."
He took them to the repast, and seated them so that they faced
each other. Simultaneously their heads bent forward, their hands
crossed upon their breasts, and, speaking together, they said aloud
this simple grace-
"Father of all- God!- what we have here is of Thee; take our
thanks and bless us, that we may continue to do Thy will."
With the last word they raised their eyes, and looked at each
other in wonder. Each had spoken in a language never before heard by
the others; yet each understood perfectly what was said. Their souls
thrilled with divine emotion; for by the miracle they recognized the
Divine Presence.
CHAPTER III.
THE ATHENIAN SPEAKS- FAITH.

To speak in the style of the period, the meeting just described took
place in the year of Rome 747. The month was December, and winter
reigned over all the regions east of the Mediterranean. Such as ride
upon the desert in this season go not far until smitten with a keen
appetite. The company under the little tent were not exceptions to the
rule. They were hungry, and ate heartily; and, after the wine, they
talked.
"To a wayfarer in a strange land nothing is so sweet as to hear
his name on the tongue of a friend," said the Egyptian, who assumed to
be president of the repast. "Before us lie many days of companionship.
It is time we knew each other. So, if it be agreeable, he who came
last shall be first to speak."
Then, slowly at first, like one watchful of himself, the Greek
began-
"What I have to tell, my brethren, is so strange that I hardly
know where to begin or what I may with propriety speak. I do not yet
understand myself. The most I am sure of is that I am doing a Master's
will, and that the service is a constant ecstasy. When I think of
the purpose I am sent to fulfill, there is in me a joy so
inexpressible that I know the will is God's."
The good man paused, unable to proceed, while the others, in
sympathy with his feelings, dropped their gaze.
"Far to the west of this," he began again, "there is a land which
may never be forgotten; if only because the world is too much its
debtor, and because the indebtedness is for things that bring to men
their purest pleasures. I will say nothing of the arts, nothing of
philosophy, of eloquence, of poetry, of war: O my brethren, hers is
the glory which must shine forever in perfected letters, by which He
we go to find and proclaim will be made known to all the earth. The
land I speak of is Greece. I am Gaspar, son of Cleanthes the
Athenian."
"My people," he continued, "were given wholly to study, and from
them I derived the same passion. It happens that two of our
philosophers, the very greatest of the many teach, one the doctrine of
a Soul in every man, and its Immortality; the other the doctrine of
One God, infinitely just. From the multitude of subjects about which
the schools were disputing, I separated them, as alone worth the
labour of solution; for I thought there was a relation between God and
the soul as yet unknown. On this theme the mind can reason to a point,
a dead, impassable wall; arrived there, all that remains is to stand
and cry aloud for help. So I did; but no voice came to me over the
wall. In despair, I tore myself from the cities and the schools."
At these words a grave smile of approval lighted the gaunt face of
the Hindoo.
"In the northern part of my country- in Thessaly," the Greek
proceeded to say, "there is a mountain famous as the home of the gods,
where Theus, whom my countrymen believe supreme, has his abode:
Olympus is its name. Thither I betook myself. I found a cave in a hill
where the mountain, coming from the west, bends to the south-east;
there I dwelt, giving myself up to meditation- no, I gave myself up to
waiting for what every breath was a prayer- for revelation.
Believing in God, invisible yet supreme, I also believed it possible
so to yearn for Him with all my soul that He would take compassion and
give me answer."
"And He did- He did!" exclaimed the Hindoo, lifting his hands from
the silken cloth upon his lap.
"Hear me, brethren," said the Greek, calming himself with an effort.
"The door of my hermitage looks over an arm of the sea, over the
Themaic Gulf. One day I saw a man flung overboard from a ship
sailing by. He swam ashore. I received and took care of him. He was
a Jew, learned in the history and laws of his people; and from him I
came to know that the God of my prayers did indeed exist, and had been
for ages their lawmaker, ruler, and king. What was that but the
Revelation I dreamed of? My faith had not been fruitless; God answered
me!"
"As He does all who cry to Him with such faith," said the Hindoo.
"But, alas!" the Egyptian added, "how few are there wise enough to
know when He answers them!"
"That was not all," the Greek continued. "The man so sent to me told
me more. He said the prophets who, in the ages which followed the
first revelation, walked and talked with God, declared He would come
again. He gave me the names of the prophets, and from the sacred books
quoted their very language. He told me, further, that the second
coming was at hand- was looked for momentarily in Jerusalem."
The Greek paused, and the brightness of his countenance faded.
"It is true," he said after a little- "it is true the man told me
that as God and the revelation of which he spoke had been for the Jews
alone, so it would be again. He that was to come should be King of the
Jews. 'Had He nothing for the rest of the world?' I asked. 'No,' was
the answer, given in a proud voice- 'No, we are His chosen people.'
The answer did not crush my hope. Why should such a God limit His love
and benefaction to one land, and, as it were, to one family? I set
my heart upon knowing. At last I broke through the man's pride, and
found that his fathers had been merely chosen servants to keep the
Truth alive, that the world might at last know it and be saved. When
the Jew was gone, and I was alone again, I chastened my soul with a
new prayer- that I might be permitted to see the King when He was
come, and worship Him. One night I sat by the door of my cave trying
to get nearer the mysteries of my existence, knowing which is to
know God; suddenly, on the sea below me, or rather in the darkness
that covered its face, I saw a star begin to burn; slowly it arose and
drew nigh, and stood over the hill and above my door, so that its
light shone full. upon me. I fell down, and slept, and in my dream I
heard a voice say:-
"'O Gaspar! Thy faith hath conquered! Blessed art thou! With two
others, come from the uttermost parts of the earth, thou shalt see Him
that is promised, and be a witness for Him, and the occasion of
testimony in His behalf. In the morning arise, and go meet them, and
keep trust in the Spirit that shall guide thee.'
"And in the morning I awoke with the Spirit as a light within me
surpassing that of the sun. I put off my hermit's garb, and dressed
myself as of old. From a hiding-place I took the treasure which I
had brought from the city. A ship went sailing past. I hailed it,
was taken aboard, and landed at Antioch. There I bought the camel
and his furniture. Through the gardens and orchards that enamel the
banks of the Orontes, I journeyed to Emesa, Damascus, Bostra, and
Philadelphia; thence hither. And so, O brethren, you have my story.
Let me now listen to you."
CHAPTER IV.
SPEECH OF THE HINDOO- LOVE.

THE Egyptian and the Hindoo looked at each other; the former waved
his hand; the latter bowed, and began-
"Our brother has spoken well. May my words be as wise."
He broke off, reflected a moment, then resumed-
"You may know me, brethren, by the name of Melchior. I speak to
you in a language which, if not the oldest in the world, was at
least the soonest to be reduced to letters- I mean the Sanscrit of
India. I am a Hindoo by birth. My people were the first to walk in the
fields of knowledge, first to divide them, first to make them
beautiful. Whatever may hereafter befall, the four Vedas must live,
for they are the primal fountains of religion and useful intelligence.
From them were derived the Upa-Vedas, which delivered by Brahma, treat
of medicine, archery, architecture, music, and the four-and-sixty
mechanical arts, the Ved-Angas, revealed by inspired saints, and
devoted to astronomy, grammar, prosody, pronunciation, charms and
incantations, religious rites and ceremonies; the Up-Angas, written by
the sage Vyasa, and given to cosmogony, chronology, and geography;
therein also are the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, heroic poems
designed for the perpetuation of our gods and demi-gods. Such, O
brethren, are the Great Shastras, or books of sacred ordinances.
They are dead to me now; yet through all time they will serve to
illustrate the budding genius of my race. They were promises of
quick perfection. Ask you why the promises failed? Alas! the books
themselves closed all the gates of progress. Under pretext of care for
the creature, their authors imposed the fatal principle that a man
must not address himself to discovery or invention, as Heaven had
provided him all things needful. When that condition became a sacred
law, the lamp of Hindoo genius was let down a well, where ever since
it has lighted narrow walls and bitter waters.
"These allusions, brethren, are not from pride, as you will
understand when I tell you that the Shastras teach a Supreme God
called Brahm; also, that the Puranas, or sacred poems of the Up-Angas,
tell us of Virtue and Good Works, and of the Soul. So, if my brother
will permit the saying"- the speaker bowed deferentially to the Greek-
"ages before his people were known, the two great ideas, God and the
Soul, had absorbed all the forces of the Hindoo mind. In further
explanation, let me say that Brahm is taught, by the same sacred
books, as a Triad- Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Of these, Brahma is said
to have been the author of our race; which, in course of creation,
he divided into four castes. First, he peopled the worlds below and
the heavens above; next, he made the earth ready for terrestrial
spirits; then from his mouth proceeded the Brahman caste, nearest in
likeness to himself, highest and noblest, sole teachers of the
Vedas, which at the same time flowed from his lips in finished
state, perfect in all useful knowledge. From his arms next issued
the Kshatriya, or warriors; from his breast, the seat of life, came
the Vaisya, or producers- shepherds, farmers, merchants; from his
foot, in sign of degradation, sprang the Sudra, or serviles, doomed to
menial duties for the other classes- serfs, domestics, labourers,
artisans. Take notice, further, that the law, so born with them,
forbade a man of one caste becoming a member of another; the Brahman
could not enter a lower order; if he violated the laws of his own
grade, he became an outcast, lost to all but outcasts like himself."
At this point, the imagination of the Greek, flashing forward upon
all the consequences of such a degradation, overcame his eager
attention, and he exclaimed, "In such a state, O brethren, what mighty
need of a loving God!"
"Yes," added the Egyptian, "of a loving God like ours."
The brows of the Hindoo knit painfully; when the emotion was
spent, he proceeded, in a softened voice-
"I was born a Brahman. My life, consequently, was ordered down to
its least act, its last hour. My first draught of nourishment; the
giving me my compound name; taking me out the first time to see the
sun; investing me with the triple thread by which I became one of
the twice-born; my induction into the first order- were all celebrated
with sacred texts and rigid ceremonies. I might not walk, eat,
drink, or sleep without danger of violating a rule. And the penalty, O
brethren, the penalty was to my soul! According to the degrees of
omission, my soul went to one of the heavens- Indra's the lowest,
Brahma's the highest; or it was driven back to become the life of a
worm, a fly, a fish, or a brute. The reward for perfect observance was
Beatitude, or absorption into the being of Brahm, which was not
existence as much as absolute rest."
The Hindoo gave himself a moment's thought; proceeding, he said,
"The part of a Brahman's life called the first order is his student
life. When I was ready to enter the second order- that is to say, when
I was ready to marry and became a householder- I questioned
everything, even Brahm; I was a heretic. From the depths of the well I
had discovered a light above, and yearned to go up and see what all it
shone upon. At last- ah, with what years of toil!- I stood in the
perfect day, and beheld the principle of life, the element of
religion, the link between the soul and God- Love!"
The shrunken face of the good man kindled visibly, and he clasped
his hands with force. A silence ensued, during which the others looked
at him, the Greek through tears. At length he resumed:
"The happiness of love is in action; its test is what one is willing
to do for others. I could not rest. Brahm had filled the world with so
much wretchedness. The Sudra appealed to me; so did the countless
devotees and victims. The island of Ganga Lagor lies where the
sacred waters of the Ganges disappear in the Indian Ocean. Thither I
betook myself. In the shade of the temple built there to the sage
Kapila, in a union of prayers with the disciples whom the sanctified
memory of the holy man keeps around his house, I thought to find rest.
But twice every year came pilgrimages of Hindoos seeking the
purification of the waters. Their misery strengthened my love. Against
its impulse to speak, I clenched my jaws; for one word against Brahm
or the Triad or the Shastras would doom me; one act of kindness to the
outcast Brahmans who now and then dragged themselves to die on the
burning sands- a blessing said, a cup of water given- and I became one
of them, lost to family, country, privileges, caste. The love
conquered! I spoke to the disciples in the temple; they drove me
out. I spoke to the pilgrims; they stoned me from the island. On the
highways I attempted to preach; my hearers fled from me, or sought
my life. In all India, finally, there was not a place in which I could
find peace or safety- not even among the outcasts; for though
fallen, they were still believers in Brahm. In my extremity, I
looked for a solitude in which to hide from all but God. I followed
the Ganges to its source, far up in the Himalayas. When I entered
the pass at Hurdwar, where the river, in unstained purity leaps to its
course through the muddy lowlands, I prayed for my race, and thought
myself lost to them forever. Through gorges, over cliffs, across
glaciers, by peaks that seemed star-high, I made my way to the Lang
Tso, a lake of marvellous beauty, asleep at the feet of the Tise
Gangri, the Gurla, and the Kailas Parbot, giants which flaunt their
crowns of snow everlastingly in the face of the sun. There, in the
centre of the earth; where the Indus, Ganges, and Brahma-pootra rise
to run their different courses; where mankind took up their first
abode, and separated to replete the world, leaving Balk, the mother of
cities, to attest the great fact; where Nature, gone back to its
primeval condition, and secure in its immensities, invites the sage
and the exile, with promise of safety to the one and solitude to the
other- there I went to abide alone with God, praying, fasting, waiting
for death."
Again the voice fell, and the bony hands met in a fervent clasp.
"One night I walked by the shores of the lake, and spoke to the
listening silence, 'When will God come and claim His own? Is there
to be no redemption?' Suddenly a light began to glow tremulously out
on the water; soon a star arose, and moved towards me, and stood
overhead. The brightness stunned me. While I lay upon the ground, I
heard a voice of infinite sweetness say, 'Thy love hath conquered.
Blessed art thou, O son of India! The redemption is at hand. With
two others, from far quarters of the earth, thou shalt see the
Redeemer, and be a witness that He hath come. In the morning arise,
and go meet them, and put all thy trust in the Spirit which shall
guide thee.'
"And from that time the light has stayed with me; so I knew it was
the visible presence of the Spirit. In the morning I started to the
world by the way I had come. In a cleft of the mountain I found a
stone of vast worth, which I sold in Hurdwar. By Lahore, and Cabool,
and Yezd, I came to Ispahan. There I bought the camel, and thence
was led to Bagdad, not waiting for caravans. Alone I travelled,
fearless, for the Spirit was with me, and is with me yet. What glory
is ours, O brethren! We are to see the Redeemer- to speak to Him- to
worship Him! I am done!"
CHAPTER V.
THE EGYPTIAN'S STORY- GOOD WORKS.

THE vivacious Greek broke forth in expressions of joy and
congratulations; after which the Egyptian said, with characteristic
gravity-
"I salute you, my brother. You have suffered much, and I rejoice
in your triumph. If you are both pleased to hear me, I will now tell
you who I am, and how I came to be called. Wait for me a moment."
He went out and tended the camels; coming back, he resumed his seat.
"Your words, brethren, were of the Spirit," he said, in
commencement; "and the Spirit gives me to understand them. You each
spoke particularly of your countries; in that there was a great object
which I will explain; but to make the interpretation complete, let
me first speak of myself and my people. I am Balthasar the Egyptian."
The last words were spoken quietly, but with so much dignity that
both listeners bowed to the speaker.
"There are many distinctions I might claim for my race," he
continued; "but I will content myself with one. History began with us.
We were the first to perpetuate events by records kept. So we have
no traditions; and instead of poetry, we offer you certainty. On the
facades of palaces and temples, on obelisks, on the inner walls of
tombs, we wrote the names of our kings, and what they did; and to
the delicate papyri we entrusted the wisdom of our philosophers and
the secrets of our religion- all the secrets but one, whereof I will
presently speak. Older than the Vedas of Para-Brahm or the Up-Angas of
Vyasa, O Melchior; older than the songs of Homer or the metaphysics of
Plato, O my Gaspar; older than the sacred books or kings of the people
of China, or those of Siddartha, son of the beautiful Maya; older than
the Genesis of Mosche the Hebrew- oldest of human records are the
writings of Menes, our first king." Pausing an instant, he fixed his
large eyes kindly upon the Greek, saying, "In the youth of Hellas,
who, O Gaspar, were the teachers of her teachers?"
The Greek bowed, smiling.
"By those records," Balthasar continued, "we know that when the
fathers came from the far East, from the region of the birth of the
three sacred rivers, from the centre of the earth- the Old Iran of
which you spoke, O Melchior- came bringing with them the history of
the world before the Flood, and of the Flood itself, as given to the
Aryans by the sons of Noah, they taught God, the Creator and the
Beginning, and the Soul, deathless as God. When the duty which calls
us now is happily done, if you choose to go with me, I will show you
the sacred library of our priesthood; among others, the Book of the
Dead, in which is the ritual to be observed by the soul after Death
has despatched it on its journey to judgment. The ideas- God and the
Immortal Soul- where borne to Mizraim over the desert, and by him to
the banks of the Nile. They were then in their purity, easy of
understanding, as what God intends for our happiness always is; so,
also, was the first worship- a song and a prayer natural to a soul
joyous, hopeful, and in love with its Maker."
Here the Greek threw up his hands, exclaiming, "Oh the light deepens
within me!"
"And in me!" said the Hindoo, with equal fervour.
The Egyptian regarded them benignantly, then went on, saying,
"Religion is merely the law which binds man to his Creator: in
purity it has but these elements- God, the Soul, and their Mutual
Recognition; out of which, when put in practice, spring Worship, Love,
and Reward. This law, like all others of divine origin- like that, for
instance, which binds the earth to the sun- was perfected in the
beginning by its Author. Such, my brothers was the religion of the
first family; such was the religion of our father Mizraim, who could
not have been blind to the formula of creation, nowhere so discernible
as in the first faith and the earliest worship. Perfection is God;
simplicity is perfection. The curse of curses is that men will not let
truths like these alone."
He stopped, as if considering in what manner to continue.
"Many nations have loved the sweet waters of the Nile," he said
next; "the Ethiopian, the Pali-Putra, the Hebrew, the Assyrian, the
Persian, the Macedonian, the Roman- of whom all, except the Hebrew,
have at one time or another been its masters. So much coming and going
of peoples corrupted the old Mizraimic faith. The Valley of Palms
became a Valley of Gods. The Supreme One was divided into eight,
each personating a creative principle in nature, with Ammon-Re at
the head. Then Isis and Osiris, and their circle, representing
water, fire, air, and other forces, were invented. Still the
multiplication went on until we had another order, suggested by
human qualities, such as strength, knowledge, love, and the like."
"In all which there was the old folly!" cried the Greek,
impulsively. "Only the things out of reach remain as they came to us."
The Egyptian bowed, and proceeded-
"Yet a little further, O my Brethren, a little further, before I
come to myself. What we go to will seem all the holier of comparison
with what it is and has been. The records show that Mizraim found
the Nile in possession of the Ethopians, who were spread thence
through the African desert; a people of rich, fantastic genius, wholly
given to the worship of nature. The poetic Persian sacrificed to the
sun, as the completest image of Ormuzd, his God; the devout children
of the far East carved their deities out of wood and ivory; but the
Ethiopian, without writing, without books, without mechanical
faculty of any kind, quieted his soul by the worship of animals,
birds, and insects, holding the cat sacred to Re, the bull to Isis,
the beetle to Pthah. A long struggle against their rude, faith ended
in its adoption as the religion of the new empire. Then rose the
mighty monuments that cumber the riverbank and the desert- obelisk,
labyrinth, pyramid, and tomb of king, blent with tomb of crocodile.
Into such deep debasement, O brethren, the sons of the Aryan fell!"
Here, for the first time, the calmness of the Egyptian forsook
him: though his countenance remained impassive, his voice gave way.
"Do not too much despise my countrymen," he began again. "They did
not all forget God. I said awhile ago, you may remember, that to
papyri we entrusted all the secrets of our religion except one; of
that I will now tell you. We had as king once a certain Pharaoh, who
lent himself to all manner of changes and additions. To establish
the new system, he strove to drive the old entirely out of mind. The
Hebrews then dwelt with us as slaves. They clung to their God; and
when the persecution became intolerable, they were delivered in a
manner never to be forgotten. I speak from the records now. Mosche,
himself a Hebrew, came to the palace, and demanded permission for
the slaves, then millions in number, to leave the country. The
demand was in the name of the Lord God of Israel. Pharaoh refused.
Hear what followed. First, all the water, that in the lakes and
rivers, like that in the wells and vessels, turned to blood. Yet the
monarch refused. Then frogs came up and covered all the land. Still he
was firm. Then Mosche threw ashes in the air, and plague attacked
the Egyptians. Next, all the cattle, except of the Hebrews, were
struck dead. Locusts devoured the green things of the valley. At
noon the day was turned into a darkness so thick that lamps would
not burn. Finally, in the night all the first-born of the Egyptians
died; not even Pharaoh's escaped. Then he yielded. But when the
Hebrews were gone he followed them with his army. At the last moment
the sea was divided, so that the fugitives passed it dry-shod. When
the pursuers drove in after them, the waves rushed back, and
drowned- horse, foot, charioteers, and king. You spoke of
revelation, my Gaspar- "
The blue eyes of the Greek sparkled.
"I had the story from the Jew," he cried. "You confirm it, O
Balthasar!"
"Yes, but through me Egypt speaks, not Mosche. I interpret the
marbles. The priests of that time wrote in their way what they
witnessed, and the revelation has lived. So I come to the one
unrecorded secret. In my country, brethren, we have, from the day of
the unfortunate Pharaoh, always had two religions- one private, the
other public; one of many gods, practised by the people; the other
of one God, cherished only by the priesthood. Rejoice with me, O
brothers! All the trampling by the many nations, all the harrowing
by kings, all the inventions of enemies, all the changes of time, have
been in vain. Like a seed under the mountains waiting its hour, the
glorious Truth has lived; and this- this is its day!"
The wasted frame of the Hindoo trembled with delight, and the
Greek cried aloud-
"It seems to me the very desert is singing."
From a gurglet of water near-by the Egyptian took a draught, and
proceeded-
"I was born at Alexandria, a prince and a priest, and had the
education usual to my class. But very early I became discontented.
Part of the faith imposed was that after death, upon the destruction
of my body, the soul at once began its former progression from the
lowest up to humanity, the highest and last existence; and that
without reference to conduct in the mortal life. When I heard of the
Persian's Realm of Light, his Paradise across the bridge Chinevat,
where only the good go, the thought haunted me; insomuch that in the
day, as in the night, I brooded over the comparative ideas Eternal
Transmigration and Eternal Life in Heaven. If, as my teacher taught,
God was just, why was there no distinction between the good and the
bad? At length it became clear to me, a certainty, a corollary of
the law to which I reduced pure religion, that death was only the
point of separation at which the wicked are left or lost, and the
faithful rise to a higher life; not the nirvana of Buddha, or the
negative rest of Brahma, O Melchior; nor the better condition in hell,
which is all of Heaven allowed by the Olympic faith, O Gaspar; but
life- life active, joyous, everlasting- LIFE WITH GOD! The discovery
led to another inquiry. Why should the Truth be longer kept a secret
for the selfish solace of the priesthood? The reason for the
suppression was gone. Philosophy had at least brought us toleration.
In Egypt we had Rome instead of Rameses. One day, in the Brucheium,
the most splendid and crowded quarter of Alexandria, I arose and
preached. The East and West contributed to my audience. Students going
to the Library, priests from the Serapeion, idlers from the Museum,
patrons of the race-course, countrymen from the Rhacotis- a multitude-
stopped to hear me. I preached God, the Soul, Right and Wrong, and
Heaven, the reward of a virtuous life. You, O Melchior, were stoned;
my auditors first wondered, then laughed. I tried again; they pelted
me with epigrams, covered my God with ridicule, and darkened my Heaven
with mockery. Not to linger needlessly, I fell before them."
The Hindoo here drew a long sigh, as he said, "The enemy of man is
man, my brother."
Balthasar lapsed into silence.
"I gave much thought to finding the cause of my failure, and at last
succeeded," he said, upon beginning again. "Up the river, a day's
journey from the city, there is a village of herdsmen and gardeners. I
took a boat and went there. In the evening I called the people
together, men and women, the poorest of the poor. I preached to them
exactly as I had preached in the Brucheium. They did not laugh. Next
evening I spoke again, and they believed and rejoiced, and carried the
news abroad. At the third meeting a society was formed for prayer. I
returned to the city then. Drifting down the river, under the stars,
which never seemed so bright and so near, I evolved this lesson:- To
begin a reform, go not into the places of the great and rich; go
rather to those whose cups of happiness are empty- to the poor and
humble. And then I laid a plan and devoted my life. As a first step, I
secured my vast property, so that the income would be certain, and
always at call for the relief of the suffering. From that day, O
brethren, I travelled up and down the Nile in the villages, and to all
the tribes, preaching One God, a righteous life, and reward in Heaven.
I have done good- it does not become me to say how much. I also know
that part of the world to be ripe for the reception of Him we go to
find."
A flush suffused the swarthy cheek of the speaker; but he overcame
the feeling, and continued:-
"The years so given, O my brothers, were troubled by one thought-
When I was gone, what would become of the cause I had started? Was
it to end with me? I had dreamed many times of organization as a
fitting crown for my work. To hide nothing from you, I had tried to
effect it, and failed. Brethren, the world is now in the condition
that, to restore the old Mizraimic faith, the reformer must have a
more than human sanction; he must not merely come in God's name, he
must have the proofs subject to His word; he must demonstrate all he
says, even God. So preoccupied is the mind with myths and systems;
so much do false deities crowd every place- earth, air, sky; so have
they become of everything a part, that return to the first religion
can only be along bloody paths, through fields of persecution; that is
to say, the converts must be willing to die rather than recant. And
who in this age can carry the faith of men to such a point but God
Himself? To redeem the race- I do not mean to destroy it- to redeem
the race, He must make Himself once more manifest: HE MUST COME IN
PERSON."
Intense emotion seized the three.
"Are we not going to find Him?" exclaimed the Greek.
"You understand why I failed in the attempt to organize," said the
Egyptian, when the spell was passed. "I had not the sanction. To
know that my work must be lost made me intolerably wretched. I
believed in prayer; and to make my appeals pure and strong, like
you, my brethren, I went out of the beaten ways- I went where man
had not been, where only God was. Above the fifth cataract, above
the meeting of rivers in Sennar, up the Bahr el Abiad, into the far
unknown of Africa, I went. There, in the morning, a mountain blue as
the sky flings a cooling shadow wide over the western desert, and,
with its cascades of melted snow, feeds a broad lake nestling at its
base on the east. The lake is the mother of the great river. For a
year and more the mountain gave me a home. The fruit of the palm fed
my body, prayer my spirit. One night I walked in the orchard close
by the little sea. 'The world is dying. When wilt Thou come? Why may I
not see the redemption, O God?' So I prayed. The glassy water was
sparkling with stars. One of them seemed to leave its place and rise
to the surface, where it became a brilliancy burning to the eyes. Then
it moved towards me, and stood over my head, apparently in hand's
reach. I fell down and hid my face. A voice, not of the earth, said,
'Thy good works have conquered. Blessed art thou, O son of Mizraim!
The redemption cometh. With two others, from the remoteness of the
world, thou shalt see the Saviour, and testify for Him. In the morning
arise, and go meet them. And when ye have all come to the holy city of
Jerusalem, ask of the people, Where is He that is born King of the
Jews? for we have seen His star in the East, and are sent to worship
Him. Put all thy trust in the Spirit which will guide thee.'
"And the light became an inward illumination not to be doubted,
and has stayed with me, a governor and a guide. It led me down the
river to Memphis, where I made ready for the desert. I bought my
camel, and came hither without rest, by way of Suez and Kufileh, and
up through the lands of Moab and Ammon. God is with us, O my
brethren!"
He paused, and thereupon, with a prompting not their own, they all
arose, and looked at each other.
"I said there was a purpose in the particularity with which we
described our peoples and their histories," so the Egyptian proceeded.
"He we go to find was called 'King of the Jews;' by that name we are
bidden to ask for Him. But, now that we have met, and heard from
each other, we may know Him to be the Redeemer, not of the Jews alone,
but of all the nations of the earth. The patriarch who survived the
Flood had with him three sons, and their families, by whom the world
was repeopled. From the old Aryana-Vaejo, the well-remembered Region
of Delight in the heart of Asia, they parted. India and the far East
received the children of the first; the descendants of the youngest,
through the North, streamed into Europe; those of the second
overflowed the deserts about the Red Sea, passing into Africa; and
though most of the latter are yet dwellers in shifting tents, some
of them became builders along the Nile."
By a simultaneous impulse the three joined hands.
"Could anything be more divinely ordered?" Balthasar continued.
"When we have found the Lord, the brothers, and all the generations
that have succeeded them, will kneel to Him in homage with us. And
when we part to go our separate ways, the world will have learned a
new lesson- that Heaven may be won, not by the sword, not by human
wisdom, but by Faith, Love, and Good Works."
There was silence, broken by sighs and sanctified with tears; for
the joy that filled them might not be stayed. It was the unspeakable
joy of souls on the shores of the River of Life, resting with the
Redeemed in God's presence.
Presently their hands fell apart, and together they went out of
the tent. The desert was still as the sky. The sun was sinking fast.
The camels slept.
A little while after, the tent was struck, and, with the remains
of the repast, restored to the cot; then the friends mounted, and
set out single file, led by the Egyptian. Their course was due west,
into the chilly night. The camels swung forward in steady trot,
keeping the line and the intervals so exactly that those following
seemed to tread in the tracks of the leader. The riders spoke not
once.
By-and-by the moon came up. And as the three tall, white figures
sped, with soundless tread, through the opalescent light, they
appeared like spectres flying from hateful shadows. Suddenly, in the
air before them, not farther up than a low hill-top, flared a
lambent flame; as they looked at it, the apparition contracted into
a focus of dazzling lustre. Their hearts beat fast; their souls
thrilled; and they shouted as with one voice, "The Star! the Star! God
is with us!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE JOPPA GATE.

IN an aperture of the western wall of Jerusalem hang the "oaken
valves" called the Bethlehem or Joppa Gate. The area outside of them
is one of the notable places of the city. Long before David coveted
Zion, there was a citadel there. When at last the son of Jesse
ousted the Jebusite, and began to build, the site of the citadel
became the northwest corner of his new wall, defended by a tower
much more imposing than the old one. The location of the gate,
however, was not disturbed, for the reasons, most likely, that the
roads which met and merged in front of it could not well be
transferred to any other point, while the area outside had become a
recognized market-place. In Solomon's day there was great traffic at
the locality, shared in by traders from Egypt, and the rich dealers
from Tyre and Sidon. Nearly three thousand years have passed, and
yet a kind of commerce clings to the spot. A pilgrim wanting a pin
or a pistol, a cucumber or a camel, a house or a horse, a loan or a
lentil, a date or a dragoman, a melon or a man, a dove or a donkey,
has only to inquire for the article at the Joppa Gate. Sometimes the
scene is quite animated, and then it suggests, What a place the old
market must have been in the days of Herod the Builder! And to that
period and that market the reader is now to be transferred.
Following the Hebrew system, the meeting of the wise men described
in the preceding chapters took place in the afternoon of the
twenty-fifth day of the third month of the year; that is to say, on
the twenty-fifth day of December. The year was the second of the 193rd
Olympiad, or the 747th of Rome; the sixty-seventh of Herod the
Great, and the thirty-fifth of his reign; the fourth before the
beginning of the Christian era. The hours of the day, by Judean
custom, begin with the sun, the first hour being the first after
sunrise; so, to be precise, the market at the Joppa Gate during the
first hour of the day stated was in full session, and very lively. The
massive walls had been wide open since dawn. Business, always
aggressive, had pushed, through the arched entrance into a narrow lane
and court, which, passing by the walls of the great tower, conducted
on into the city. As Jerusalem is in the hill country, the morning air
on this occasion was not a little crisp. The rays of the sun, with
their promise of warmth, lingered provokingly far up on the
battlements and turrets of the great piles about, down from which fell
the crooning of pigeons, and the whir of the flocks coming and going.
As a passing acquaintance with the people of the Holy City,
strangers as well as residents, will be necessary to an
understanding of some of the pages which follow, it will be well to
stop at the gate and pass the scene in review. Better opportunity will
not offer to get sight of the populace who will afterwhile go
forward in a mood very different from that which now possesses them.
The scene is at first one of utter confusion- confusion of action,
sounds, colours, and things. It is especially so in the lane and
court. The ground there is paved with broad unshaped flags, from which
each cry and jar and hoof-stamp arises to swell the medley that
rings and roars up between the solid impending walls. A little
mixing with the throng; however, a little familiarity with the
business going on, will make analysis possible.
Here stands a donkey, dozing under panniers full of lentils,
beans, onions, and cucumbers, brought fresh from the gardens and
terraces of Galilee. When not engaged in serving customers, the
master, in a voice which only the initiated can understand, cries
his stock. Nothing can be simpler than his costume- sandals, and an
unbleached, undyed blanket, crossed over one shoulder and girt round
the waist. Near-by, and far more imposing and grotesque, though
scarcely as patient as the donkey, kneels a camel, rawboned, rough,
and grey, with long shaggy tufts of fox-coloured hair under its
throat, neck, and body, and a load of boxes and baskets curiously
arranged upon an enormous saddle. The owner is an Egyptian, small,
lithe, and of a complexion which has borrowed a good deal from the
dust of the roads and the sands of the desert. He wears a faded
tarbooshe, a loose gown, sleeveless, unbelted, and dropping from the
neck to the knee. His feet are bare. The camel, restless under the
load, groans and occasionally shows his teeth; but the man paces
indifferently to and fro, holding the driving-strap, and all the
time advertising his fruits fresh from the orchards of the Kedron-
grapes, dates, figs, apples, and pomegranates.
At the corner where the lane opens out into the court, some women
sit with their backs against the grey stones of the wall. Their
dress is that common to the humbler class of the country- a linen
frock extending the full length of the person, loosely gathered at the
waist; and a veil or wimple broad enough, after covering the head,
to wrap the shoulders. Their merchandise is contained in a number of
earthen jars, such as are still used in the East for bringing water
from the wells, and some leathern bottles. Among the jars and bottles,
rolling upon the stony floor, regardless of the crowd and cold,
often in danger but never hurt, play half-a-dozen half-naked children;
their brown bodies, jetty eyes, and thick blade hair attesting the
blood of Israel. Sometimes, from under the wimples, the mothers look
up, and in the vernacular modestly bespeak their trade: in the bottles
"honey of grapes," in the jars "strong drink." Their entreaties are
generally lost in the general uproar, and they fare illy against the
many competitors: brawny fellows with bare legs, dirty tunics, and
long beards, going about with bottles lashed to their backs, and
shouting, "Honey of wine! Grapes of En-Gedi!" When a customer halts
one of them, round comes the bottle, and, upon lifting the thumb
from the nozzle, out into the ready cup gushes the deep-red blood of
the luscious berry.
Scarcely less blatant are the dealers in birds- doves, ducks, and
frequently the singing bulbul, or nightingale, most frequently
pigeons; and buyers, receiving them from the nets, seldom fail to
think of the perilous life of the catchers, bold climbers of the
cliffs; now hanging with hand and foot to the face of the crag, now
swinging in a basket far down the mountain fissure.
Blent with peddlers of jewellery- sharp men cloaked in scarlet and
blue, top-heavy under prodigious white turbans, and fully conscious of
the power there is in the lustre of a ribbon and the incisive gleam of
gold, whether in bracelet or necklace, or in rings for the finger or
the nose- and with peddlers of household utensils, and with dealers in
wearing-apparel, and with retailers of unguents for anointing the
person, and with hucksters of all articles, fanciful as well as of
need, hither and thither, tugging at halters and ropes, now screaming,
now coaxing, toil the vendors of animals- donkeys, horses, calves,
sheep, bleating kids, and awkward camels; animals of every kind except
the outlawed swine. All these are there; not singly, as described, but
many times repeated; not in one place, but everywhere in the market.
Turning from this scene in the lane and court, this glance at the
sellers and their commodities, the reader has need to give
attention, in the next place, to visitors and buyers, for which the
best studies will be found outside the gates, where the spectacle is
quite as varied and animated; indeed, it may be more so, for there are
superadded the effects of tent, booth, and sook, greater space, larger
crowd, more unqualified freedom, and the glory of the Eastern
sunshine.
CHAPTER VII.
TYPICAL CHARACTERS AT THE JOPPA GATE.

LET us take our stand by the gate, just out of the edge of the
currents- one flowing in, the other out- and use our eyes and ears
awhile.
In good time! Here come two men of a most noteworthy class.
"Gods! How cold it is!" says one of them, a powerful figure in
armour; on his head a brazen helmet, on his body a shining breastplate
and skirts of mail. "How cold it is! Dost thou remember, my Caius,
that vault in the Comitium at home which the flamens say is the
entrance to the lower world? By Pluto, I could stand there this
morning long enough at least to get warm again!"
The party addressed drops the hood of his military cloak, leaving
bare his head and face, and replies, with an ironic smile, "The
helmets of the legions which conquered Mark Antony were full of Gallic
snow; but thou- ah, my poor friend!- thou has just come from Egypt,
bringing its summer in thy blood."
And with the last word they disappear through the entrance. Though
they had been silent, the armour and the sturdy step would have
published them Roman soldiers.
From the throng a Jew comes next, meagre of frame, round-shouldered,
and wearing a coarse brown robe; over his eyes and face, and down
his back, hangs a mat of long, uncombed hair. He is alone. Those who
meet him laugh, if they do not worse; for he is a Nazarite, one of a
despised sect which rejects the books of Moses, devotes itself to
abhorred vows, and goes unshorn while the vows endure.
As we watch his retiring figure, suddenly there is a commotion in
the crowd, a parting quickly to the right and left, with
exclamations sharp and decisive. Then the cause comes- a man, Hebrew
in feature and dress. The mantle of snow-white linen, held to his head
by cords of yellow silk, flows free over his shoulders; his robe is
richly embroidered; a red sash with fringes of gold wraps his waist
several times. His demeanour is calm; he even smiles upon those who,
with such rude haste, make room for him. A leper? No; he is only a
Samaritan. The shrinking crowd, if asked, would say he is a mongrel-
an Assyrian- whose touch of the robe is pollution; from whom,
consequently, an Israelite, though dying, might not accept life. In
fact, the feud is not of blood. When David set his throne here on
Mount Zion, with only Judah to support him, the ten tribes betook
themselves to Shechem, a city much older, and, at that date,
infinitely richer in holy memories. The final union of the tribes
did not settle the dispute thus begun. The Samaritans clung to their
tabernacle on Gerizim, and, while maintaining its superior sanctity,
laughed at the irate doctors in Jerusalem. Time brought no assuagement
of the hate. Under Herod, conversion to the faith was open to all
the world except the Samaritans; they alone were absolutely and
forever shut out from communion with Jews.
As the Samaritan goes in under the arch of the gate, out come
three men so unlike all whom we have yet seen that they fix our
gaze, whether we will or not. They are of unusual stature and
immense brawn; their eyes are blue, and so fair is their complexion
that the blood shines through the skin like blue pencilling; their
hair is light and short; their heads, small and round, rest squarely
upon necks columnar as the trunks of trees. Woollen tunics, open at
the breast, sleeveless and loosely girt, drape their bodies, leaving
bare arms and legs of such development that they at once suggest the
arena; and when thereto we add their careless, confident, insolent
manner, we cease to wonder that the people give them way, and stop
after they have passed to look at them again. They are gladiators-
wrestlers, runners, boxers, swordsmen; professionals unknown in
Judea before the coming of the Roman; fellows who, what time they
are not in training, may be seen strolling through the king's
gardens or sitting with the guards at the palace gates; or possibly
they are visitors from Caesarea, Sebaste, or Jericho; in which
Herod, more Greek than Jew, and with all a Roman's love of games and
bloody spectacles, has built vast theatres, and now keeps schools of
fighting-men, drawn, as is the custom, from the Gallic provinces, or
the Slavic tribes on the Danube.
"By Bacchus!" says one of them, drawing his clenched hand to his
shoulder, "their skulls are not thicker than egg-shells."
The brutal look which goes with the gesture disgusts us, and we turn
happily to something more pleasant.
Opposite us is a fruit-stand. The proprietor has a bald head, a long
face, and a nose like the beak of a hawk. He sits upon a carpet spread
upon the dust; the wall is at his back; overhead hangs a scant
curtain; around him, within hand's reach and arranged upon little
stools, lie osier boxes full of almonds, grapes, figs, and
pomegranates. To him now comes one at whom we cannot help looking,
though for another reason than that which fixed our eyes upon the
gladiators: he is really beautiful- a beautiful Greek. Around his
temples, holding the waving hair, is a crown of myrtle, to which still
cling the pale flowers and half-ripe berries. His tunic, scarlet in
colour, is of the softest woollen fabric; below the girdle of buff
leather, which is clasped in front by a fantastic device of shining
gold, the skirt drops to the knee in folds heavy with embroidery of
the same royal metal; a scarf, also woollen, and of mixed white and
yellow, crosses his throat and falls trailing at his back; his arms
and legs, where exposed, are white as ivory, and of the polish
impossible except by perfect treatment with bath, oil, brushes, and
pincers.
The dealer, keeping his seat, bends forward, and throws his hands up
until they meet in front of him, palm downwards and fingers extended.
"What hast thou, this morning, O son of Paphos?" says the young
Greek, looking at the boxes rather than at the Cypriote. "I am hungry.
What hast thou for breakfast?"
"Fruits from the Pedius- genuine- such as the singers of Antioch
take of mornings to restore the waste of their voices," the dealer
answers, in a querulous nasal tone.
"A fig, but not one of thy best, for the singers of Antioch!" says
the Greek. "Thou art a worshipper of Aphrodite, and so am I, as the
myrtle I wear proves; therefore I tell thee their voices have the
chill of a Caspian wind. Seest thou this girdle?- a gift of the mighty
Salome- "
"The king's sister!" exclaims the Cypriote, with another salaam.
"And of royal taste and divine judgment. And why not? She is more
Greek than the king. But- my breakfast! Here is thy money- red coppers
of Cyprus. Give me grapes, and- "
"Wilt thou not take the dates also?"
"No, I am not an Arab."
"Nor figs?"
"That would make me a Jew. No, nothing but the grapes. Never
waters mixed so sweetly as the blood of the Greek and the blood of the
grape."
The singer in the grimed and seething market, with all his airs of
the court, is a vision not easily shut out of mind by such as see him;
as if for the purpose, however, a person follows him challenging all
our wonder. He comes up the road slowly, his face towards the
ground; at intervals he stops, crosses his hands upon his breast,
lengthens his countenance, and turns his eyes towards heaven, as if
about to break into prayer. Nowhere, except in Jerusalem, can such a
character be found. On his forehead, attached to the band which
keeps the mantle in place, projects a leathern case, square in form;
another similar case is tied by a thong to the left arm; the borders
of his robe are decorated with deep fringe; and by such signs- the
phylacteries, the enlarged borders of the garment, and the savour of
intense holiness pervading the whole man- we know him to be a
Pharisee, one of an organization (in religion a sect, in politics a
party) whose bigotry and power will shortly bring the world to grief.
The densest of the throng outside the gate covers the road leading
off to Joppa. Turning from the Pharisee, we are attracted by some
parties who, as subjects of study, opportunely separate themselves
from the motley crowd. First among them a man of very noble
appearance- clear, healthful complexion; bright black eyes; beard long
and flowing, and rich with unguents; apparel well-fitting, costly, and
suitable for the season. He carries a staff, and wears, suspended by a
cord from his neck, a large golden seal. Several servants attend
him, some of them with short swords stuck through their sashes; when
they address him, it is with the utmost deference. The rest of the
party consists of two Arabs of the pure desert stock; thin, wiry
men, deeply bronzed, and with hollow cheeks, and eyes of almost evil
brightness; on their heads red tarbooshes; over their abas, and
wrapping the left shoulder and the body so as to leave the right arm
free, brown woollen haicks, or blankets. There is loud chaffering; for
the Arabs are leading horses and trying to sell them; and, in their
eagerness, they speak in high, shrill voices. The courtly person
leaves the talking mostly to his servants; occasionally he answers
with much dignity; directly, seeing the Cypriote, he stops and buys
some figs. And when the whole party has passed the portal, close after
the Pharisee, if we betake ourselves to the dealer in fruits, he
will tell, with a wonderful salaam, that the stranger is a Jew, one of
the princes of the city, who has travelled, and learned the difference
between the common grapes of Syria and those of Cyprus, so
surpassingly rich with the dews of the sea.
And so, till towards noon, sometimes later, the steady currents of
business habitually flow in and out of the Joppa Gate, carrying with
them every variety of character; including representatives of all
the tribes of Israel, all the sects among whom the ancient faith has
been parcelled and refined away, all the religious and social
divisions, all the adventurous rabble who, as children of art and
ministers of pleasure, riot in the prodigalities of Herod, and all the
peoples of note at any time compassed by the Caesars and their
predecessors, especially those dwelling within the circuit of the
Mediterranean.
In other words, Jerusalem, rich in sacred history, richer in
connection with sacred prophecies- the Jerusalem of Solomon, in
which silver was as stones, and cedars as the sycamores of the vale-
had come to be but a copy of Rome, a centre of unholy practices, a
seat of pagan power. A Jewish king one day put on priestly garments,
and went into the Holy of Holies of the first temple to offer incense,
and he came out a leper; but in the time of which we are reading,
Pompey entered Herod's temple and the same Holy of Holies, and came
out without harm, finding but an empty chamber, and of God not a sign.
CHAPTER VIII.
JOSEPH AND MARY GOING TO BETHLEHEM.

THE reader is now besought to return to the court described as
part of the market at the Joppa Gate. It was the third hour of the
day, and many of the people had gone away; yet the press continued
without apparent abatement. Of the new-comers, there was a group
over by the south wall, consisting of a man, a woman, and a donkey,
which requires extended notice.
The man stood by the animal's head, holding a leading-strap, and
leaning upon a stick which seemed to have been chosen for the double
purpose of goad and staff. His dress was like that of the ordinary
Jews around him, except that it had an appearance of newness. The
mantle dropping from his head, and the robe or frock which clothed his
person from neck to heel were probably the garments he was
accustomed to wear to the synagogue on Sabbath days. His features were
exposed and they told of fifty years of life, a surmise confirmed by
the grey that streaked his otherwise black beard. He looked around him
with the half-curious, half-vacant stare of a stranger and provincial.
The donkey ate leisurely from an armful of green grass, of which
there was an abundance in the market. In its sleepy content, the brute
did not admit of disturbance from the bustle and clamour about; no
more was it mindful of the woman sitting upon its back in a
cushioned pillion. An outer robe of dull woollen stuff completely
covered her person, while a white wimple veiled her head and neck.
Once in a while, impelled by curiosity to see or hear something
passing, she drew the wimple aside, but so slightly that the face
remained invisible.
At length the man was accosted.
"Are you not Joseph of Nazareth?"
The speaker was standing close by.
"I am so called," answered Joseph, turning gravely around. "And you-
ah, peace be unto you! my friend, Rabbi Samuel!"
"The same give I back to you." The Rabbi paused, looking at the
woman, then added, "To you, and unto your house and all your
helpers, be peace."
With the last word, he placed one hand upon his breast, and inclined
his head to the woman, who, to see him, had by this time withdrawn the
wimple enough to show the face of one but a short time out of
girlhood. Thereupon the acquaintances grasped right hands, as if to
carry them to their lips; at the last moment, however, the clasp was
let go, and each kissed his own hand, then put its palm upon his
forehead.
"There is so little dust upon your garments," the Rabbi said,
familiarly, "that I infer you passed the night in this city of our
fathers."
"No," Joseph replied, "as we could only make Bethany before the
night came, we stayed in the khan there, and took the road again at
daybreak."
"The journey before you is long, then- not to Joppa, I hope."
"Only to Bethlehem."
The countenance of the Rabbi, theretofore open and friendly,
became lowering and sinister, and he cleared his throat with a growl
instead of a cough.
"Yes, yes- I see," he said. "You were born in Bethlehem and wend
thither now, with your daughter, to be counted for taxation, as
ordered by Caesar. The children of Jacob are as the tribes in Egypt
were- only they have neither a Moses nor a Joshua. How are the
mighty fallen!"
Joseph answered, without change of posture or countenance-
"The woman is not my daughter."
But the Rabbi clung to the political idea; and he went on, without
noticing the explanation, "What are the Zealots doing down in
Galilee?"
"I am a carpenter, and Nazareth is a village," said Joseph,
cautiously. "The street on which my bench stands is not a road leading
to any city. Hewing wood and sawing plank leave me no time to take
part in the disputes of parties."
"But you are a Jew," said the Rabbi earnestly. "You. are a Jew,
and of the line of David. It is not possible you can find pleasure
in the payment of any tax except the shekel given by ancient custom to
Jehovah."
Joseph held his peace.
"I do not complain," his friend continued, "of the amount of the
tax- a denarius is a trifle. Oh, no! The imposition of the tax is
the offence. And, besides, what is paying it but submission to
tyranny? Tell me, is it true that Judas claims to be the Messiah?
You live in the midst of his followers."
"I have heard his followers say he was the Messiah," Joseph replied.
At this point the wimple was drawn aside, and for an instant the
whole face of the woman was exposed. The eyes of the Rabbi wandered
that way, and he had time to see a countenance of rare beauty, kindled
by a look of intense interest; then a blush overspread her cheeks
and brow, and the veil was returned to its place.
The politician forgot his subject.
"Your daughter is comely," he said, speaking lower.
"She is not my daughter," Joseph repeated.
The curiosity of the Rabbi was aroused; seeing which, the Nazarene
hastened to say further, "She is the child of Joachim and Anna of
Bethlehem, of whom you have at least heard; for they were of great
repute- "
"Yes," remarked the Rabbi, deferentially, "I know them. They were
lineally descended from David. I knew them well."
"Well, they are dead now," the Nazarene proceeded. "They died in
Nazareth. Joachim was not rich, yet he left a house and garden to be
divided between his daughters Marian and Mary. This is one of them;
and to save her portion of the property, the law required her to marry
her next of kin. She is now my wife."
"And you were- "
"Her uncle."
"Yes, yes! And as you were both born in Bethlehem, the Roman compels
you to take her there with you to be also counted."
The Rabbi clasped his hands, and looked indignantly to heaven,
exclaiming, "The God of Israel still lives! The vengeance is His!"
With that he turned and abruptly departed. A stranger near by,
observing Joseph's amazement, said quietly, "Rabbi Samuel is a zealot.
Judas himself is not more fierce."
Joseph, not wishing to talk with the man, appeared not to hear,
and busied himself gathering in a little heap the grass which the
donkey had tossed abroad; after which he leaned upon his staff
again, and waited.
In another hour the party passed out the gate, and, turning to the
left, took the road to Bethlehem. The descent into the valley of
Hinnom was quite broken, garnished here and there with straggling wild
olive-trees. Carefully, tenderly, the Nazarene walked by the woman's
side, leading-strap in hand. On their left, reaching to the south
and east round Mount Zion, rose the city wall, and on their right
the steep prominences which form the western boundary of the valley.
Slowly they passed the Lower Pool of Gihon, out of which the sun was
fast driving the lessening shadow of the royal hill; slowly they
proceeded, keeping parallel with the aqueduct from the Pools of
Solomon, until near the site of the country-house on what is now
called the Hill of Evil Counsel; there they began to ascend to the
plain of Rephaim. The sun streamed garishly over the stony face of the
famous locality, and under its influence Mary, the daughter of
Joachim, dropped the wimple entirely, and bared her head. Joseph
told the story of the Philistines surprised in their camp there by
David. He was tedious in the narrative, speaking with the solemn
countenance and lifeless manner of a dull man. She did not always hear
him.
Wherever on the land men go, and on the sea ships, the face and
figure of the Jew are familiar. The physical type of the race has
always been the same; yet there have been some individual
variations. "Now he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful
countenance, and goodly to look to." Such was the son of Jesse when
brought before Samuel. The fancies of men have been ever since ruled
by the description. Poetic license has extended the peculiarities of
the ancestor to his notable descendants. So all our ideal Solomons
have fair faces, and hair and beard chestnut in the shade, and of
the tint of gold in the sun. Such, we are also made believe, were
the locks of Absolom the beloved. And, in the absence of authentic
history, tradition has dealt no less lovingly by her whom we are now
following down to the native city of the ruddy king.
She was not more than fifteen. Her form, voice, and manner
belonged to the period of transition from girlhood. Her face was
perfectly oval, her complexion more pale than fair. The nose was
faultless; the lips, slightly parted, were full and ripe, giving to
the lines of the mouth warmth, tenderness, and trust; the eyes were
blue and large, and shaded by drooping lids and long lashes; and, in
harmony with all, a flood of golden hair, in the style permitted to
Jewish brides, fell unconfined down her back to the pillion on which
she sat. The throat and neck had the downy softness sometimes seen
which leaves the artist in doubt whether it is an effect of contour or
colour. To these charms of feature and person were added others more
indefinable- an air of purity which only the soul can impart, and of
abstraction natural to such as think much of things impalpable. Often,
with trembling lips, she raised her eyes to heaven, itself not more
deeply blue; often she crossed her hands upon her breast, as in
adoration and prayer; often she raised her head like one listening
eagerly for a calling voice. Now and then, midst his slow
utterances, Joseph turned to look at her, and, catching the expression
kindling her face as with light, forgot his theme, and with bowed
head, wondering, plodded on.
So they skirted the great plain, and at length reached the elevation
Mar Elias; from which, across a valley, they beheld Bethlehem, the
old, old House of Bread, its white walls crowning a ridge, and shining
above the brown scumbling of leafless orchards. They paused there
and rested, while Joseph pointed out the places of sacred renown; then
they went down into the valley to the well which was the scene of
one of the marvellous exploits of David's strong men. The narrow space
was crowded with people and animals. A fear came upon Joseph- a fear
lest, if the town were so thronged, there might not be house-room
for the gentle Mary. Without delay, he hurried on, past the pillar
of stone, marking the tomb of Rachel, up the gardened slope,
saluting none of the many persons he met on the way, until he
stopped before the portal of the khan that then stood outside the
village gates, near a junction of roads.
CHAPTER IX.
THE CAVE AT BETHLEHEM.

To understand thoroughly what happened to the Nazarene at the
khan, the reader must be reminded that Eastern inns were different
from the inns of the Western world. They were called khans, from the
Persian, and, in simplest form, were fenced enclosures, without
house or shed, often without a gate or entrance. Their sites were
chosen with reference to shade, defence, or water. Such were the
inns that sheltered Jacob when he went to seek a wife in Padan-Aram.
Their like may be seen at this day in the stopping-places of the
desert. On the other hand, some of them, especially those on the roads
between great cities, like Jerusalem and Alexandria, were princely
establishments, monuments to the piety of the kings who built them. In
ordinary, however, they were no more than the house or possession of a
sheik, in which, as in headquarters, he swayed his tribe. Lodging
the traveller was the least of their uses; they were markets,
factories, forts; places of assemblage and residence for merchants and
artisans quite as much as places of shelter for belated and
wandering wayfarers. Within their walls, all the year round,
occurred the multiplied daily transactions of a town.
The singular management of these hostelries was the feature likely
to strike a Western mind with most force. There was no host or
hostess; no clerk, cook, or kitchen; a steward at the gate was all the
assertion of government or proprietorship anywhere visible.
Strangers arriving stayed at will without rendering account. A
consequence of the system was that whoever came had to bring his
food and culinary outfit with him, or buy them of dealers in the khan.
The same rule held good as to his bed and bedding, and forage, for his
beasts. Water, rest, shelter, and protection were all he looked for
from the proprietor, and they were gratuities. The peace of synagogues
was sometimes broken by brawling disputants, but that of the khans
never. The houses and all their appurtenances were sacred: a well
was not more so.
The khan at Bethlehem, before which Joseph and his wife stopped, was
a good specimen of its class, being neither very primitive nor very
princely. The building was purely Oriental; that is to say, a
quadrangular block of rough stones, one storey high, flat-roofed,
externally unbroken by a window, and with but one principal
entrance- a doorway, which was also a gateway, on the eastern side, or
front. The road ran by the door so near that the chalk dust half
covered the lintel. A fence of flat rocks, beginning at the
northeastern corner of the pile, extended many yards down the slope to
a point from whence it swept westwardly to a limestone bluff; making
what was in the highest degree essential to a respectable khan- a safe
enclosure for animals.
In a village like Bethlehem, as there was but one sheik, there could
not well be more than one khan; and, though born in the place, the
Nazarene, from long residence elsewhere, had no claim to hospitality
in the town. Moreover, the enumeration for which he was coming might
be the work of weeks or months; Roman deputies in the provinces were
proverbially slow; and to impose himself and wife for a period so
uncertain upon acquaintances or relations was out of the question. So,
before he drew nigh the great house, while he was yet climbing the
slope, in the steep places toiling to hasten the donkey, the fear that
he might not find accommodations in the khan became a painful anxiety;
for he found the road thronged with men and boys who, with great
ado, were taking their cattle, horses, and camels to and from the
valley, some to water, some to the neighbouring caves. And when he was
come close by, his alarm was not allayed by the discovery of a crowd
investing the door of the establishment, while the enclosure
adjoining, broad as it was, seemed already full.
"We cannot reach the door," Joseph said, in his slow way. "Let us
stop here, and learn, if we can, what has happened."
The wife, without answering, quietly drew the wimple aside. The look
of fatigue at first upon her face changed to one of interest. She
found herself at the edge of an assemblage that could not be other
than a matter of curiosity to her, although it was common enough at
the khans on any of the highways which the great caravans were
accustomed to traverse. There were men on foot, running hither and
thither, talking shrilly and in all the tongues of Syria; men on
horseback screaming to men on camels; men struggling doubtfully with
fractious cows and frightened sheep; men peddling bread and wine;
and among the mass a herd of boys apparently in chase of a herd of
dogs. Everybody and everything seemed to be in motion at the same
time. Possibly the fair spectator was too weary to be long attracted
by the scene; in a little while she sighed, and settled down on the
pillion, and, as if in search of peace and rest, or in expectation
of some one, looked off to the south, and up to the tall cliffs of the
Mount of Paradise, then faintly reddening under the setting sun.
While she was thus looking, a man pushed his way out of the press,
and, stopping close by the donkey, faced about with an angry brow. The
Nazarene spoke to him.
"As I am what I take you to be, good friend- a son of Judah- may I
ask the cause of this multitude?"
The stranger turned fiercely; but, seeing the solemn countenance
of Joseph, so in keeping with his deep, slow voice and speech, he
raised his hand in half-salutation, and replied-
"Peace be to you, Rabbi! I am a son of Judah, and will answer you. I
dwell in Beth-Dagon, which, you know, is in what used to be the land
of the tribe of Dan."
"On the road to Joppa from Modin," said Joseph.
"Ah, you have been in Beth-Dagon," the man said, his face
softening yet more. "What wanderers we of Judah are! I have been
away from the ridge- old Ephrath, as our father Jacob called it- for
many years. When the proclamation went abroad requiring all Hebrews to
be numbered at the cities of their birth- That is my business here,
Rabbi."
Joseph's face remained stolid as a mask, while he remarked, "I
have come for that also- I and my wife."
The stranger glanced at Mary and kept silence. She was looking up at
the bald top of Gedor. The sun touched her upturned face, and filled
the violet depths of her eyes; and upon her parted lips trembled an
aspiration which could not have been to a mortal. For the moment,
all the humanity of her beauty seemed refined away: she was as we
fancy they are who sit close by the gate in the transfiguring light of
Heaven. The Beth-Dagonite saw the original of what, centuries after,
came as a vision of genius to Sanzio the divine, and left him
immortal.
"Of what was I speaking? Ah! I remember. I was about to say that
when I heard of the order to come here, I was angry. Then I thought of
the old hill, and the town, and the valley falling away into the
depths of Cedron; of the vines and orchards, and fields of grain,
unfailing since the days of Boaz and Ruth; of the familiar
mountains- Gedor here, Gibeah yonder, Mar Elias there- which, when I
was a boy, were the walls of the world to me; and I forgave the
tyrants and came- I, and Rachel, my wife, and Deborah and Michal,
our roses of Sharon."
The man paused again, looking abruptly at Mary, who was now
looking at him and listening. Then he said, "Rabbi, will not your wife
go to mine? You may see her yonder with the children, under the
leaning olive-tree at the bend of the road. I tell you"- he turned
to Joseph and spoke positively- "I tell you the khan is full. It is
useless to ask at the gate."
Joseph's will was slow, like his mind; he hesitated, but at length
replied, "The offer is kind. Whether there be room for us or not in
the house, we will go see your people. Let me speak to the
gatekeeper myself. I will return quickly."
And, putting the leading-strap in the stranger's hand, he pushed
into the stirring crowd.
The keeper sat on a great cedar block outside the gate. Against
the wall behind him leaned a javelin. A dog squatted on the block by
his side.
"The peace of Jehovah be with you," said Joseph, at last confronting
the keeper.
"What you give, may you find again; and, when found, be it many
times multiplied to you and yours," returned the watchman, gravely,
though without moving.
"I am a Bethlehemite," said Joseph, in his most deliberate way.
"Is there not room for- "
"There is not."
"You may have heard of me- Joseph of Nazareth. This is the house
of my fathers. I am of the line of David."
These words held the Nazarene's hope. If they failed him, further
appeal was idle, even that of the offer of many shekels. To be a son
of Judah was one thing- in the tribal opinion a great thing; to be
of the house of David was yet another; on the tongue of a Hebrew there
could be no higher boast. A thousand years and more had passed since
the boyish shepherd became the successor of Saul and founded a royal
family. Wars, calamities, other kings, and the countless obscuring
processes of time had, as respects fortune, lowered his descendants to
the common Jewish level; the bread they ate came to them of toil never
more humble; yet they had the benefit of history sacredly kept, of
which genealogy was the first chapter and the last; they could not
become unknown; while, wherever they went in Israel, acquaintance drew
after it a respect amounting to reverence.
If this were so in Jerusalem and elsewhere, certainly one of the
sacred line might reasonably rely upon it at the door of the khan of
Bethlehem. To say, as Joseph said, "This is the house of my
fathers," was to say the truth most simply and literally; for it was
the very house Ruth ruled as the wife of Boaz; the very house in which
Jesse and his ten sons, David the youngest, were born; the very
house in which Samuel came seeking a king, and found him; the very
house which David gave to the son of Barzillai, the friendly
Gileadite; the very house in which Jeremiah, by prayer, rescued the
remnant of his race flying before the Babylonians.
The appeal was not without effect. The keeper of the gate slid
down from the cedar block, and, laying his hand upon his beard,
said, respectfully, "Rabbi, I cannot tell you when this door first
opened in welcome to the traveller, but it was more than a thousand
years ago; and in all that time there is no known instance of a good
man turned away, save when there was no room to rest him in. If it has
been so with the stranger, just cause must the steward have who says
no to one of the line of David. Wherefore, I salute you again; and, if
you care to go with me, I will show you that there is not a
lodging-place left in the house; neither in the chambers, nor in the
lewens, nor in the court- not even on the roof. May I ask when you
came?"
"But now."
The keeper smiled.
"'The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be as one born among
you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.' Is not that the law, Rabbi?"
Joseph was silent.
"If it be the law, can I say to one a long time come, 'Go thy way;
another is here to take thy place'?"
Yet Joseph held his peace.
"And, if I said so, to whom would the place belong? See the many
that have been waiting, some of them since noon."
"Who are all these people?" asked Joseph, turning to the crowd. "And
why are they here at this time?"
"That which doubtless brought you, Rabbi- the decree of the Caesar"-
the keeper threw an interrogative glance at the Nazarene, then
continued- "brought most of those who have lodging in the house. And
yesterday the caravan passing from Damascus to Arabia and Lower
Egypt arrived. These you see here belong to it- men and camels."
Still Joseph persisted.
"The court is large," he said.
"Yes, but it is heaped with cargoes- with bales of silk, and pockets
of spices, and goods of every kind."
Then for a moment the face of the applicant lost its stolidity;
the lustreless, staring eyes dropped. With some warmth he next said,
"I do not care for myself, but I have with me my wife, and the night
is cold- colder on these heights than in Nazareth. She cannot live
in the open air. Is there not room in the town?"
"These people"- the keeper waved his hand to the throng before the
door- "have all besought the town, and they report its
accommodations all engaged."
Again Joseph studied the ground, saying, half to himself, "She is so
young! if I make her bed on the hill, the frosts will kill her."
Then he spoke to the keeper again.
"It may be you knew her parents, Joachim and Anna, once of
Bethlehem, and, like myself, of the line of David."
"Yes, I knew them. They were good people. That was in my youth."
This time the keeper's eyes sought the ground in thought. Suddenly
he raised his head.
"If I cannot make room for you," he said, "I cannot turn you away.
Rabbi, I will do the best I can for you. How many are of your party?"
Joseph reflected, then replied, "My wife and a friend with his
family, from Beth-Dagon, a little town over by Joppa; in all, six of
us."
"Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people
and hasten; for, when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you
know the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now."
"I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller; that of the
sojourner will follow."
So saying, the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the
Beth-Dagonite. In a little while the latter brought up his family, the
women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly, the daughters were
images of what she must have been in youth; and as they drew nigh
the door, the keeper knew them to be of the humble class.
"This is she of whom I spoke," said the Nazarene; "and these are our
friends."
Mary's veil was raised.
"Blue eyes and hair of gold," muttered the steward to himself,
seeing but her. "So looked the young king when he went to sing
before Saul."
Then he took the leading-strap from Joseph and said to Mary,
"Peace to you, O daughter of David!" Then to the others, "Peace to you
all!" Then to Joseph, "Rabbi, follow me!"
The party were conducted into a wide passage paved with stone,
from which they entered the court of the khan. To a stranger the scene
would have been curious; but they noticed the lewens that yawned
darkly upon them from all sides, and the court itself, only to
remark how crowded they were. By a lane reserved in the stowage of the
cargoes, and thence by a passage similar to the one at the entrance,
they emerged into the enclosure adjoining the house, and came upon
camels, horses, and donkeys, tethered and dozing in close groups;
among them were the keepers, men of many lands; and they, too, slept
or kept silent watch. They went down the slope of the crowded yard
slowly, for the dull carriers of the women had wills of their own.
At length they turned into a path running towards the grey limestone
bluff overlooking the khan on the west.
"We are going to the cave," said Joseph, laconically.
The guide lingered till Mary came to his side.
"The cave to which we are going," he said to her, "must have been
a resort of your ancestor David. From the field below us, and from the
well down in the valley, he used to drive his flock to it for
safety; and afterwards, when he was king, he came back to the old
house here for rest and health, bringing great trains of animals.
The mangers yet remain as they were in his day. Better a bed upon
the floor where he has slept than one in the court-yard or out by
the roadside. Ah, here is the house before the cave!"
This speech must not be taken as an apology for the lodging offered.
There was no need of apology. The place was the best then at disposal.
The guests were simple folks, by habits of life easily satisfied. To
the Jew of that period, moreover, abode in caverns was a familiar
idea, made so by every-day occurrences, and by what he heard of
Sabbaths in the synagogues. How much of Jewish history, how many of
the most exciting incidents in that history, had transpired in
caves! Yet further, these people were Jews of Bethlehem, with whom the
idea was especially commonplace; for their locality abounded with
caves great and small, some of which had been dwelling-places from the
time of the Emim and Horites. No more was there offence to them in the
fact that the cavern to which they were being taken had been, or
was, a stable. They were the descendants of a race of herdsmen,
whose flocks habitually shared both their habitations and
wanderings. In keeping with a custom derived from Abraham, the tent of
the Bedawin yet shelters his horses and children alike. So they obeyed
the keeper cheerfully, and gazed at the house, feeling only a
natural curiosity. Everything associated with the history of David was
interesting to them.
The building was low and narrow, projecting but a little from the
rock to which it was joined at the rear, and wholly without a
window. In its blank front there was a door, swung on enormous hinges,
and thickly daubed with ochreous clay. While the wooden bolt of the
lock was being pushed back, the women were assisted from their
pillions. Upon the opening of the door, the keeper called out-
"Come in!"
The guests entered, and stared about them. It became apparent
immediately that the house was but a mask or covering for the mouth of
a natural cave or grotto, probably forty feet long, nine or ten
high, and twelve or fifteen in width. The light streamed through the
doorway, over an uneven floor, falling upon piles of grain and fodder,
and earthenware and household property, occupying the centre of the
chamber. Along the sides were mangers, low enough for sleep, and built
of stones laid in cement. There were no stalls or partitions of any
kind. Dust and chaff yellowed the floor, filled all the crevices and
hollows, and thickened the spider-webs, which dropped from the ceiling
like bits of dirty linen; otherwise the place was cleanly, and, to
appearance, as comfortable as any of the arched lewens of the khan
proper. In fact, a cave was the model and first suggestion of the
lewen.
"Come in!" said the guide. "These piles upon the floor are for
travellers like yourselves. Take what of them you need."
Then he spoke to Mary.
"Can you rest here?"
"The place is sanctified," she answered.
"I leave you then. Peace be with you all!"
When he was gone, they busied themselves making the cave habitable.
CHAPTER X.
THE LIGHT IN THE SKY.

AT a certain hour in the evening the shouting and stir of the people
in and about the khan ceased; at the same time, every Israelite, if
not already upon his feet, arose, solemnized his face, looked
towards Jerusalem, crossed his hands upon his breast, and prayed;
for it was the sacred ninth hour, when sacrifices were offered in
the temple on Moriah, and God was supposed to be there. When the hands
of the worshippers fell down, the commotion broke forth again;
everybody hastened to bread, or to make his pallet. A little later the
lights were put out, and there was silence, and then sleep.
* * * * *
About midnight some one on the roof cried, "What light is that in
the sky? Awake, brethren, awake and see!"
The people, half asleep, sat up and looked; then they became
wide-awake, though wonder-struck. And the stir spread to the court
below, and into the lewens; soon the entire tenantry of the house
and court and enclosure were out gazing at the sky.
And this was what they saw. A ray of light, beginning at a height
immeasurably beyond the nearest stars, and dropping obliquely to the
earth; at its top, a diminishing point; at its base, many furlongs
in width; its sides blending softly with the darkness of the night;
its core a roseate electrical splendour. The apparition seemed to rest
on the nearest mountain south-east of the town, making a pale corona
along the line of the summit. The khan was touched luminously, so that
those upon the roof saw each other's faces, all filled with wonder.
Steadily, through minutes, the ray lingered, and then the wonder
changed to awe and fear; the timid trembled; the boldest spoke in
whispers.
"Saw you ever the like?" asked one.
"It seems just over the mountain there. I cannot tell what it is,
nor did I ever see anything like it," was the answer.
"Can it be that a star has burst and fallen?" asked another, his
tongue faltering.
"When a star falls, its light goes out."
"I have it!" cried one, confidently. "The shepherds have seen a
lion, and made fires to keep him from the flocks."
The men next the speaker drew a breath of relief, and said, "Yes,
that is it! The flocks were grazing in the valley over there to-day."
A bystander dispelled the comfort.
"No, no! Though all the wood in all the valleys of Judah was brought
together in one pile and fired, the blaze would not throw a light so
strong and high."
After that there was silence on the house-top, broken but once again
while the mystery continued.
"Brethren!" exclaimed a Jew of venerable mien, "what we see is the
ladder our father Jacob saw in his dream. Blessed be the Lord God of
our fathers!"
CHAPTER XI.
CHRIST IS BORN.

A MILE and a half, it may be two miles, south-east of Bethlehem,
there is a plain separated from the town by an intervening swell of
the mountain. Besides being well sheltered from the north winds, the
vale was covered with a growth of sycamore, dwarf-oak, and pine trees,
while in the glens and ravines adjoining there were thickets of
olive and mulberry; all at this season of the year invaluable for
the support of sheep, goats, and cattle, of which the wandering flocks
consisted.
At the side farthest from the town, close under a bluff, there was
an extensive marah, or sheepcot, ages old. In some long-forgotten
foray the building had been unroofed and almost demolished. The
enclosure attached to it remained intact, however, and that was of
more importance to the shepherds who drove their charges thither
than the house itself. The stone wall around the lot was high as a
man's head, yet not so high but that sometimes a panther or a lion,
hungering from the wilderness, leaped boldly in. On the inside of
the wall, and as an additional security against the constant danger
a hedge of the rhamnus had been planted, an invention so successful
that now a sparrow could hardly penetrate the overtopping branches,
armed as they were with great clusters of thorns hard as spikes.
The day of the occurrences which occupy the preceding chapters, a
number of shepherds, seeking fresh walks for their flocks, led them up
to this plain; and from early morning the groves had been made ring
with calls, and the blows of axes, the bleating of sheep and goats,
the tinkling of bells, the lowing of cattle, and the barking of
dogs. When the sun went down, they led the way to the marah, and by
nightfall had everything safe in the field; then they kindled a fire
down by the gate, partook of their humble supper, and sat down to rest
and talk, leaving one on watch.
There were six of these men, omitting the watchman; and afterwhile
they assembled in a group near the fire, some sitting, some lying
prone. As they went bareheaded habitually, their hair stood out in
thick, coarse, sunburnt shocks; their beard covered their throats, and
fell in mats down the breast; mantles of the skin of kids and lambs,
with the fleece on, wrapped them from neck to knee, leaving the arms
exposed; broad belts girthed the rude garments to their waists;
their sandals were of the coarsest quality; from their right shoulders
hung scrips containing food and selected stones for slings, with which
they were armed; on the ground near each one lay his crook, a symbol
of his calling and a weapon of offence.
Such were the shepherds of Judea! In appearance, rough and savage as
the gaunt dogs sitting with them around the blaze; in fact,
simple-minded, tender-hearted; effects due, in part, to the
primitive life they led, but chiefly to their constant care of
things lovable and helpless.
They rested and talked; and their talk was all about their flocks- a
dull theme to the world, yet a theme which was all the world to
them. If in narrative they dwelt long upon affairs of trifling moment;
if one of them omitted nothing of detail in recounting the loss of a
lamb, the relation between him and the unfortunate should be
remembered: at birth it became his charge, his to keep all its days,
to help over the floods, to carry down the hollows, to name and train;
it was to be his companion, his object of thought and interest, the
subject of his will; it was to enliven and share his wanderings; in
its defence he might be called on to face the lion or robber- to die.
The great events, such as blotted out nations and changed the
mastery of the world, were trifles to them, if perchance they came
to their knowledge. Of what Herod was doing in this city or that,
building palaces and gymnasia, and indulging forbidden practices, they
occasionally heard. As was her habit in those days, Rome did not
wait for people slow to inquire about her; she came to them. Over
the hills along which he was leading his lagging herd, or in the
fastnesses in which he was hiding them, not unfrequently the
shepherd was startled by the blare of trumpets, and, peering out
beheld a cohort, sometimes a legion, in march; and when the glittering
crests were gone, and the excitement incident to the intrusion over,
he bent himself to evolve the meaning of the eagle and gilded globes
of the soldiery, and the charm of a life so the opposite of his own.
Yet these men, rude and simple as they were, had a knowledge and a
wisdom of their own. On Sabbaths they were accustomed to purify
themselves, and go up into the synagogues, and sit on the benches
farthest from the ark. When the chazzan bore the Torah round, none
kissed it with greater zest; when the sheliach read the text, none
listened to the interpreter with more absolute faith; and none took
away with them more of the elder's sermon, or gave it more thought
afterwards. In a verse of the Shema they found all the learning and
all the law of their simple lives- that their Lord was One God, and
that they must love Him with all their souls. And they loved Him,
and such was their wisdom, surpassing that of kings.
While they talked, and before the first watch was over, one by one
the shepherds went to sleep, each lying where he had sat.
The night, like most nights of the winter season in the hill
country, was clear, crisp, and sparkling with stars. There was no
wind. The atmosphere seemed never so pure, and the stillness was
more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was
stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.
By the gate, hugging his mantle close, the watchman walked; at times
he stopped, attracted by a stir among the sleeping herds, or by a
Jackal's cry off on the mountain-side. The midnight was slow coming to
him; but at last it came. His task was done; now for the dreamless
sleep with which labour blesses its wearied children! He moved towards
the fire, but paused; a light was breaking around him, soft and white,
like the moon's. He waited breathlessly. The light, deepened; things
before invisible came to view; he saw the whole field, and all it
sheltered. A chill sharper than that of the frosty air- a chill of
fear- smote him. He looked up; the stars were gone; the light was
dropping as from a window in the sky; as he looked, it became a
splendour; then, in terror he cried-
"Awake, awake!"
Up sprang the dogs, and, howling, ran away.
The herds rushed together bewildered.
The men clambered to their feet, weapons in hand.
"What is it?" they asked, in one voice.
"See!" cried the watchman, "the sky is on fire!"
Suddenly the light became intolerably bright, and they covered their
eyes, and dropped upon their knees; then, as their souls shrank with
fear, they fell upon their faces blind and fainting, and would have
died had not a voice said to them-
"Fear not!"
And they listened.
"Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people."
The voice, in sweetness and soothing more than human, and low and
clear, penetrated all their being, and filled them with assurance.
They rose upon their knees, and, looking worshipfully, beheld in the
centre of a great glory the appearance of a man, clad in a robe
intensely white; above its shoulders towered the tops of wings shining
and folded; a star over its forehead glowed with steady lustre,
brilliant as Hesperus; its hands were stretched towards them in
blessing; its face was serene and divinely beautiful.
They had often heard, and in their simple way talked, of angels; and
they doubted not now, but said, in their hearts, The glory of God is
about us, and this is he who of old came to the prophet by the river
of Ulai.
Directly the angel continued-
"For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour
which is Christ the Lord!"
Again there was a rest, while the words sank into their minds.
"And this shall be a sign unto you," the annunciator said next.
"Ye shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a
manger."
The herald spoke not again; his good tidings were told; yet he
stayed awhile. Suddenly the light, of which he seemed the centre,
turned roseate and began to tremble; then up, far as the men could
see, there was flashing of white wings, and coming and going of
radiant forms, and voices as of a multitude chanting in unison-
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will
towards men!"
Not once the praise, but many times.
Then the herald raised his eyes as seeking approval of one far
off; his wings stirred, and spread slowly and majestically, on their
upper side white as snow, in the shadow vari-tinted, like
mother-of-pearl; when they were expanded many cubits beyond his
stature, he rose lightly, and, without effort, floated out of view,
taking the light up with him. Long after he was gone, down from the
sky fell the refrain in measure mellowed by distance, "Glory to God in
the highest, and on earth peace, good-will towards men."
When the shepherds came fully to their senses, they stared at each
other stupidly, until one of them said, "It was Gabriel, the Lord's
messenger unto men."
None answered.
"Christ the Lord is born; said he not so?"
Then another recovered his voice, and replied, "That is what he
said."
"And did he not also say, in the city of David, which is our
Bethlehem yonder. And that we should find Him a babe in swaddling
clothes?"
"And lying in a manger."
The first speaker gazed into the fire thoughtfully, but at length
said, like one possessed of a sudden resolve, "There is but one
place in Bethlehem where there are mangers; but one, and that is in
the cave near the old khan. Brethren, let us go see this thing which
has come to pass. The priests and doctors have been a long time
looking for the Christ. Now He is born, and the Lord has given us a
sign by which to know Him. Let us go and worship Him."
"But the flocks!"
"The Lord will take care of them. Let us make haste."
Then they all arose and left the marah.
* * * * *
Around the mountain and through the town they passed, and came to
the gate of the khan, where there was a man on watch.
"What would you have?" he asked.
"We have seen and heard great things to-night," they replied.
"Well, we, too, have seen great things, but heard nothing. What
did you hear?"
"Let us go down to the cave in the enclosure, that we may be sure;
then we will tell you all. Come with us, and see for yourself."
"It is a fool's errand."
"No, the Christ is born."
"The Christ! How do you know?"
"Let us go and see first."
The man laughed scornfully.
"The Christ indeed! How are you to know Him?"
"He was born this night, and is now lying in a manger, so we were
told; and there is but one place in Bethlehem with mangers."
"The cave?"
"Yes. Come with us."
They went through the court-yard without notice, although there were
some up even then talking about the wonderful light. The door of the
cavern was open. A lantern was burning within, and they entered
unceremoniously.
"I give you peace," the watchman said to Joseph and the
Beth-Dagonite. "Here are people looking for a child born this night,
whom they are to know by finding Him in swaddling-clothes and lying in
a manger."
For a moment the face of the stolid Nazarene was moved; turning
away, he said, "The child is here."
They were led to one of the mangers, and there the child was. The
lantern was brought, and the shepherds stood by mute. The little one
made no sign; it was as others just born.
"Where is the mother?" asked the watchman.
One of the women took the baby, and went to Mary, lying near, and
put it in her arms. Then the bystanders collected about the two.
"It is the Christ!" said a shepherd at last.
"The Christ!" they all repeated, falling upon their knees in
worship. One of them repeated several times over-
"It is the Lord, and His glory is above the earth and heaven."
And the simple men, never doubting, kissed the hem of the mother's
robe, and with joyful faces departed. In the khan, to all the people
aroused and pressing about them, they told their story; and through
the town, and all the way back to the marah, they chanted the
refrain of the angels, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good-will towards men!"
The story went abroad, confirmed by the light so generally seen; and
the next day, and for days thereafter, the cave was visited by curious
crowds, of whom some believed, though the greater part laughed and
mocked.
CHAPTER XII.
THE WISE MEN ARRIVE AT JERUSALEM.

THE eleventh day after the birth of the child in the cave, about
mid-afternoon, the three wise men approached Jerusalem by the road
from Shechem. After crossing Brook Cedron, they met many people, of
whom none failed to stop and look after them curiously.
Judea was of necessity an international thoroughfare; a narrow
ridge, raised, apparently, by the pressure of the desert on the
east, and the sea on the west, was all she could claim to be; over the
ridge, however, nature had stretched the line of trade between the
east and the south; and that was her wealth. In other words, the
riches of Jerusalem were the tolls she levied on passing commerce.
Nowhere else, consequently, unless in Rome, was there such constant
assemblage of so many people of so many different nations; in no other
city was a stranger less strange to the residents than within her
walls and purlieus. And yet these three men excited the wonder of
all whom they met on the way to the gates.
A child belonging to some women sitting by the roadside opposite the
Tombs of the Kings saw the party coming; immediately it clapped its
hands, and cried, "Look, look! What pretty bells! What big camels!"
The bells were silver; the camels, as we have seen, were of
unusual size and whiteness, and moved with singular stateliness; the
trappings told of the desert and of long journeys thereon, and also of
ample means in possession of the owners, who sat under the little
canopies exactly as they appeared at the rendezvous beyond the
Jebel. Yet it was not the bells or the camels, or their furniture,
or the demeanour of the riders, that were so wonderful; it was the
question put by the man who rode foremost of the three.
The approach to Jerusalem from the north is across a plain which
dips southward, leaving the Damascus Gate in a vale or hollow. The
road is narrow, but deeply cut by long use, and in places difficult on
account of the cobbles left loose and dry by the washing of the rains.
On either side, however, there stretched, in the old time, rich fields
and handsome olive-groves, which must, in luxurious growth, have
been beautiful, especially to travellers fresh from the wastes of
the desert. In this road the three stopped before the party in front
of the Tombs.
"Good people," said Balthasar, stroking his plaited beard and
bending from his cot, "is not Jerusalem close by?"
"Yes," answered the woman into whose arms the child had shrunk.
"If the trees on yon swell were a little lower, you could see the
towers on the Market-place."
Balthasar gave the Greek and the Hindoo a look, then asked,
"Where is He that is born King of the Jews?"
The women gazed at each other without reply.
"You have not heard of Him?"
"No."
"Well tell everybody that we have seen His star in the east, and are
come to worship Him."
Thereupon the friends rode on. Of others they asked the same
question, with like result. A large company whom they met going to the
Grotto of Jeremiah were so astonished by the inquiry and the
appearance of the travellers that they turned about and followed
them into the city.
So much were the three occupied with the idea of their mission
that they did not care for the view which presently rose before them
in the utmost magnificence: for the village first to receive them on
Bezetha; for Mizpah and Olivet, over on their left; for the wall
behind the village, with its forty tall and solid towers, superadded
partly for strength, partly to gratify the critical taste of the
kingly builder; for the same towered wall bending off to the right,
with many an angle, and here and there an embattled gate, up to the
three great white piles, Phasaelus, Mariamne, and Hippicus; for
Zion, tallest of the hills, crowned with marble palaces, and never
so beautiful; for the glittering terraces of the temple on Moriah,
admittedly one of the wonders of the earth; for the regal mountains
rimming the sacred city round about until it seemed in the hollow of a
mighty bowl.
They came, at length, to a tower of great height and strength,
overlooking the gate which, at that time, answered to the present
Damascus Gate, and marked the meeting place of the three roads from
Shechem, Jericho, and Gibeon. A Roman guard kept the passage-way. By
this time the people following the camels formed a train sufficient to
draw the idlers hanging about the portal; so that when Balthasar
stopped to speak to the sentinel, the three became instantly the
centre of a close circle eager to hear all that passed.
"I give you peace," the Egyptian said, in a clear voice.
The sentinel made no reply.
"We have come great distances in search of one who is born King of
the Jews. Can you tell us where He is?"
The soldier raised the visor of his helmet, and called loudly.
From an apartment at the right of the passage an officer appeared.
"Give way," he cried, to the crowd which now pressed closer in;
and as they seemed slow to obey, he advanced, twirling his javelin
vigorously, now right, now left; and so he gained room.
"What would you?" he asked of Balthasar, speaking in the idiom of
the city.
And Balthasar answered in the same-
"Where is He that is born King of the Jews?"
"Herod?" asked the officer, confounded.
"Herod's kingship is from Caesar; not Herod."
"There is no other King of the Jews."
"But we have seen the star of Him we seek, and come to worship Him."
The Roman was perplexed.
"Go farther," he said, at last. "Go farther. I am not a Jew. Carry
the question to the doctors in the Temple, or to Hannas the priest,
or, better still, to Herod himself. If there be another King of the
Jews, he will find him."
Thereupon he made way for the strangers, and they passed the gate.
But, before entering the narrow street, Balthasar lingered to say to
His friends, "We are sufficiently proclaimed. By midnight the whole
city will have heard of us and of our mission, Let us to the khan
now."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WITNESSES BEFORE HEROD.

THAT evening, before sunset, some women were washing clothes on
the upper step of the flight that led down into the basin of the
Pool of Siloam. They knelt each before a broad bowl of earthenware.
A girl at the foot of the steps kept them supplied with water, and
sang while she filled the jar. The song was cheerful, and no doubt
lightened their labour. Occasionally they would sit upon their
heels, and look up the slope of Ophel, and round to the summit of what
is now the Mount of Offence, then faintly glorified by the dying sun.
While they plied their hands, rubbing and wringing the clothes in
the bowls, two other women came to them, each with an empty jar upon
her shoulder.
"Peace to you," one of the new-comers said.
The labourers paused, sat up, wrung the water from their hands,
and returned the salutation.
"It is nearly night- time to quit."
"There is no end to work," was the reply.
"But there is a time to rest, and- "
"To hear what may be passing," interposed another.
"What news have you?"
"Then you have not heard?"
"No."
"They say the Christ is born," said the newsmonger, plunging into
her story.
It was curious to see the faces of the labourers brighten with
interest; on the other side down came the jars, which, in a moment,
were turned into seats for their owners.
"The Christ!" the listeners cried.
"So they say."
"Who?"
"Everybody; it is common talk."
"Does anybody believe it?"
"This afternoon three men came across Brook Cedron on the road
from Shechem," the speaker replied, circumstantially, intending to
smother doubt. "Each one of them rode a camel spotless white, and
larger than any ever before seen in Jerusalem."
The eyes and mouths of the auditors opened wide.
"To prove how great and rich the men were," the narrator
continued, "they sat under awnings of silk; the buckles of their
saddles were of gold, as was the fringe of their bridles; the bells
were of silver, and made real music. Nobody knew them; they looked
as if they had come from the ends of the world. Only one of them
spoke, and of everybody on the road, even the women and children, he
asked this question- 'Where is He that is born King of the Jews?' No
one gave them answer- no one understood what they meant; so they
passed on, leaving behind them this saying: 'For we have seen His star
in the east, and are come to worship Him.' They put the question to
the Roman at the gate; and he, no wiser than the simple people on
the road, sent them up to Herod."
"Where are they now?"
"At the khan. Hundreds have been to look at them already, and
hundreds more are going."
"Who are they?"
"Nobody knows. They are said to be Persians- wise men who talk
with the stars- prophets, it may be, like Elijah and Jeremiah."
"What do they mean by King of the Jews?"
"The Christ, and that He is just born."
One of the women laughed, and resumed her work, saying, "Well,
when I see Him I will believe."
Another followed her example: "And I- well, when I see Him raise the
dead, I will believe."
A third said, quietly, "He has been a long time promised. It will be
enough for me to see Him heal one leper."
And the party sat talking until the night came, and, with the help
of the frosty air, drove them home.
* * * * *
Later in the evening, about the beginning of the first watch,
there was an assemblage in the palace on Mount Zion, of probably fifty
persons, who never came together except by order of Herod, and then
only when he had demanded to know some one or more of the deeper
mysteries of the Jewish law and history. It was, in short, a meeting
of the teachers of the colleges, of the chief priests, and of the
doctors most noted in the city for learning- the leaders of opinion,
expounders of the different creeds; princes of the Sadducees;
Pharisaic debaters; calm, soft-spoken, stoical philosophers of the
Essene socialists.
The chamber in which the session was held belonged to one of the
interior court-yards of the palace, and was quite large and
Romanesque. The floor was tesselated with marble blocks; the walls,
unbroken by a window, were frescoed in panels of saffron yellow; a
divan occupied the centre of the apartment, covered with cushions of
bright-yellow cloth, and fashioned in form of the letter U, the
opening towards the doorway; in the arch of the divan, or as it
were, in the bend of the letter, there was an immense bronze tripod,
curiously inlaid with gold and silver, over which a chandelier dropped
from the ceiling, having seven arms, each holding a lighted lamp.
The divan and the lamp were purely Jewish.
The company sat upon the divan after the style of Orientals, in
costume singularly uniform, except as to colour. They were mostly
men advanced in years; immense beards covered their faces; to their
large noses were added the effects of large black eyes deeply shaded
by bold brows; their demeanour was grave, dignified, even patriarchal.
In brief, their session was that of the Sanhedrim.
He who sat before the tripod, however, in the place which may be
called the head of the divan, having all the rest of his associates on
his right and left, and at the same time, before him, evidently
president of the meeting, would have instantly absorbed the
attention of a spectator. He had been cast in large mould, but was now
shrunken and stooped to ghastliness: his white robe dropped from his
shoulders in folds that gave no hint of muscle or anything but an
angular skeleton. His hands, half concealed by sleeves of silk,
white and crimson striped, were clasped upon his knees. When he spoke,
sometimes the first finger of the right hand extended tremulously;
he seemed incapable of other gesture. But his head was a splendid
dome. A few hairs whiter than fine-drawn silver, fringed the base;
over a broad, full-sphered skull the skin was drawn close, and shone
in the light with positive brilliance; the temples were deep
hollows, from which the forehead beetled like a wrinkled crag; the
eyes were wan and dim; the nose was pinched; and all the lower face
was muffled in a beard flowing and venerable as Aaron's. Such was
Hillel the Babylonian! The line of prophets, long extinct in Israel,
was now succeeded by a line of scholars, of whom he was first in
learning- a prophet in all but the divine inspiration! At the age of
one hundred and six he was still Rector of the Great College.
On the table before him lay outspread a roll or volume of
parchment inscribed with Hebrew characters; behind him, in waiting,
stood a page richly habited.
There had been discussion, but at this moment of introduction the
company had reached a conclusion; each one was in an attitude of rest,
and the venerable Hillel, without moving, called the page.
"Hist!"
The youth advanced respectfully.
"Go tell the king we are ready to give him answer."
The boy hurried away.
After a time two officers entered, and stopped one on each side
the door; after them slowly followed a most striking personage- an old
man clad in a purple robe bordered with scarlet, and girt to his waist
by a band of gold linked so fine that it was pliable as leather; the
latchets of his shoes sparkled with precious stones; a narrow crown
wrought in filigree shone outside a tarbooshe of softest crimson
plush, which, encasing his head, fell down the neck and shoulders,
leaving the throat and neck exposed. Instead of a seal, a dagger
dangled from his belt. He walked with a halting step, leaning
heavily upon a staff. Not until he reached the opening of the divan
did he pause or look up from the floor; then, as for the first time
conscious of the company, and roused by their presence, he raised
himself and looked haughtily round like one startled and searching for
an enemy- so dark, suspicious, and threatening was the glance. Such
was Herod the Great- a body broken by diseases, a conscience seared
with crimes, a mind magnificently capable, a soul fit for
brotherhood with the Caesars; now seven-and-sixty years old, but
guarding his throne with a jealousy never so vigilant, a power never
so despotic, and a cruelty never so inexorable.
There was a general movement on the part of the assemblage- a
bending-forward in salaam by the more aged, a rising-up by the more
courtly, followed by low genuflexions, hands upon the beard or breast.
His observations taken, Herod moved on until at the tripod
opposite the venerable Hillel, who met his cold glance with an
inclination of the head, and a slight lifting of the hands.
"The answer!" said the king, with imperious simplicity, addressing
Hillel, and planting his staff before him with both hands. "The
answer!"
The eyes of the patriarch glowed mildly, and, raising his head,
and looking the inquisitor full in the face, he answered, his
associates giving him closest attention-
"With thee, O king, be the peace of God, of Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob!"
His manner was that of invocation; changing it, he resumed-
"Thou hast demanded of us where the Christ should be born."
The king bowed, though the evil eyes remained fixed upon the
sage's face.
"That is the question."
"Then, O king, speaking for myself, and all my brethren here, not
one dissenting, I say, in Bethlehem of Judea."
Hillel glanced at the parchment on the tripod; and pointing with his
tremulous finger, continued, "In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is
written by the prophet, 'And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Judea,
art not the least among the princes of Judah; for out of thee shall
come a governor that shall rule my people Israel.'"
Herod's face was troubled, and his eyes fell upon the parchment
while he thought. Those beholding him scarcely breathed; they spoke
not, nor did he. At length he turned about and left the chamber.
"Brethren," said Hillel, "we are dismissed."
The company then arose, and in groups departed.
"Simeon," said Hillel again.
A man, quite fifty years old, but in the hearty prime of life,
answered and came to him.
"Take up the sacred parchment, my son; roll it tenderly."
The order was obeyed.
"Now lend me thy arm; I will to the litter."
The strong man stooped; with his withered hands, the old one took
the offered support, and, rising, moved feebly to the door.
So departed the famous Rector and Simeon, his son, who was to be his
successor in wisdom, learning, and office.
* * * * *
Yet later in the evening the wise men were lying in a lewen of the
khan awake. The stones which served them as pillows raised their heads
so they could look out of the open arch into the depths of the sky;
and as they watched the twinkling of the stars, they thought of the
next manifestation. How would it come? What would it be? They were
in Jerusalem at last; they had asked at the gate for Him they
sought; they had born witness of His birth; it remained only to find
Him; and as to that, they placed all trust in the Spirit. Men
listening for the voice of God, or waiting a sign from Heaven,
cannot sleep.
While they were in this condition, a man stepped in under the
arch, darkening the lewen.
"Awake!" he said to them; "I bring you a message which will not be
put off."
They all sat up.
"From whom?" asked the Egyptian.
"Herod the king."
Each one felt his spirit thrill.
"Are you not the steward of the khan?" Balthasar asked next.
"I am."
"What would the king with us?"
"His messenger is without; let him answer."
"Tell him, then, to abide our coming."
"You were right, O my brother!" said the Greek, when the steward was
gone. "The question put to the people on the road, and to the guard at
the gate, has given us quick notoriety. I am impatient; let us up
quickly."
They arose, put on their sandals, girt their mantles about them, and
went out.
"I salute you, and give you peace, and pray your pardon; but my
master, the king, has sent me to invite you to the palace, where he
would have speech with you privately."
Thus the messenger discharged his duty.
A lamp hung in the entrance, and by its light they looked at each
other, and knew the Spirit was upon them. Then the Egyptian stepped to
the steward, and said, so as not to be heard by the others, "You
know where our goods are stored in the court, and where our camels are
resting. While we are gone, make all things ready for our departure,
if it should be needful."
"Go your way assured; trust me," the steward replied.
"The king's will is our will," said Balthasar to the messenger.
"We will follow you."
The streets of the Holy City were narrow then as now, but not so
rough and foul; for the great builder, not content with beauty,
enforced cleanliness and convenience also. Following their guide,
the brethren proceeded without a word. Through the dim starlight, made
dimmer by the walls on both sides, sometimes almost lost under bridges
connecting the house-tops, out of a low ground they ascended a hill.
At last they came to a portal reared across the way. In the light of
fires blazing before it in two great braziers, they caught a glimpse
of the structure, and also of some guards leaning motionlessly upon
their arms. They passed into a building unchallenged. Then by passages
and arched halls; through courts, and under colonnades not always
lighted; up long flights of stairs, past innumerable cloisters and
chambers, they were conducted into a tower of great height. Suddenly
the guide halted, and, pointing through an open door, said to them-
"Enter. The king is there."
The air of the chamber was heavy with the perfume of sandalwood, and
all the appointments within were effeminately rich. Upon the floor,
covering the central space, a tufted rug was spread, and upon that a
throne was set. The visitors had but time, however, to catch a
confused idea of the place- of carved and gilt ottomans and couches;
of fans, and jars, and musical instruments; of golden candlesticks
glittering in their own lights; of walls painted in the style of the
voluptuous Grecian school, one look at which had made a Pharisee
hide his head with holy horror. Herod, sitting upon the throne to
receive them clad as when at the conference with the doctors and
lawyers, claimed all their minds.
At the edge of the rug, to which they advanced uninvited, they
prostrated themselves. The king touched a bell. An attendant came
in, and placed three stools before the throne.
"Seat yourselves," said the monarch, graciously.
"From the North Gate," he continued, when they were at rest, "I
had this afternoon report of the arrival of three strangers, curiously
mounted, and appearing as if from far countries. Are you the men?"
The Egyptian took the sign from the Greek and the Hindoo, and
answered, with the profoundest salaam, "Were we other than we are, the
mighty Herod, whose fame is as incense to the whole world, would not
have sent for us. We may not doubt that we are the strangers.
Herod acknowledged the speech with a wave of the hand.
"Who are you? Whence do you come?" he asked, adding,
significantly, "let each speak for himself."
In turn they gave him account, referring simply to the cities and
lands of their birth, and the routes by which they came to
Jerusalem. Somewhat disappointed, Herod plied them more directly.
"What was the question you put to the officer at the gate?"
"We asked him, Where is He that is born King of the Jews."
"I see now why the people were so curious. You excite me no less. Is
there another King of the Jews?"
The Egyptian did not blanch.
"There is one newly born."
An expression of pain knit the dark face of the monarch, as if his
mind were swept by a harrowing recollection.
"Not to me, not to me?" he exclaimed.
Possibly the accusing images of his murdered children flitted before
him: recovering from the emotion, whatever it was he asked,
steadily, "Where is the new King?"
"That, O king, is what we would ask."
"You bring me a wonder- a riddle surpassing any of Solomon's," the
inquisitor said next. "As you see, I am in the time of life when
curiosity is as ungovernable as it was in childhood, when to trifle
with it is cruelty. Tell me further, and I will honour you as kings
honour each other. Give me all you know about the newly born, and I
will join you in the search for Him; and when we have found Him, I
will do what you wish; I will bring Him to Jerusalem, and train Him in
kingcraft; I will use my grace with Caesar for His promotion and
glory. Jealousy shall not come between us, so I swear. But tell me
first how, so widely separated by seas and deserts, you all came to
hear of Him."
"I will tell you truly, O king."
"Speak on," said Herod.
Balthasar raised himself erect, and said, solemnly-
"There is an Almighty God."
Herod was visibly startled.
"He bade us come hither, promising that we should find the
Redeemer of the World; that we should see and worship Him, and bear
witness that He was come; and, as a sign, we were each given to see
a star. His Spirit stayed with us. O king, His Spirit is with us now!"
An overpowering feeling seized the three. The Greek with
difficulty restrained an outcry. Herod's gaze darted quickly from
one to the other; he was more suspicious and dissatisfied than before.
"You are mocking me," he said. "If not, tell me more. What is to
follow the coming of the new king?"
"The salvation of men."
"From what?"
"Their wickedness."
"How?"
"By the divine agencies- Faith, Love, and Good Works."
"Then"- Herod paused, and from his look no man could have said
with what feeling he continued- "you are the heralds of the Christ. Is
that all?"
Balthasar bowed low.
"We are your servants, O king."
The monarch touched a bell, and the attendant appeared.
"Bring the gifts," the master said.
The attendant went out, but in a little while returned, and,
kneeling before the guests, gave to each one an outer robe or mantle
of scarlet and blue, and a girdle of gold. They acknowledged the
honours with Eastern prostrations.
"A word further," said Herod, when the ceremony was ended. "To the
officer of the gate, and but now to me, you spoke of seeing a star
in the east."
"Yes," said Balthasar, "His star, the star of the newly born."
"What time did it appear?"
"When we were bidden come hither."
Herod arose, signifying the audience was over. Stepping from the
throne towards them, he said, with all graciousness-
"If, as I believe, O illustrious men, you are indeed the heralds
of the Christ just born, know that I have this night consulted those
wisest in things Jewish, and they say with one voice He should be born
in Bethlehem of Judea. I say to you, go thither; go and search
diligently for the young child; and when you have found Him bring me
word again, that I may come and worship Him. To your going there shall
be no let or hindrance. Peace be with you!"
And folding his robe about him, he left the chamber.
Directly the guide came, and led them back to the street, and thence
to the khan, at the portal of which the Greek said, impulsively,
"Let us to Bethlehem, O brethren, as the king has advised."
"Yes," cried the Hindoo. "The Spirit burns within me."
"Be it so," said Balthasar, with equal warmth. "The camels are
ready."
They gave gifts to the steward, mounted into their saddles, received
directions to the Joppa Gate, and departed. At their approach the
great valves were unbarred, and they passed out into the open country,
taking the road so lately travelled by Joseph and Mary. As they came
up out of Hinnom, on the plain of Rephaim, a light appeared, at
first wide-spread and faint. Their pulses fluttered fast The light
intensified rapidly; they closed their eyes against its burning
brilliance: when they dared look again, lo! the star, perfect as any
in the heavens, but low down and moving slowly before them. And they
folded their hands, and shouted, and rejoiced with exceeding great
joy.
"God is with us! God is with us!" they repeated in frequent cheer,
all the way, until the star, rising out of the valley beyond Mar
Elias, stood still over a house on the slope of the hill near the
town.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WISE FIND THE CHILD.

IT was now the beginning of the third watch, and at Bethlehem the
morning was breaking over the mountains in the east, but so feebly
that it was yet night in the valley. The watchman on the roof of the
old khan, shivering in the chilly air, was listening for the first
distinguishable sounds with which life, awakening, greets the dawn,
when a light came moving up the hill towards the house. He thought
it a torch in some one's hand; next moment he thought it a meteor; the
brilliance grew, however, until it became a star. Sore afraid, he
cried out, and brought everybody within the walls to the roof. The
phenomenon, in eccentric motion, continued to approach; the rocks,
trees, and roadway under it shone as in a glare of lightning; directly
its brightness became blinding. The more timid of the beholders fell
upon their knees, and prayed, with their faces hidden; the boldest,
covering their eyes, crouched, and now and then snatched glances
fearfully. Afterwhile the khan and everything thereabout lay under the
intolerable radiance. Such as dared look beheld the star standing
still directly over the house in front of the cave where the Child had
been born.
In the height of this scene the wise men came up, and at the gate
dismounted from their camels, and shouted for admission. When the
steward so far mastered his terror as to give them heed, he drew the
bars and opened to them. The camels looked spectral in the unnatural
light, and, besides their outlandishness, there were in the faces
and manner of the three visitors an eagerness and exaltation which
still further excited the keeper's fears and fancy; he fell back,
and for a time could not answer the question they put to him.
"Is not this Bethlehem of Judea?"
But others came, and by their presence gave him assurance.
"No, this is but the khan; the town lies farther on."
"Is there not here a child newly born?"
The bystanders turned to each other marvelling, though some of
them answered, "Yes, yes."
"Show us to him!" said the Greek, impatiently.
"Show us to him!" cried Balthasar, breaking through his gravity;
"for we have seen his star, even that which ye behold over the
house, and are come to worship him."
The Hindoo clasped his hands, exclaiming, "God indeed lives! Make
haste, make haste! The Saviour is found. Blessed, blessed are we above
men!"
The people from the roof came down and followed the strangers as
they were taken through the court and out into the enclosure; at sight
of the star yet above the cave, though less candescent than before,
some turned back afraid; the greater part went on. As the strangers
neared the house, the orb arose; when they were at the door, it was
high up overhead vanishing; when they entered, it went out, lost to
sight. And to the witnesses of what then took place came a
conviction that there was a divine relation between the star and the
strangers, which extended also to at least some of the occupants of
the cave. When the door was opened, they crowded in.
The apartment was lighted by a lantern enough to enable the
strangers to find the mother, and the child awake in her lap.
"Is the child thine?" asked Balthasar of Mary.
And she, who had kept all the things in the least affecting the
little one, and pondered them in her heart, held it up in the light,
saying-
"He is my son!"
And they fell down and worshipped him.
They saw the child was as other children: about its head was neither
nimbus nor material crown; its lips opened not in speech; if it
heard their expressions of joy, their invocations, their prayers, it
made no sign whatever, but, baby-like, looked longer at the flame in
the lantern than at them.
In a little while they arose, and, returning to the camels,
brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and laid them before
the child, abating nothing of their worshipful speeches; of which no
part is given, for the thoughtful know that the pure worship of the
pure heart was then what it is now, and has always been, an inspired
song.
And this was the Saviour they had come so far to find!
Yet they worshipped without a doubt.
Why?
Their faith rested upon the signs sent them by him whom we have
since come to know as the Father: and they were of the kind to whom
his promises were so all-sufficient that they asked nothing about
his ways. Few there were who had seen the signs and heard the
promises- the Mother and Joseph, the shepherds, and the Three- yet
they all believed alike; that is to say, in this period of the plan of
salvation, God was all and the Child nothing. But look forward, O
reader! A time will come when the signs will all proceed from the Son.
Happy they who then believe in him!
Let us wait that period.
BOOK SECOND.

"There is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
In its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest."
-Childe Harold.

CHAPTER I.
JERUSALEM UNDER THE ROMANS.

IT is necessary now to carry the reader forward twenty-one years, to
the beginning of the administration of Valerius Gratus, the fourth
imperial governor of Judea- a period which will be remembered as
rent by political agitations in Jerusalem, if, indeed, it be not the
precise time of the opening of the final quarrel between the Jew and
the Roman.
In the interval Judea had been subjected to changes affecting her in
many ways, but in nothing so much as her political status. Herod the
Great died within one year after the birth of the Child- died so
miserably, that the Christian world had reason to believe him
overtaken by the Divine wrath. Like all great rulers who spend their
lives in perfecting the power they create, he dreamed of
transmitting his throne and crown- of being the founder of a
dynasty. With that intent, he left a will dividing his territories
between his three sons, Antipas, Philip, and Archelaus, of whom the
last was appointed to succeed to the title. The testament was
necessarily referred to Augustus, the emperor, who ratified all its
provisions with one exception: he withheld from Archelaus the title of
king until he proved his capacity and loyalty; in lieu thereof he
created him ethnarch, and as such permitted him to govern nine
years, when, for misconduct and inability to stay the turbulent
elements that grew and strengthened around him, he was sent into
Gaul as an exile.
Caesar was not content with deposing Archelaus; he struck the people
of Jerusalem in a manner that touched their pride, and keenly
wounded the sensibilities of the haughty habitues of the Temple. He
reduced Judea to a Roman province, and annexed it to the prefecture of
Syria. So, instead of a king ruling royally from the palace left by
Herod on Mount Zion, the city fell into the hands of an officer of the
second grade, an appointee called procurator, who communicated with
the court in Rome through the Legate of Syria, residing in Antioch. To
make the hurt more painful, the procurator was not permitted to
establish himself in Jerusalem; Caesarea was his seat of government.
Most humiliating, however, most exasperating, most studied, Samaria,
of all the world the most despised- Samaria was joined to Judea as a
part of the same province! What ineffable misery the bigoted
Separatists or Pharisees endured at finding themselves elbowed and
laughed at in the procurator's presence in Caesarea by the devotees of
Gerizim!
In this rain of sorrows one consolation, and one only, remained to
the fallen people; the high-priest occupied the Herodian palace in the
Market-place, and kept the semblance of a court there. What his
authority really was is a matter of easy estimate. Judgment of life
and death was retained by the procurator. Justice was administered
in the name and according to the decretals of Rome. Yet more
significant, the royal house was jointly occupied by the imperial
exciseman, and all his corps and assistants, registrars, collectors,
publicans, informers, and spies. Still, to the dreamers of liberty
to come, there was a certain satisfaction in the fact that the chief
ruler in the palace was a Jew. His mere presence there day after day
kept them reminded of the covenants and the promises of the
prophets, and the ages when Jehovah governed the tribes through the
sons of Aaron; it was to them a certain sign that he had not abandoned
them: so their hopes lived and served their patience, and helped
them wait grimly the son of Judah who was to rule Israel.
Judea had been a Roman province eighty years and more- ample time
for the Caesars to study the idiosyncrasies of the people- time
enough, at least, to learn that the Jew, with all his pride, could
be quietly governed if his religion were respected. Proceeding upon
that policy, the predecessors of Gratus had carefully abstained from
interfering with any of the sacred observances of their subjects.
But he chose a different course: almost his first official act was
to expel Hannas from the high-priesthood, and give the place to
Ishmael, son of Fabus.
Whether the act was directed by Augustus, or proceeded from Gratus
himself, its impolicy became speedily apparent. The reader shall be
spared a chapter on Jewish politics; a few words upon the subject,
however, are essential to such as may follow the succeeding
narration critically. At this time, leaving origin out of view,
there were in Judea the party of the nobles and the Separatist, or
popular party. Upon Herod's death the two united against Archelaus;
from temple to palace, from Jerusalem to Rome, they fought him;
sometimes with intrigue, sometimes with the actual weapons of war.
More than once the holy cloisters on Moriah resounded with the cries
of fighting-men. Finally, they drove him into exile. Meantime,
throughout this struggle the allies had their diverse objects in view.
The nobles hated Joazar, the high-priest; the Separatists, on the
other hand, were his zealous adherents. When Herod's settlement went
down with Archelaus, Joazar shared the fall. Hannas, the son of
Seth, was selected by the nobles to fill the great office; thereupon
the allies divided. The induction of the Sethian brought them face
to face in fierce hostility.
In the course of the struggle with the unfortunate ethnarch, the
nobles had found it expedient to attach themselves to Rome. Discerning
that when the existing settlement was broken up some form of
government must needs follow, they suggested the conversion of Judea
into a province. The fact furnished the Separatists an additional
cause for attack; and, when Samaria was made part of the province, the
nobles sank into a minority, with nothing to support them but the
imperial court and the prestige of their rank and wealth; yet for
fifteen years- down, indeed, to the coming of Valerius Gratus- they
managed to maintain themselves in both palace and Temple.
Hannas, the idol of his party, had used his power faithfully in
the interest of his imperial patron. A Roman garrison held the Tower
of Antonia; a Roman guard kept the gates of the palace; a Roman
judge dispensed justice, civil and criminal; a Roman system of
taxation, mercilessly executed, crushed both city and country;
daily, hourly, and in a thousand ways, the people were bruised, and
galled, and taught the difference between a life of independence and a
life of subjection; yet Hannas kept them in comparative quiet. Rome
had no truer friend; and he made his loss instantly felt. Delivering
his vestments to Ishmael, the new appointee, he walked from the courts
of the Temple into the councils of the Separatists, and became the
head of a new combination, Bethusian and Sethian.
Gratus, the procurator, left thus without a party, saw the fires
which, in the fifteen years, had sunk into sodden smoke, begin to glow
with returning life. A month after Ishmael took the office, the
Roman found it necessary to visit him in Jerusalem. When from the
walls, hooting and hissing him, the Jews beheld his guard enter the
north gate of the city and march to the Tower of Antonia, they
understood the real purpose of the visit- a full cohort of legionaries
was added to the former garrison, and the keys of their yoke could now
be tightened with impunity. If the procurator deemed it important to
make an example, alas for the first offender!
CHAPTER II.
BEN-HUR AND MESSALA.

WITH the foregoing explanation in mind, the reader is invited to
look into one of the gardens of the palace on Mount Zion. The time was
noonday in the middle of July, when the heat of summer was at its
highest.
The garden was bounded on every side by buildings, which in places
arose two stories, with verandahs shading the doors and windows of the
lower storey, while retreating galleries, guarded by strong
balustrades, adorned and protected the upper. Here and there,
moreover, the structures fell into what appeared low colonnades,
permitting the passage of such winds as chanced to blow, and
allowing other parts of the house to be seen, the better to realize
its magnitude and beauty. The arrangement of the ground was equally
pleasant to the eye. There were walks, and patches of grass and
shrubbery, and a few large trees, rare specimens of the palm,
grouped with the carob, apricot, and walnut. In all directions the
grade sloped gently from the centre, where there was a reservoir, or
deep marble basin, broken at intervals by little gates which, when
raised, emptied the water into sluices bordering the walks- a
cunning device for the rescue of the place from the aridity too
prevalent elsewhere in the region.
Not far from the fountain there was a small pool of clear water
nourishing a clump of cane and oleander, such as grow on the Jordan
and down by the Dead Sea. Between the clump and the pool, unmindful of
the sun shining full upon them in the breathless air, two boys, one
about nineteen, the other seventeen, sat engaged in earnest
conversation.
They were both handsome, and, at first glance, would have been
pronounced brothers. Both had hair and eyes black; their faces were
deeply browned; and, sitting, they seemed of a size proper for the
difference in their ages.
The elder was bareheaded. A loose tunic, dropping to the knees,
was his attire complete, except sandals and a light-blue mantle spread
under him on the seat. The costume left his arms and legs exposed, and
they were brown as the face; nevertheless, a certain grace of
manner, refinement of features, and culture of voice decided his rank.
The tunic, of softest woollen, grey-tinted, at the neck, sleeves,
and edge of the skirt bordered with red, and bound to the waist by a
tasselled silken cord, certified him the Roman he was. And if in
speech he now and then gazed haughtily at his companion and
addressed him as an inferior, he might almost be excused, for he was
of a family noble even in Rome- a circumstance which in that age
justified any assumption. In the terrible wars between the first
Caesar and his great enemies, a Messala had been the friend of Brutus.
After Philippi, without sacrifice of his honour, he and the
conqueror became reconciled. Yet later, when Octavius disputed for the
empire, Messala supported him. Octavius, as the Emperor Augustus,
remembered the service, and showered the family with honours. Among
other things, Judea being reduced to a province, he sent the son of
his old client or retainer to Jerusalem, charged with the receipt
and management of the taxes levied in that region; and in that service
the son had since remained, sharing the palace with the high-priest.
The youth just described was his son, whose habit was to carry about
with him all too faithfully a remembrance of the relation between
his grandfather and the great Romans of his day.
The associate of the Messala was slighter in form, and his
garments were of fine white linen and of the prevalent style in
Jerusalem; a cloth covered his head, held by a yellow cord, and
arranged so as to fall away from the forehead down low over the back
of the neck. An observer skilled in the distinctions of race, and
studying his features more than his costume, would have soon
discovered him to be of Jewish descent. The forehead of the Roman
was high and narrow, his nose sharp and aquiline, while his lips
were thin and straight, and his eyes cold and close under the brows.
The front of the Israelite, on the other hand, was low and broad;
his nose long, with expanded nostrils; his upper lip, slightly shading
the lower one, short and curving to the dimpled corners, like a
Cupid's bow; points which, in connection with the round chin, full
eyes, and oval cheeks reddened with a wine-like glow, gave his face
the softness, strength, and beauty peculiar to his race. The
comeliness of the Roman was severe and chaste, that of the Jew rich
and voluptuous.
"Did you not say the new procurator is to arrive to-morrow?"
The question proceeded from the younger of the friends, and was
couched in Greek, at the time, singularly enough, the language
everywhere prevalent in the politer circles of Judea; having passed
from the palace into the camp and college; thence, nobody knew exactly
when or how, into the Temple itself, and, for that matter, into
precincts of the Temple far beyond the gates and cloisters-
precincts of a sanctity intolerable for a Gentile.
"Yes, to-morrow," Messala answered.
"Who told you?"
"I heard Ishmael, the new governor in the palace- you call him
high-priest- tell my father so last night. The news had been more
credible, I grant you, coming from an Egyptian, who is of a race
that has forgotten what truth is, or even from an Idumaean, whose
people never knew what truth was; but, to make quite certain, I saw
a centurion from the Tower this morning, and he told me preparations
were going on for the reception; that the armourers were furbishing
the helmets and shields, and regilding the eagles and globes; and that
apartments long unused were being cleansed and aired as if for an
addition to the garrison- the body-guard, probably, of the great man."
A perfect idea of the manner in which the answer was given cannot be
conveyed, as its fine points continually escape the power behind the
pen. The reader's fancy must come to his aid; and for that he must
be reminded that reverence as a quality of the Roman mind was fast
breaking down, or, rather, it was becoming unfashionable. The old
religion had nearly ceased to be a faith; at most it was a mere
habit of thought and expression, cherished principally by the
priests who found service in the Temple profitable, and the poets who,
in the turn of their verses, could not dispense with the familiar
deities: there are singers of this age who are similarly given. As
philosophy was taking the place of religion, satire was fast
substituting reverence; insomuch that in Latin opinion it was to every
speech, even to the little diatribes of conversation, salt to
viands, and aroma to wine. The young Messala, educated in Rome, but
lately returned, had caught the habit and manner; the scarce
perceptible movement of the outer corner of the lower eyelid, the
decided curl of the corresponding nostril, and a languid utterance
affected as the best vehicle to convey the idea of general
indifference, but more particularly because of the opportunities it
afforded for certain rhetorical pauses thought to be of prime
importance to enable the listener to take the happy conceit or receive
the virus of the stinging epigram. Such a stop occurred in the
answer just given, at the end of the allusion to the Egyptian and
Idumaean. The colour in the Jewish lad's cheeks deepened, and he may
not have heard the rest of the speech, for he remained silent, looking
absently into the depths of the pool.
"Our farewell took place in this garden, 'The peace of the Lord go
with you!'- your last words. 'The gods keep you!' I said. Do you
remember? How many years have passed since then?"
"Five," answered the Jew, gazing into the water.
"Well, you have reason to be thankful to- whom shall I say? The
gods? No matter. You have grown handsome; the Greek would call you
beautiful- happy achievement of the years! If Jupiter would stay
content with one Ganymede, what a cup-bearer you would make for the
emperor! Tell me, my Judah, how the coming of the procurator is of
such interest to you."
Judah bent his large eyes upon the questioner; the gaze was grave
and thoughtful, and caught the Roman's, and held it while he
replied, "Yes, five years. I remember the parting; you went to Rome; I
saw you start, and cried, for I loved you. The years are gone, and you
have come back to me accomplished and princely- I do not jest; and
yet- yet- I wish you were the Messala you went away."
The fine nostril of the satirist stirred, and he put on a longer
drawl as he said, "No, no; not a Ganymede- an oracle, my Judah. A
few lessons from my teacher of rhetoric hard by the Forum- I will give
you a letter to him when you become wise enough to accept a suggestion
which I am reminded to make you- a little practice of the art of
mystery, and Delphi will receive you as Apollo himself. At sound of
your solemn voice, the Pythia will come down to you with her crown.
Seriously, O my friend, in what am I not the Messala I went away? I
once heard the greatest logician in the world. His subject was
Disputation. One saying I remember- 'Understand your antagonist before
you answer him.' Let me understand you."
The lad reddened under the cynical look to which he was subjected;
yet he replied, firmly, "You have availed yourself, I see, of your
opportunities; from your teachers you have brought away much knowledge
and many graces. You talk with the ease of a master; yet your speech
carries a sting. My Messala, when he went away, had no poison in his
nature; not for the world would he have hurt the feelings of a
friend."
The Roman smiled as if complimented, and raised his patrician head a
toss higher.
"O my solemn Judah, we are not at Dodona or Pytho. Drop the
oracular, and be plain. Wherein have I hurt you?"
The other drew a long breath, and said, pulling at the cord about
his waist, "In the five years, I, too, have learned somewhat. Hillel
may not be the equal of the logician you heard, and Simeon and Shammai
are, no doubt, inferior to your master hard by the Forum. Their
learning goes not out into forbidden paths; those who sit at their
feet arise enriched simply with knowledge of God, the law, and Israel;
and the effect is love and reverence for everything that pertains to
them. Attendance at the Great College, and study of what I heard
there, have taught me that Judea is not as she used to be. I know
the space that lies between an independent kingdom and the petty
province Judea is. I were meaner, viler than a Samaritan not to resent
the degradation of my country. Ishmael is not lawfully high-priest,
and he cannot be while the noble Hannas lives; yet he is a Levite; one
of the devoted who for thousands of years have acceptably served the
Lord God of our faith and worship. His- "
Messala broke in upon him with a biting laugh.
"Oh, I understand you now. Ishmael, you say, is a usurper, yet to
believe an Idumaean sooner than Ishmael is to sting like an adder.
By the drunken son of Semele, what it is to be a Jew! All men and
things, even heaven and earth, change; but a Jew never. To him there
is no backward, no forward; he is what his ancestor was in the
beginning. In this sand I draw you a circle- there! Now tell me what
more a Jew's life is? Round and round, Abraham here, Isaac and Jacob
yonder, God in the middle. And the circle- by the master of all
thunders! the circle is too large. I draw it again-." He stopped,
put his thumb upon the ground, and swept the fingers about it. "See,
the thumb-spot is the Temple, the finger-lines Judea. Outside the
little space is there nothing of value? The arts! Herod was a builder;
therefore he is accursed. Painting, sculpture! to look upon them is
sin. Poetry you make fast to your altars. Except in the synagogue, who
of you attempts eloquence? In war all you conquer in the six days
you lose on the seventh. Such your life and limit; who shall say no if
I laugh at you? Satisfied with the worship of such a people, what is
your God to our Roman Jove, who lends us his eagles that we may
compass the universe with our arms? Hillel, Simeon, Shammai, Abtalion-
what are they to the masters who teach that everything is worth
knowing that can be known?"
The Jew arose, his face much flushed.
"No, no; keep your place, my Judah, keep your place," Messala cried,
extending his hand.
"You mock me."
"Listen a little further. Directly"- the Roman smiled derisively-
"directly Jupiter and his whole family, Greek and Latin, will come
to me, as is their habit, and make an end of serious speech. I am
mindful of your goodness in walking from the old house of your fathers
to welcome me back and renew the love of our childhood- if we can.
'Go,' said my teacher, in his last lecture- 'go, and, to make your
lives great, remember Mars reigns and Eros has found his eyes.' He
meant love is nothing, war everything. It is so in Rome. Marriage is
the first step to divorce. Virtue is a tradesman's jewel. Cleopatra,
dying, bequeathed her arts, and is avenged; she has a successor in
every Roman's house. The world is going the same way; so, as to our
future, down Eros, up Mars! I am to be a soldier; and you, O my Judah,
I pity you; what can you be?"
The Jew moved nearer the pool; Messala's drawl deepened.
"Yes, I pity you, my fine Judah. From the college to the
synagogue; then to the Temple; then- oh, a crowning glory!- the seat
in the Sanhedrim. A life without opportunities; the gods help you. But
I- "
Judah looked at him in time to see the flush of pride that kindled
in his haughty face as he went on.
"But I- ah, the world is not all conquered. The sea has islands
unseen. In the north there are nations yet unvisited. The glory of
completing Alexander's march to the Far East remains to some one.
See what possibilities lie before a Roman."
Next instant he resumed his drawl.
"A campaign into Africa; another after the Scythian; then- a legion!
Most careers end there; but not mine. I- by Jupiter! what a
conception!- I will give up my legion for a prefecture. Think of
life in Rome with money- money, wine, women, games- poets at the
banquet, intrigues in the court, dice all the year round. Such a
rounding of life may be- a fat prefecture, and it is mine. O my Judah,
here is Syria! Judea is rich; Antioch a capital for the gods. I will
succeed Cyrenius, and you- shall share my fortune."
The sophists and rhetoricians who thronged the public resorts of
Rome, almost monopolizing the business of teaching her patrician
youth, might have approved these sayings of Messala, for they were all
in the popular vein; to the young Jew, however, they were new, and
unlike the solemn style of discourse and conversation to which he
was accustomed. He belonged, moreover, to a race whose laws, modes,
and habits of thought forbade satire and humour; very naturally,
therefore, he listened to his friend with varying feelings; one moment
indignant, then uncertain how to take him. The superior airs assumed
had been offensive to him in the beginning; soon they became
irritating, and at last an acute smart. Anger lies close by this point
in all of us; and that the satirist evoked in another way. To the
Jew of the Herodian period patriotism was a savage passion scarcely
hidden under his common humour, and so related to his history,
religion, and God, that it responded instantly to derision of them.
Wherefore it is not speaking too strongly to say that Messala's
progress down to the last pause was exquisite torture to his hearer;
at that point the latter said, with a forced smile-
"There are a few, I have heard, who can afford to make a jest of
their future; you convince me, O my Messala, that I am not one of
them."
The Roman studied him; then replied, "Why not the truth in a jest as
well as a parable? The great Fulvia went fishing the other day; she
caught more than all the company besides. They said it was because the
barb of her hook was covered with gold."
"Then you were not merely jesting?"
"My Judah, I see I did not offer you enough," the Roman answered,
quickly, his eyes sparkling. "When I am a prefect, with Judea to
enrich me, I- will make you high-priest."
The Jew turned off angrily.
"Do not leave me," said Messala.
The other stopped irresolute.
"Gods, Judah, how hot the sun shines!" cried the patrician,
observing his perplexity. "Let us seek a shade."
Judah answered, coldly-
"We had better part. I wish I had not come. I sought a friend and
find a- "
"Roman," said Messala, quickly.
The hands of the Jew clenched, but controlling himself again, he
started off. Messala arose, and, taking the mantle from the bench,
flung it over his shoulder, and followed after; when he gained his
side, he put his hand upon his shoulder and walked with him.
"This is the way- my hand thus- we used to walk when we were
children. Let us keep it as far as the gate."
Apparently Messala was trying to be serious and kind, though he
could not rid his countenance of the habitual satirical expression.
Judah permitted the familiarity.
"You are a boy; I am a man; let me talk like one."
The complacency of the Roman was superb. Mentor lecturing the
young Telemachus could not have been more at ease.
"Do you believe in the Parcae? Ah, I forgot, you are a Sadducee: the
Essenes are your sensible people; they believe in the sisters. So do
I. How everlastingly the three are in the way of our doing what we
please! I sit down scheming. I run paths here and there. Perpol!
Just when I am reaching to take the world in hand. I hear behind me
the grinding of scissors. I look, and there she is, the accursed
Atropos! But, my Judah, why did you get mad when I spoke of succeeding
old Cyrenius? You thought I meant to enrich myself plundering your
Judea. Suppose so; it is what some Roman will do. Why not I?"
Judah shortened his step.
"There have been strangers in mastery of Judea before the Roman," he
said, with lifted hand. "Where are they, Messala? She has outlived
them all. What has been will be again."
Messala put on his drawl.
"The Parcae have believers outside the Essenes. Welcome Judah,
welcome to the faith!"
"No, Messala, count me not with them. My faith rests on the rock
which was the foundation of the faith of my fathers back further
than Abraham; on the covenants of the Lord God of Israel."
"Too much passion, my Judah. How my master would have been shocked
had I been guilty of so much heat in his presence! There were other
things I had to tell you, but I fear to now."
When they had gone a few yards the Roman spoke again.
"I think you can hear me now, especially as what I have to say
concerns yourself. I would serve you, O handsome as Ganymede; I
would serve you with real good-will. I love you- all I can. I told you
I meant to be a soldier. Why not you also? Why not you step out of the
narrow circle which, as I have shown, is all of noble life your laws
and customs allow?"
Judah made no reply.
"Who are the wise men of our day?" Messala continued. "Not they
who exhaust their years quarrelling about dead things; about Baals,
Joves, and Jehovahs; about philosophies and religions. Give me one
great name, O Judah; I care not where you go to find it- to Rome,
Egypt, the East, or here in Jerusalem- Pluto take me if it belong
not to a man who wrought his fame out of the material furnished him by
the present; holding nothing sacred that did not contribute to the
end, scorning nothing that did! How was it with Herod? How with the
Maccabees? How with the first and second Caesars? Imitate them.
Begin now. At hand see- Rome, as ready to help you as she was the
Idumaean Antipater."
The Jewish lad trembled with rage; and, as the garden gate was
dose by, he quickened his steps, eager to escape.
"O Rome, Rome!" he muttered.
"Be wise," continued Messala. "Give up the follies of Moses and
the traditions; see the situation as it is. Dare look the Parcae in
the face, and they will tell you, Rome is the world. Ask them of
Judea, and they will answer, She is what Rome wills."
They were now at the gate. Judah stopped, and took the hand gently
from his shoulder, and confronted Messala, tears trembling in his
eyes.
"I understand you, because you are a Roman; you cannot understand
me- I am an Israelite. You have given me suffering to-day by
convincing me that we can never be the friends we have been- never!
Here we part. The peace of the God of my fathers abide with you!"
Messala offered him his hand; the Jew walked on through the gateway.
When he was gone, the Roman was silent awhile; then he, too, passed
through, saying to himself, with a toss of the head-
"Be it so. Eros is dead, Mars reigns!"
CHAPTER III.
A JUDEAN HOME.

FROM the entrance to the Holy City, equivalent to what is now called
St. Stephen's Gate, a street extended westwardly, on a line parallel
with the northern front of the Tower of Antonia, though a square
from that famous castle. Keeping the course as far as the Tyropoeon
Valley, which it followed a little way south, it turned and again
ran west until a short distance beyond what tradition tells us was the
Judgment Gate, from whence it broke abruptly south. The traveller or
the student familiar with the sacred locality will recognize the
thoroughfare described as part of the Via Dolorosa- with Christians of
more interest, though of a melancholy kind, than any street in the
world. As the purpose in view does not at present require dealing with
the whole street, it will be sufficient to point out a house
standing in the angle last mentioned as marking the change of
direction south, and which, as an important centre of interest,
needs somewhat particular description.
The building fronted north and west, probably four hundred feet each
way, and, like most pretentious Eastern structures, was two stories in
height, and perfectly quadrangular. The street on the west side was
about twelve feet wide, that on the north not more than ten; so that
one walking close to the walls and looking up at them, would have been
struck by the rude, unfinished, uninviting, but strong and imposing
appearance they presented; for they were of stone laid in large
blocks, undressed- on the outer side, in fact, just as they were taken
from the quarry. A critic of this age would have pronounced the
house fortelesque in style, except for the windows, with which it
was unusually garnished, and the ornate finish of the doorways or
gates. The western windows were four in number, the northern only two,
all set on the line of the second storey in such manner as to overhang
the thoroughfares below. The gates were the only breaks of wall
externally visible in the first storey; and, besides being so
thickly riven with iron bolts as to suggest resistance to
battering-rams, they were protected by cornices of marble,
handsomely executed, and of such bold projection as to assure visitors
well informed of the people that the rich man who resided there was
a Sadducee in politics and creed.
Not long after the young Jew parted from the Roman at the palace
up on the Market-place, he stopped before the western gate of the
house described, and knocked. The wicket (a door hung in one of the
valves of the gate) was opened to admit him. He stepped in hastily,
and failed to. acknowledge the low salaam of the porter.
To get an idea of the interior arrangement of the structure as
well as to see what more befell the youth, we will follow him.
The passage into which he was admitted appeared not unlike a
narrow tunnel with panelled walls and pitted ceiling. There were
benches of stone on both sides, stained and polished by long use.
Twelve or fifteen steps carried him into a court-yard, oblong north
and south, and in every quarter, except the east, bounded by what
seemed the fronts of two-storey houses; of which the lower floor was
divided into lewens, while the upper was terraced and defended by
strong balustrading. The servants coming and going along the terraces;
the noise of mill-stones grinding; the garments fluttering from
ropes stretched from point to point; the chickens and pigeons in
full enjoyment of the place; the goats, cows, donkeys, and horses
stabled in the lewens; a massive trough of water, apparently for the
common use, declared this court appurtenant to the domestic management
of the owner. Eastwardly there was a division wall broken by another
passage-way in all respects like the first one.
Clearing the second passage, the young man entered a second court,
spacious, square, and set with shrubbery and vines, kept fresh and
beautiful by water from a basin erected near a porch on the north
side. The lewens here were high, airy, and shaded by curtains
striped alternate white and red. The arches of the lewens rested on
clustered columns. A flight of steps on the south ascended to the
terraces of the upper storey, over which great awnings were
stretched as a defense against the sun. Another stairway reached
from the terraces to the roof, the edge of which, all around the
square, was defined by a sculptured cornice, and a parapet of
burned-clay tiling, sexangular and bright-red. In this quarter,
moreover, there was everywhere observable a scrupulous neatness,
which, allowing no dust in the angles, not even a yellow leaf upon a
shrub, contributed quite as much as anything else to the delightful
general effect; insomuch that a visitor, breathing the sweet air,
knew, in advance of introduction, the refinement of the family he
was about calling upon.
A few steps within the second court, the lad turned to the right,
and, choosing a walk through the shrubbery, part of which was in
flower, passed to the stairway, and ascended to the terrace- a broad
pavement of white and brown flags closely laid, and much worn.
Making way under the awning to a doorway on the north side, he entered
an apartment which the dropping of the screen behind him returned to
darkness. Nevertheless, he proceeded, moving over a tiled floor to a
divan, upon which he flung himself, face downwards, and lay at rest,
his forehead upon his crossed arms.
About nightfall a woman came to the door and called; he answered and
she went in.
"Supper is over, and it is night. Is not my son hungry?" she asked.
"No," he replied.
"Are you sick?"
"I am sleepy."
"Your mother has asked for you."
"Where is she?"
"In the summer-house on the roof."
He stirred himself, and sat up.
"Very well. Bring me something to eat."
"What do you want?"
"What you please, Amrah. I am not sick, but indifferent. Life does
not seem as pleasant as it did this morning. A new ailment, O my
Amrah; and you who know me so well, who never failed me, may think
of the things now that answer for food and medicine. Bring me what you
choose."
Amrah's questions, and the voice in which she put them- low,
sympathetic, and solicitous- were significant of an endeared
relation between the two. She laid her hand upon his forehead; then,
as satisfied, went out, saying, "I will see."
After a while she returned, bearing on a wooden platter a bowl of
milk, some thin cakes of white bread broken, a delicate paste of
brayed wheat, a bird broiled, and honey and salt. On one end of the
platter there was a silver goblet full of wine, on the other a
brazen hand-lamp lighted.
The room was then revealed: its walls smoothly plastered; the
ceiling broken by great oaken rafters, brown with rain stains and
time; the floor of small diamond-shaped white and blue tiles, very
firm and enduring; a few stools with legs carved in imitation of the
legs of lions; a divan raised a little above the floor, trimmed with
blue cloth, and partially covered by an immense striped woollen
blanket or shawl- in brief, a Hebrew bed-room.
The same light also gave the woman to view. Drawing a stool to the
divan, she placed the platter upon it, then knelt close by, ready to
serve him. Her face was that of a woman of fifty, dark-skinned,
dark-eyed, and at the moment softened by a look of tenderness almost
maternal. A white turban covered her head, leaving the lobes of the
ear exposed, and in them the sign that settled her condition- an
orifice bored by a thick awl. She was a slave of Egyptian origin, to
whom not even the sacred fiftieth year could have brought freedom; nor
would she have accepted it, for the boy she was attending was her
life. She had nursed him through babyhood, tended him as a child,
and could not break the service. To her love he could never be a man.
He spoke but once during the meal.
"You remember, O my Amrah," he said, "the Messala who used to
visit me here days at a time."
"I remember him."
"He went to Rome some years ago, and is now back. I called upon
him to-day."
A shudder of disgust seized the lad.
"I knew something had happened," she said, deeply interested. "I
never liked the Messala. Tell me all."
But he fell into musing, and to her repeated inquiries only said,
"He is much changed, and I shall have nothing more to do with him."
When Amrah took the platter away he also went out, and up from the
terrace to the roof.
The reader is presumed to know somewhat of the uses of the house-top
in the East. In the matter of customs, climate is a law-giver
everywhere. The Syrian summer day drives the seeker of comfort into
the darkened lewen; night, however, calls him forth early, and the
shadows deepening over the mountain-sides seem veils dimly covering
Circean singers; but they are far off, while the roof is close by, and
raised above the level of the shimmering plain enough for the
visitation of cool airs, and sufficiently above the trees to allure
the stars down closer, down at least into brighter shining. So the
roof became a resort- became playground, sleeping-chamber, boudoir,
rendezvous for the family, place of music, dance, conversation,
reverie, and prayer.
The motive that prompts the decoration, at whatever cost, of
interiors in colder climes suggested to the Oriental the embellishment
of his house-top. The parapet ordered by Moses became a potter's
triumph; above that, later, arose towers plain and fantastic; still
later, kings and princes crowned their roofs with summer-houses of
marble and gold. When the Babylonian hung gardens in the air,
extravagance could push the idea no further.
The lad whom we are following walked slowly across the house-top
to a tower built over the north-west corner of the palace. Had he been
a stranger he might have bestowed a glance upon the structure as he
drew nigh it, and seen all the dimness permitted- a darkened mass,
low, latticed, pillared, and domed. He entered, passing under a
half-raised curtain. The interior was all darkness, except that on
four sides there were arched openings like doorways, through which the
sky, lighted with stars, was visible. In one of the openings,
reclining against a cushion from a divan, he saw the figure of a
woman, indistinct even in white floating drapery. At the sound of
his steps upon the floor, the fan in her hand stopped, glistening
where the starlight struck the jewels with which it was sprinkled, and
she sat up, and called his name.
"Judah, my son!"
"It is I, mother," he answered, quickening his approach.
Going to her, he knelt, and she put her arms around him, and with
kisses pressed him to her bosom.
CHAPTER IV.
THE STRANGE THINGS BEN-HUR WANTS TO KNOW.

THE mother resumed her easy position against the cushion, while
the son took place on the divan, his head in her lap. Both of them,
looking out of the opening, could see a stretch of lower house-tops in
the vicinity, a bank of blue-blackness over in the west which they
knew to be mountains, and the sky, its shadowy depths brilliant with
stars. The city was still. Only the winds stirred.
"Amrah tells me something has happened to you," she said,
caressing his cheek. "When my Judah was a child, I allowed small
things to trouble him, but he is now a man. He must not forget"- her
voice became very soft- "that one day he is to be my hero."
She spoke in the language almost lost in the land, but which a
few- and they were always as rich in blood as in possessions-
cherished in its purity, that they might be more certainly
distinguished from Gentile peoples- the language in which the loved
Rebekah and Rachel sang to Benjamin.
The words appeared to set him thinking anew; after a while, however,
he caught the hand with which she fanned him, and said, "To-day, O
my mother, I have been made to think of many things that never had
place in my mind before. Tell me, first, what am I to be?"
"Have I not told you? You are to be my hero."
He could not see her face, yet he knew she was in play. He became
more serious.
"You are very good, very kind, O my mother. No one will ever love me
as you do."
He kissed the hand over and over again.
"I think I understand why you would have me put off the question,"
he continued. "Thus far my life has belonged to you. How gentle, how
sweet your control has been! I wish it could last forever. But that
may not be. It is the Lord's will that I shall one day become owner of
myself- a day of separation, and therefore a dreadful day to you.
Let us be brave and serious. I will be your hero, but you must put
me in the way. You know the law- every son of Israel must have some
occupation. I am not exempt, and ask now, shall I tend the herds? or
till the soil? or drive the saw? or be a clerk or lawyer? What shall I
be? Dear, good mother, help me to answer."
"Gamaliel has been lecturing to-day," she said, thoughtfully.
"If so, I did not hear him."
"Then you have been walking with Simeon, who, they tell me, inherits
the genius of his family."
"No, I have not seen him. I have been up on the Market-place, not to
the Temple. I visited the young Messala."
A certain change in his voice attracted the mother's attention. A
presentiment quickened the beating of her heart; the fan became
motionless again.
"The Messala!" she said. "What could he say to so trouble you?"
"He is very much changed."
"You mean he has come back a Roman."
"Yes."
"Roman!" she continued, half to herself. "To all the world the
word means master. How long has he been away?"
"Five years."
She raised her head, and looked off into the night.
"The airs of the Via Sacra are well enough in the streets of the
Egyptian and in Babylon; but in Jerusalem- our Jerusalem- the covenant
abides."
And, full of the thought, she settled back into her easy place. He
was first to speak.
"What Messala said, my mother, was sharp enough in itself but, taken
with the manner, some of the sayings were intolerable."
"I think I understand you. Rome, her poets, orators, senators,
courtiers, are mad with affectation of what they call satire."
"I suppose all great peoples are proud," he went on, scarcely
noticing the interruption; "but the pride of that people is unlike all
others; in these latter days it is so grown the gods barely escape
it."
"The gods escape!" said the mother, quickly. "More than one Roman
has accepted worship as his divine right."
"Well, Messala always had his share of the disagreeable quality.
When he was a child I have seen him mock strangers whom even Herod
condescended to receive with honours; yet he always spared Judea.
For the first time, in conversation with me to-day, he trifled with
our customs and God. As you would have had me to do, I parted with him
finally. And now, O my dear mother, I would know with more certainty
if there be just ground for the Roman's contempt. In what am I his
inferior? Is ours a lower order of people? Why should I, even in
Caesar's presence, feel the shrinking of a slave? Tell me especially
why, if I have the soul, and so choose, I may not hunt the honours
of the world in all its fields? Why may not I take sword and indulge
the passion of war! As a poet, why may not I sing of all themes? I can
be a worker in metals, a keeper of flocks, a merchant, why not an
artist like the Greek? Tell me, O my mother- and this is the sum of my
trouble- why may not a son of Israel do all a Roman may?"
The reader will refer these questions back to the conversation in
the Market-place; the mother, listening with all her faculties
awake, from something which would have been lost upon one less
interested in him- from the connections of the subject, the pointing
of the questions, possibly his accent and tone- was not less swift
in making the same reference. She sat up, and in a voice quick and
sharp as his own, replied, "I see, I see! From association Messala, in
boyhood, was almost a Jew; had he remained here he might have become a
proselyte, so much do we all borrow from the influences that ripen our
lives; but the years in Rome have been too much for him. I do not
wonder at the change; yet"- her voice fell- "he might have dealt
tenderly at least with you. It is a hard, cruel nature which in
youth can forget its first loves."
Her hand dropped lightly upon his forehead, and the fingers caught
in his hair and lingered there lovingly, while her eyes sought the
highest stars in view. Her pride responded to his, not merely in echo,
but in the unison of perfect sympathy. She would answer him; at the
same time, not for the world would she have had the answer
unsatisfactory; an admission of inferiority might weaken his spirit
for life. She faltered with misgivings of her own powers.
"What you propose, O my Judah, is not a subject for treatment by a
woman. Let me put its consideration off till to-morrow, and I will
have the wise Simeon- "
"Do not send me to the Rector," he said, abruptly.
"I will have him come to us."
"No, I seek more than information; while he might give me that
better than you, O my mother, you can do better by giving me what he
cannot- the resolution which is the soul of a man's soul."
She swept the heavens with a rapid glance, trying to compass all the
meaning of his questions.
"While craving justice for ourselves, it is never wise to be
unjust to others. To deny valour in the enemy we have conquered is
to underrate our victory; and if the enemy be strong enough to hold us
at bay, much more to conquer us"- she hesitated- "self-respect bids us
seek some other explanation of our misfortunes than accusing him of
qualities inferior to our own."
Thus speaking to herself rather than to him, she began-
"Take heart, O my son. The Messala is nobly descended; his family
has been illustrious through many generations. In the days of
Republican Rome- how far back I cannot tell- they were famous, some as
soldiers, some as civilians. I can recall but one consul of the
name; their rank was senatorial, and their patronage always sought
because they were always rich. Yet if to-day your friend boasted of
his ancestry, you might have shamed him by recounting yours. If he
referred to the ages through which the line is traceable, or to deeds,
rank, or wealth- such allusions, except when great occasion demands
them, are tokens of small minds- if he mentioned them in proof of
his superiority, then without dread, and standing on each
particular, you might have challenged him to a comparison of records."
Taking a moment's thought, the mother proceeded:
"One of the ideas of fast hold now is that time has much to do
with the nobility of races and families. A Roman boasting his
superiority on that account over a son of Israel will always fail when
put to the proof. The founding of Rome was his beginning; the very
best of them cannot trace their descent beyond that period: few of
them pretend to do so; and of such as do, I say not one could make
good his claim except by resort to tradition. Messala certainly
could not. Let us look now to ourselves. Could we better?"
A little more light would have enabled him to see the pride that
diffused itself over her face.
"Let us imagine the Roman putting us to the challenge. I would
answer him, neither doubting nor boastful."
Her voice faltered; a tender thought changed the form of the
argument.
"Your father, O, my Judah, is at rest with his fathers; yet I
remember, as though it were this evening, the day he and I, with
many rejoicing friends, went up into the Temple to present you to
the Lord. We sacrificed the doves, and to the priest I gave your name,
which he wrote in my presence- 'Judah, son of Ithamar, of the House of
Hur.' The name was then carried away and written in a book of the
division of records devoted to the saintly family.
"I cannot tell you when the custom of registration in this mode
began. We know it prevailed before the flight from Egypt. I have heard
Hillel say Abraham caused the record to be first opened with his own
name, and the names of his sons, moved by the promises of the Lord
which separated him and them from all other races, and made them the
highest and noblest, the very chosen of the earth. The covenant with
Jacob was of like effect. 'In thy seed shall all the nations of the
earth be blessed'- so said the angel to Abraham in the place of
Jehovah-jireh. 'And the land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give
it, and to thy seed'- so the Lord himself said to Jacob asleep at
Bethel on the way to Haran. Afterwards the wise men looked forward
to a just division of the land of promise; and, that it might be known
in the day of partition who were entitled to portions' the Book of
Generations was begun. But not for that alone. The promise of a
blessing to all the earth through the patriarch reached far into the
future. One name was mentioned in connection with the blessing- the
benefactor might be the humblest of the chosen family, for the Lord
our God knows no distinction of rank or riches. So, to make the
performance clear to men of the generation who were to witness it, and
that they might give the glory to whom it belonged, the record was
required to be kept with absolute certainty. Has it been so kept?"
The fan played to and fro, until, becoming impatient, he repeated
the question, "Is the record absolutely true?"
"Hillel said it was, and of all who have lived no one was so
well-informed upon the subject. Our people have at times been heedless
of some parts of the law, but never of this part. The good rector
himself has followed the Books of Generations through three periods-
from the promises to the opening of the Temple; thence to the
Captivity; thence, again, to the present. Once only were the records
disturbed, and that was at the end of the second period; but when
the nation returned from the long exile, as a first duty to God,
Zerubbabel restored the Books, enabling us once more to carry the
lines of Jewish descent back unbroken fully two thousand years. And
now- "
She paused as if to allow the hearer to measure the time
comprehended in the statement.
"And now," she continued, "what becomes of the Roman boast of
blood enriched by ages? By that test the sons of Israel watching the
herds on old Rephaim yonder are nobler than the noblest of the
Marcii."
"And I, mother- by the Books, who am I?"
"What I have said thus far, my son, had reference to your
question. I will answer you. If Messala were here he might say, as
others have said, that the exact trace of your lineage stopped when
the Assyrian took Jerusalem, and razed the Temple, with alt its
precious stores; but you might plead the pious action of Zerubbabel,
and retort that all verity in Roman genealogy ended when the
barbarians from the West took Rome, and camped six months upon her
desolated site. Did the government keep family histories? If so,
what became of them in those dreadful days? No, no; there is verity in
our Books of Generations; and following them back to the Captivity,
back to the foundation of the first Temple, back to the march from
Egypt, we have absolute assurance that you are lineally sprung from
Hur, the associate of Joshua. In the matter of descent sanctified by
time, is not the honour perfect? Do you care to pursue further? If so,
take the Torah, and search the Book of Numbers, and of the seventy-two
generations after Adam, you can find the very progenitor of your
house."
There was silence for a time in the chamber on the roof.
"I thank you, O my mother," Judah next said, clasping both her hands
in his; "I thank you with all my heart. I was right in not having
the good rector called in; he could not have satisfied me more than
you have. Yet to make a family truly noble, is time alone sufficient?"
"Ah, you forget, you forget; our claim rests not merely upon time;
the Lord's preference is our especial glory."
"You are speaking of the race, and I, mother, of the family- our
family. In the years since Father Abraham, what have they achieved?
What have they done? What great things to lift them above the level of
their fellows?"
She hesitated, thinking she might all this time have mistaken his
object. The information he sought might have been for more than
satisfaction of wounded vanity. Youth is but the painted shell
within which, continually growing, lives that wondrous thing, the
spirit of a man, biding its moment of apparition, earlier in some than
in others. She trembled under a perception that this might be the
supreme moment come to him; that as children at birth reach out
their untried hands grasping for shadows, and crying the while, so his
spirit might, in temporary blindness, be struggling to take hold of
its impalpable future. They to whom a boy comes asking, Who am I,
and what am I to be? have need of ever so much care. Each word in
answer may prove to the after-life what each finger-touch of the
artist is to the clay he is modelling.
"I have a feeling, O my Judah," she said, patting his cheek with the
hand he had been caressing- "I have the feeling that all I have said
has been in strife with an antagonist more real than imaginary. If
Messala is the enemy, do not leave me to fight him in the dark. Tell
me all he said."
CHAPTER V.
ROME AND ISRAEL- A COMPARISON.

THE young Israelite proceeded then, and rehearsed his conversation
with Messala, dwelling with particularity upon the latter's speeches
in contempt of the Jews, their customs, and much pent round of life.
Afraid to speak the while, the mother listened, discerning the
matter plainly. Judah had gone to the palace on the Market-place,
allured by love of a playmate whom he thought to find exactly as he
had been at the parting years before; a man met him, and, in place
of laughter and references to the sports of the past, the man had been
full of the future, and talked of glory to be won, and of riches and
power. Unconscious of the effect, the visitor had come away hurt in
pride, yet touched with a natural ambition: but she, the jealous
mother, saw it, and, not knowing the turn the aspiration might take,
became at once Jewish in her fear. What if it lured him away from
the patriarchal faith? In her view that consequence was more
dreadful than any or all others. She could discover but one way to
avert it, and she set about the task, her native power reinforced by
love to such degree that her speech took a masculine strength and at
times a poet's fervour.
"There never has been a people," she began, "who did not think
themselves at least equal to any other; never a great nation, my
son, that did not believe itself the very superior. When the Roman
looks down upon Israel and laughs, he merely repeats the folly of
the Egyptian, the Assyrian, and the Macedonian; and as the laugh is
against God, the result will be the same."
Her voice became firmer.
"There is no law by which to determine the superiority of nations;
hence the vanity of the claim and the idleness of disputes about it. A
people risen, run their race, and die either of themselves or at the
hands of another, who, succeeding to their power, take possession of
their place, and upon their monuments write new names; such is
history. If I were called upon to symbolize God and man in the
simplest form, I would draw a straight line and a circle; and of the
line I would say, 'This is God, for he alone moves forever
straightforward,' and of the circle, 'This is man- such is his
progress.' I do not mean that there is no difference between the
careers of nations; no two are alike. The difference, however, is not,
as some say, in the extent of the circle they describe or the space of
earth they cover, but in the sphere of their movement, the highest
being nearest God.
"To stop here, my son, would be to leave the subject where we began.
Let us go on. There are signs by which to measure the height of the
circle each nation runs while in its course. By them let us compare
the Hebrew and the Roman.
"The simplest of all the signs is the daily life of the people. Of
this I will only say, Israel has at times forgotten God, while the
Roman never knew him; consequently comparison is not possible.
"Your friend- or your former friend- charged, if I understood you
rightly, that we have had no poets, artists, or warriors; by which
he meant, I suppose, to deny that we have had great men, the next most
certain of the signs. A just consideration of this charge requires a
definition at the commencement. A great man, O my boy, is one whose
life proves him to have been recognized, if not called, by God. A
Persian was used to punish our recreant fathers, and he carried them
into captivity; another Persian was selected to restore their children
to the Holy Land; greater than either of them, however, was the
Macedonian through whom the desolation of Judea and the Temple was
avenged. The special distinction of the men was that they were
chosen by the Lord, each for a divine purpose; and that they were
Gentiles does not lessen their glory. Do not lost sight of this
definition while I proceed.
"There is an idea that war is the most noble occupation of men,
and that the most exalted greatness is the growth of battle-fields.
Because the world has adopted the idea, be not you deceived. That we
must worship something is a law which will continue as long as there
is anything we cannot understand. The prayer of the barbarian is a
wail of fear addressed to Strength, the only divine quality he can
clearly conceive; hence his faith in heroes. What is Jove but a
Roman hero? The Greeks have their great glory because they were the
first to set Mind above Strength. In Athens the orator and philosopher
were more revered than the warrior. The charioteer and the swiftest
runner are still idols of the arena; yet the immortelles are
reserved for the sweetest singer. The birthplace of one poet was
contested by seven cities. But was the Hellene the first to deny the
old barbaric faith? No. My son, that glory is ours; against
brutalism our fathers erected God; in our worship, the wail of fear
gave place to the Hosanna and the Psalm. So the Hebrew and the Greek
would have carried all humanity forward and upward. But, alas! the
government of the world presumes war as an eternal condition;
wherefore, over Mind and above God, the Roman has enthroned his
Caesar, the absorbent of all attainable power, the prohibition of
any other greatness.
"The sway of the Greek was a flowering time for genius. In return
for the liberty it then enjoyed, what a company of thinkers the Mind
led forth? There was a glory for every excellence, and a perfection so
absolute that in everything but war even the Roman has stooped to
imitation. A Greek is now the model of the orators in the Forum;
listen, and in every Roman song you will hear the rhythm of the Greek;
if a Roman opens his mouth speaking wisely of moralities, or
abstractions, or of the mysteries of nature, he is either a plagiarist
or the disciple of some school which had a Greek for its founder. In
nothing but war, I say again, has Rome a claim to originality. Her
games and spectacles are Greek inventions, dashed with blood to
gratify the ferocity of her rabble; her religion, if such it may be
called, is made up of contributions from the faiths of all other
peoples; her most venerated gods are from Olympus- even her Mars, and,
for that matter, the Jove she much magnifies. So it happens, O my son,
that of the whole world our Israel alone can dispute the superiority
of the Greek, and with him contest the palm of original genius.
"To the excellences of other peoples the egotism of a Roman is a
blindfold, impenetrable as his breastplate. Oh, the ruthless
robbers! Under their trampling the earth trembles like a floor
beaten with flails. Along with the rest we are fallen- alas, that I
should say it to you, my son! They have our highest places, and the
holiest, and the end no man can tell; but this I know- they may reduce
Judea as an almond broken with hammers, and devour Jerusalem, which is
the oil and sweetness thereof; yet the glory of the men of Israel will
remain a light in the heavens overhead out of reach: for their history
is the history of God, who wrote with their hands, spake with their
tongues, and was himself in all the good they did, even the least; who
dwelt with them, a Lawgiver on Sinai, a Guide in the wilderness, in
war a Captain, in government a King; who once and again pushed back
the curtains of the pavilion which is his resting-place, intolerably
bright, and, as a man speaking to men, showed them the right, and
the way to happiness, and how they should live, and made them promises
binding the strength of his Almightiness with covenants sworn to
everlastingly. O my son, could it be that they with whom Jehovah
thus dwelt, an awful familiar, derived nothing from him?- that in
their lives and deeds the common human qualities should not in some
degree have been mixed and coloured with the divine?- that their
genius should not have in it, even after the lapse of ages, some
little of heaven?"
For a time the rustling of the fan was all the sound heard in the
chamber.
"In the sense which limits art to sculpture and painting, it is
true," she next said, "Israel has had no artists."
The admission was made regretfully, for it must be remembered she
was a Sadducee, whose faith, unlike that of the Pharisees, permitted a
love of the beautiful in every form, and without reference to its
origin.
"Still, he who would do justice," she proceeded, "will not forget
that the cunning of our hands was bound by the prohibition, 'Thou
shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of
anything;' which the Sopherim wickedly extended beyond its purpose and
time. Nor should it be forgotten that long before Daedalus appeared in
Attica, and with his wooden statues so transformed sculpture as to
make possible the schools of Corinth and AEgina, and their ultimate
triumphs, the Poecile and Capitolium- long before the age of Daedalus,
I say, two Israelites, Bezaleel and Aholiab, the master-builders of
the first tabernacle, said to have been skilled 'in all manner of
workmanship,' wrought the cherubim of the mercy-seat above the ark. Of
gold beaten, not chiselled, were they; and they were statues in form
both human and divine. 'And they shall stretch forth their wings on
high,.... and their faces shall look one to another.' Who will say
they were not beautiful? or that they were not the first statues?"
"Oh, I see now why the Greek outstripped us," said Judah,
intensely interested. "And the ark; accursed be the Babylonians who
destroyed it."
"Nay, Judah, be of faith. It was not destroyed, only lost, hidden
away too safely in some cavern of the mountains. One day- Hellel and
Shammai both say so- one day, in the Lord's good time, it will be
found and brought forth, and Israel dance before it, singing as of
old. And they who look upon the faces of the cherubim then, though
they have seen the face of the ivory Minerva, will be ready to kiss
the hand of the Jew from love of his genius, asleep through all the
thousands of years."
The mother, in her eagerness, had risen into something like the
rapidity and vehemence of a speech-maker; but now, to recover herself,
or to pluck up the thread of her thought, she rested awhile.
"You are so good, my mother," he said, in a grateful way. "And I
will never be done saying so. Shammai could not have talked better,
nor Hillel. I am a true son of Israel again."
"Flatterer!" she said. "You do not know that I am but repeating what
I heard Hillel say in an argument he had one day in my presence with a
sophist from Rome."
"Well, the hearty words are yours."
Directly all her earnestness returned.
"Where was I? Oh yes, I was claiming for our Hebrew fathers the
first statues. The trick of the sculptor, Judah, is not all there is
of art, any more than art is all there is of greatness. I always think
of great men marching down the centuries in groups and goodly
companies, separable according to nationalities; here the Indian,
there the Egyptian, yonder the Assyrian; above them the music of
trumpets and the beauty of banners; and on their right hand and
left, as reverent spectators, the generations from the beginning
numberless. As they go, I think of the Greek saying, 'Lo! the
Hellene leads the way.' Then the Roman replies, 'Silence! what was
your place is ours now; we have left you behind as dust trodden on.'
And all the time, from the far front back over the line of march, as
well as forward into the farthest future, streams a light of which the
wranglers know nothing, except that it is forever leading them on- the
Light of Revelation! Who are they that carry it? Ah, the old Judean
blood! How it leaps at the thought! By the light we know them.
Thrice blessed, O our fathers, servants of God, keepers of the
covenants! Ye are the leaders of men, the living and the dead. The
front is thine; and though every Roman were a Caesar, ye shall not
lose it!"
Judah was deeply stirred.
"Do not stop, I pray you," he cried. "You give me to hear the
sound of timbrels. I wait for Miriam and the women who went after
her dancing and singing."
She caught his feeling, and, with ready wit, wove it into her
speech.
"Very well, my son. If you can hear the timbrel of the prophetess,
you can do what I was about to ask you; you can use your fancy, and
stand with me, as if by the wayside, while the chosen of Israel pass
us at the head of the procession. Now they come- the patriarchs first;
next the fathers of the tribes. I almost hear the bells of their
camels and the lowing of their herds. Who is he that walks alone
between the companies? An old man, yet his eye is not dim, nor his
natural force abated. He knew the Lord face to face! Warrior, poet,
orator, lawgiver, prophet, his greatness is as the sun at morning, its
flood of splendour quenching all other lights, even that of the
first and noblest of the Caesars. After him the judges. And then the
kings- the son of Jesse, a hero in war, and a singer of songs
eternal as that of the sea; and his son, who, passing all other
kings in riches and wisdom, and while making the Desert habitable, and
in its waste places planting cities, forgot not Jerusalem which the
Lord had chosen for his seat on earth. Bend lower, my son! These
that come next are the first of their kind, and the last. Their
faces are raised, as if they heard a voice in the sky and were
listening. Their lives were full of sorrows. Their garments smell of
tombs and caverns. Hearken to a woman among them!- 'Sing ye to the
Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously!' Nay, put your forehead in the
dust before them! They were tongues of God, his servants, who looked
through heaven, and, seeing all the future, wrote what they saw, and
left the writing to be proven by time. Kings turned pale as they
approached them and nations trembled at the sound of their voices. The
clements waited upon them. In their hands they carried every bounty
and every plague. See the Tishbite and his servant Elisha! See the sad
son of Hilkiah, and him, the seer of visions, by the river of
Chebar! And of the three children of Judah who refused the image of
the Babylonian, lo! that one who, in the feast to the thousand
lords, so confounded the astrologers. And yonder- O my son, kiss the
dust again!- yonder the gentle son of Amoz, from whom the world has
its promise of the Messiah to come!"
In this passage the fan had been kept in rapid play; it stopped now,
and her voice sank low.
"You are tired," she said.
"No," he replied, "I was listening to a new song of Israel."
The mother was still intent upon her purpose, and passed the
pleasant speech.
"In such light as I could, my Judah, I have set our great men before
you- patriarchs, legislators, warriors, singers, prophets. Turn we
to the best of Rome. Against Moses place Caesar, and Tarquin against
David; Sylla against either of the Maccabees; the best of the
consuls against the Judges; Augustus against Solomon, and you are
done: comparison ends there. But think then of the prophets-
greatest of the great."
She laughed scornfully.
"Pardon me. I was thinking of the soothsayer who warned Caius Julius
against the Ides of March, and fancied him looking for the omens of
evil which his master despised in the entrails of a chicken. From that
picture turn to Elijah sitting on the hill-top on the way to
Samaria, amid the smoking bodies of the captains and their fifties,
warning the son of Ahab of the wrath of our God. Finally, O my
Judah- if such speech be reverent- how shall we judge Jehovah and
Jupiter unless it be by what their servants have done in their
names? And as for what you shall do- "
She spoke the latter words slowly, and with a tremulous utterance.
"As for what you shall do, my boy- serve the Lord, the Lord God of
Israel, not Rome. For a child of Abraham there is no glory except in
the Lord's ways, and in them there is much glory."
"I may be a soldier then?" Judah asked.
"Why not? Did not Moses call God a man of war?"
There was then a long silence in the summer chamber.
"You have my permission," she said, finally; "if only you serve
the Lord instead of Caesar."
He was content with the condition, and by-and-by fell asleep. She
arose then, and put the cushion under his head, and, throwing a
shawl over him and kissing him tenderly, went away.
CHAPTER VI.
THE ACCIDENT TO GRATUS.

THE good man, like the bad, must die; but, remembering the lesson of
our faith, we say of him and the event, "No matter, he will open his
eyes in heaven." Nearest this in life is the waking from healthful
sleep to a quick consciousness of happy sights and sounds.
When Judah awoke, the sun was up over the mountains; the pigeons
were abroad in flocks, filling the air with the gleams of their
white wings; and off south-east he beheld the Temple, an apparition of
gold in the blue of the sky. These, however, were familiar objects,
and they received but a glance; upon the edge of the divan, close by
him, a girl scarcely fifteen sat singing to the accompaniment of a
nebel, which she rested upon her knee, and touched gracefully. To
her he turned listening; and this was what she sang-

THE SONG

"Wake not, but hear me, love!
Adrift, adrift on slumber's sea,
Thy spirit call to list to me.
Wake not, but hear me, love!
A gift from Sleep, the restful king,
All happy, happy dreams I bring.

Wake not, but hear me, love!
Of all the world of dreams 'tis thine
This once to choose the most divine.
So choose, and sleep, my love!
But ne'er again in choice be free,
Unless, unless- you dream of me."

She put the instrument down, and, resting her hands in her lap,
waited for him to speak. And as it has become necessary to tell
somewhat of her, we will avail ourselves of the chance, and add such
particulars of the family into whose privacy we are brought as the
reader may wish to know.
The favours of Herod had left surviving him many persons of vast
estate. Where this fortune was joined to undoubted lineal descent from
some famous son of one of the tribes, especially Judah, the happy
individual was accounted a Prince of Jerusalem- a distinction which
sufficed to bring him the homage of his less favoured countrymen,
and the respect, if nothing more, of the Gentiles with whom business
and social circumstance brought him into dealing. Of this class none
had won in private or public life a higher regard than the father of
the lad whom we have been following. With a remembrance of his
nationality which never failed him, he had yet been true to the
king, and served him faithfully at home and abroad. Some offices had
taken him to Rome, where his conduct attracted the notice of Augustus,
who strove without reserve to engage his friendship. In his house,
accordingly, were many presents, such as had gratified the vanity of
kings- purple togas, ivory chairs, golden paterae- chiefly valuable on
account of the imperial hand which had honourably conferred them. Such
a man could not fail to be rich; yet his wealth was not altogether the
largess of royal patrons. He had welcomed the law that bound him to
some pursuit; and, instead of one, he entered into many. Of the
herdsmen watching flocks on the plains and hill-sides, far as old
Lebanon, numbers reported to him as their employer; in the cities by
the sea, and in those inland, he founded houses of traffic; his
ships brought him silver from Spain, whose mines were then the richest
known; while his caravans came twice a year from the East, laden
with silks and spices. In faith he was a Hebrew, observant of the
law and every essential rite; his place in the synagogue and Temple
knew him well; he was thoroughly learned in the Scriptures; he
delighted in the society of the college-masters, and carried his
reverence for Hillel almost to the point of worship. Yet he was in
no sense a Separatist; his hospitality took in strangers from every
land; the carping Pharisees even accused him of having more than
once entertained Samaritans at his table. Had he been a Gentile, and
lived, the world might have heard of him as the rival of Herodes
Atticus: as it was, he perished at sea some ten years before this
second period of our story, in the prime of life, and lamented
everywhere in Judea. We are already acquainted with two members of his
family- his widow and son; the only other was a daughter- she whom
we have seen singing to her brother.
Tirzah was her name, and as the two looked at each other, their
resemblance was plain. Her features had the regularity of his, and
were of the same Jewish type; they had also the charm of childish
innocency of expression. Home-life and its trustful love permitted the
negligent attire in which she appeared. A chemise buttoned upon the
right shoulder, and passing loosely over the breast and back and under
the left arm, but half concealed her person above the waist, while
it left the arms entirely nude. A girdle caught the folds of the
garment, marking the commencement of the skirt. The coiffure was
very simple and becoming- a silken cap, Tyrian-dyed; and over that a
striped scarf of the same material, beautifully embroidered, and wound
about in thin folds so as to show the shape of the head without
enlarging it; the whole finished by a tassel dropping from the crown
point of the cap. She had rings, ear and finger; anklets and
bracelets, all of gold; and around her neck there was a collar of
gold, curiously garnished with a network of delicate chains, to
which were pendants of pearl. The edges of her eyelids were painted,
and the tips of her fingers stained. Her hair fell in two long
plaits down her back. A curled lock rested upon each cheek in front of
the ear. Altogether it would have been impossible to deny her grace,
refinement, and beauty.
"Very pretty, my Tirzah, very pretty!" he said with animation.
"The song?" she asked.
"Yes- and the singer, too. It has the conceit of a Greek. Where
did you get it?"
"You remember the Greek who sang in the theatre last month? They
said he used to be a singer at the court for Herod and his sister
Salome. He came out just after an exhibition of wrestlers, when the
house was full of noise. At his first note everything became so
quiet that I heard every word. I got the song from him."
"But he sang in Greek."
"And I in Hebrew."
"Ah, yes. I am proud of my little sister. Have you another as good?"
"Very many. But let them go now. Amrah sent me to tell you she
will bring you your breakfast, and that you need not come down. She
should be here by this time. She thinks you sick- that a dreadful
accident happened you yesterday. What was it? Tell me, and I will help
Amrah doctor you. She knows the cures of the Egyptians, who were
always a stupid set; but I have a great many recipes of the Arabs who-
"
"Are even more stupid than the Egyptians," he said, shaking his
head.
"Do you think so? Very well, then," she replied, almost without
pause, and putting her hands to her left ear. "We will have nothing to
do with any of them. I have here what is much surer and better- the
amulet which was given to some of our people- I cannot tell when, it
was so far back- by a Persian magician. See, the inscription is almost
worn out."
She offered him the ear-ring, which he took, looked at, and handed
back, laughing.
"If I were dying, Tirzah, I could not use the charm. It is a relic
of idolatry, forbidden every believing son and daughter of Abraham.
Take it, but do not wear it any more."
"Forbidden! Not so," she said. "Our father's mother wore it I do not
know how many Sabbaths in her life. It has cured I do not know how
many people- more than three anyhow. It is, approved- look, here is
the mark of the rabbis."
"I have no faith in amulets."
She raised her eyes to his in astonishment.
"What would Amrah say?"
"Amrah's father and mother tended sakiyeh for a garden on the Nile."
"But Gamaliel!"
"He says they are godless inventions of unbelievers and
Shechemites."
Tirzah looked at the ring doubtfully.
"What shall I do with it?"
"Wear it, my little sister. It becomes you- it helps make you
beautiful, though I think you that without help."
Satisfied, she returned the amulet to her ear just as Amrah
entered the summer chamber, bearing a platter, with wash-bowl,
water, and napkins.
Not being a Pharisee, the ablution was short and simple with
Judah. The servant then went out, leaving Tirzah to dress his hair.
When a lock was disposed to her satisfaction, she would unloose the
small metallic mirror which, as was the fashion among her fair
country-women, she wore at her girdle, and gave it to him, that he
might see the triumph, and how handsome it made him. Meanwhile they
kept up their conversation.
"What do you think, Tirzah?- I am going away."
She dropped her hands with amazement.
"Going away! When? Where? For what?"
He laughed.
"Three questions, all in a breath! What a body you are!" Next
instant he became serious. "You know the law requires me to follow
some occupation. Our good father set me an example. Even you would
despise me if I spent in idleness the results of his industry and
knowledge. I am going to Rome."
"Oh, I will go with you."
"You must stay with mother. If both of us leave her, she will die."
The brightness faded from her face.
"Ah, yes, yes! But- must you go? Here in Jerusalem you can learn all
that is needed to be a merchant- if that is what you are thinking of."
"But that is not what I am thinking of. The law does not require the
son to be what the father was."
"What else can you be?"
"A soldier," he replied, with a certain pride of voice.
Tears came into her eyes.
"You will be killed."
"If God's will, be it so. But, Tirzah, the soldiers are not all
killed."
She threw her arms around his neck as if to hold him back.
"We are so happy! Stay at home, my brother."
"Home cannot always be what it is. You yourself will be going away
before long."
"Never!"
He smiled at her earnestness.
"A prince of Judah, or some other one of the tribes, will come
soon and claim my Tirzah, and ride away with her, to be the light of
another house. What will then become of me?"
She answered with sobs.
"War is a trade," he continued, more soberly. "To learn it
thoroughly, one must go to school, and there is no school like a Roman
camp."
"You would not fight for Rome?" she asked, holding her breath.
"And you- even you hate her. The whole world hates her. In that, O
Tirzah, find the reason of the answer I give you- Yes, I will fight
for her, if, in return, she will teach me how one day to fight against
her."
"When will you go?"
Amrah's steps were then heard returning.
"Hist!" he said. "Do not let her know of what I am thinking."
The faithful slave came in with breakfast, and placed the waiter,
holding it upon a stool before them; then, with white napkins upon her
arm, she remained to serve them. They dipped their fingers in a bowl
of water, and were rinsing them, when a noise arrested their
attention. They listened, and distinguished martial music in the
street on the north side of the house.
"Soldiers from the Praetorium! I must see them," he cried, springing
from the divan, and running out.
In a moment more he was leaning over the parapet of tiles which
guarded the roof at the extreme north-east corner, so absorbed that he
did not notice Tirzah by his side, resting one hand upon his shoulder.
Their position- the roof being the highest one in the locality-
commanded the house-tops eastward as far as the huge irregular Tower
of Antonia, which has been already mentioned as a citadel for the
garrison and military head-quarters for the governor. The street,
not more than ten feet wide, was spanned here and there by bridges,
open and covered, which, like the roofs along the way, were
beginning to be occupied by men, women, and children, called out by
the music. The word is used, though it is hardly fitting; what the
people heard when they came forth was rather an uproar of trumpets and
the shriller litui so delightful to the soldiers.
The array after a while came into view of the two upon the house
of the Hurs. First, a vanguard of the light-armed- mostly slingers and
bowmen- marching with wide intervals between their ranks and files;
next a body of heavy-armed infantry, bearing large shields, and hastae
longae, or spears identical with those used in the duels between
Ilium; then the musicians; and then an officer riding alone, but
followed closely by a guard of cavalry; after them again, a column
of infantry also heavy-armed, which, moving in close order, crowded
the street from wall to wall, and appeared to be without end.
The brawny limbs of the men; the cadenced motion from right to
left of the shields; the sparkle of scales, buckles, and breast-plates
and helms, all perfectly burnished; the plumes nodding above the
tall crests; the sway of ensigns and iron-shod spears; the bold,
confident step, exactly timed and measured; the demeanour, so grave,
yet so watchful; the machine-like unity of the whole moving mass- made
an impression upon Judah, but as something felt rather than seen.
Two objects fixed his attention- the eagle of the legion first- a
gilded effigy perched on a tall shaft, with wings outspread until they
met above its head. He knew that, when brought from its chamber in the
Tower, it had been received with divine honours.
The officer riding alone in the midst of the column was the other
attraction. His head was bare; otherwise he was in full armour. At his
left hip he wore a short sword; in his hand, however, he carried a
truncheon, which looked like a roll of white paper. He sat upon a
purple cloth instead of a saddle, and that, and a bridle with a
forestall of gold and reins of yellow silk broadly fringed at the
lower edge, completed the housings of the horse.
While the man was yet in the distance, Judah observed that his
presence was sufficient to throw the people looking at him into
angry excitement. They would lean over the parapets or stand boldly
out, and shake their fists at him; they followed him with loud
cries, and spit at him as he passed under the bridges; the women
even flung their sandals, sometimes with such good effect as to hit
him. When he was nearer, the yells became distinguishable- "Robber,
tyrant, dog of a Roman! Away with Ishmael! Give us back our Hannas!"
When quite near, Judah could see that, as was but natural, the man
did not share the indifference so superbly shown by the soldiers;
his face was dark and sullen, and the glances he occasionally cast
at his persecutors were full of menace; the very timid shrank from
them.
Now the lad had heard of the custom, borrowed from a habit of the
first Caesar, by which chief commanders, to indicate their rank,
appeared in public with only a laurel vine upon their heads. By that
sign he knew this officer- VALERIUS GRATUS, THE NEW PROCURATOR OF
JUDEA!
To say truth now, the Roman under the unprovoked storm had the young
Jew's sympathy; so that when he reached the corner of the house, the
latter leaned yet farther over the parapet to see him go by, and in
the act rested a hand upon a tile which had been a long time cracked
and allowed to go unnoticed. The pressure was strong enough to
displace the outer piece, which started to fall. A thrill of horror
shot through the youth. He reached out to catch the missile. In
appearance the motion was exactly that of one pitching something
from him. The effort failed- nay, it served to push the descending
fragment farther out over the wall. He shouted with all his might. The
soldiers of the guard looked up; so did the great man, and that moment
the missile struck him, and he fell from his seat as dead.
The cohort halted; the guards leaped from their horses, and hastened
to cover the chief with their shields. On the other hand, the people
who witnessed the affair, never doubting that the blow had been
purposely dealt, cheered the lad as he yet stooped in full view over
the parapet, transfixed by what he beheld, and by anticipation of
the consequences flashed all too plainly upon him.
A mischievous spirit flew with incredible speed from roof to roof
along the line of march, seizing the people, and urging them all
alike. They laid hands upon the parapets and tore up the tiling and
the sunburnt mud of which the house-tops were for the most part
made, and with blind fury began to fling them upon the legionaries
halted below. A battle then ensued. Discipline, of course,
prevailed. The struggle, the slaughter, the skill of one side, the
desperation of the other, are alike unnecessary to our story. Let us
look rather to the wretched author of it all.
He arose from the parapet, his face very pale.
"O Tirzah, Tirzah! What will become of us?"
She had not seen the occurrence below, but was listening to the
shouting and watching the mad activity of the people in view on the
houses. Something terrible was going on, she knew; but what it was, or
the cause, or that she or any of those dear to her were in danger, she
did not know.
"What has happened? What does it all mean?" she asked, in sudden
alarm.
"I have killed the Roman governor. The tile fell upon him."
An unseen hand appeared to sprinkle her face with the dust of ashes-
it grew white so instantly. She put her arm around him, and looked
wistfully, but without a word, into his eyes. His fears had passed
to her, and the sight of them gave him strength.
"I did not do it purposely, Tirzah- it was an accident," he said,
more calmly.
"What will they do?" she asked.
He looked off over the tumult momentarily deepening in the street
and on the roofs, and thought of the sullen countenance of Gratus.
If he were not dead, where would his vengeance stop? And if he were
dead, to what height of fury would not the violence of the people lash
the legionaries? To evade an answer, he peered over the parapet again,
just as the guard were assisting the Roman to remount his horse.
"He lives, he lives, Tirzah! Blessed be the Lord God of our
fathers!"
With that outcry, and a brightened countenance, he drew back and
replied to her question.
"Be not afraid, Tirzah. I will explain how it happened, and they
will remember our father and his services, and not hurt us."
He was leading her to the summer-house, when the roof jarred under
their feet, and a crash of strong timbers being burst away, followed
by a cry of surprise and agony, arose apparently from the court-yard
below. He stopped and listened. The cry was repeated; then came a rush
of many feet, and voices lifted in rage blent with voices in prayer;
and then the screams of women in mortal terror. The soldiers had
beaten in the north gate, and were in possession of the house. The
terrible sense of being hunted smote him. His first impulse was to
fly; but where? Nothing but wings would serve him. Tirzah, her eyes
wild with fear, caught his arm.
"O Judah, what does it mean?"
The servants were being butchered- and his mother! Was not one of
the voices he heard hers? With all the will left him, he said, "Stay
here, and wait for me, Tirzah. I will go down and see what is the
matter, and come back to you."
His voice was not steady as he wished. She clung closer to him.
Clearer, shriller, no longer a fancy, his mother's cry arose. He
hesitated no longer.
"Come, then, let us go."
The terrace or gallery at the foot of the steps was crowded with
soldiers. Other soldiers, with drawn swords, ran in and out of the
chambers. At one place a number of women on their knees clung to
each other or prayed for mercy. Apart from them, one with torn
garments, and long hair streaming over her face, struggled to tear
lose from a man all whose strength was tasked to keep his hold. Her
cries were shrillest of all; cutting through the clamour, they had
risen distinguishably to the roof. To her Judah sprang- his steps were
long and swift, almost a winged flight- "Mother, mother!" he
shouted. She stretched her hands towards him; but when almost touching
them he was seized and forced aside. Then he heard someone say,
speaking loudly,
"That is he!"
Judah looked, and saw- Messala.
"What, the assassin- that?" said a tall man, in legionary armour
of beautiful finish. "Why, he is but a boy."
"Gods!" replied Messala, not forgetting his drawl. "A new
philosophy! What would Seneca say to the proposition that a man must
be old before he can hate enough to kill? You have him; and that is
his mother; yonder his sister. You have the whole family."
For love of them, Judah forgot his quarrel.
"Help them, O my Messala! Remember our childhood, and help them.
I- Judah- pray you."
Messala affected not to hear.
"I cannot be of further use to you," he said to the officer.
"There is richer entertainment in the street. Down Eros, up Mars!"
With the last words he disappeared. Judah understood him, and, in
the bitterness of his soul, prayed to Heaven.
"In the hour of thy vengeance, O Lord," he said, "be mine the hand
to put it upon him!"
By great exertion he drew nearer the officer.
"O sir, the woman you hear is my mother. Spare her, spare my
sister yonder. God is just, he will give you mercy for mercy."
The man appeared to be moved.
"To the tower with the women!" he shouted, "but do them no harm. I
will demand them of you." Then to those holding Judah, he said, "Get
cords, and bind his hands, and take him to the street. His
punishment is reserved."
The mother was carried away. The little Tirzah, in her home
attire, stupefied with fear, went passively with her keepers. Judah
gave each of them a last look, and covered his face with his hands, as
if to possess himself of the scene fadelessly. He may have shed tears,
though no one saw them.
There took place in him then what may be justly called the wonder of
life. The thoughtful reader of these pages has ere this discerned
enough to know that the young Jew in disposition was gentle even to
womanliness- a result that seldom fails the habit of loving and
being loved. The circumstances through which he had come had made no
call upon the harsher elements of his nature, if such he had. At times
he had felt the stir and impulses of ambition, but they had been
like the formless dreams of a child walking by the sea and gazing at
the coming and going of stately ships. But now, if we can imagine an
idol, sensible of the worship it was accustomed to, dashed suddenly
from its altar, and lying amidst the wreck of its little world of
love, an idea may be had of what had befallen the young Ben-Hur, and
of its effect upon his being. Yet there was no sign, nothing to
indicate that he had undergone a change, except that when he raised
his head, and held his arms out to be bound, the bend of the
Cupid's, bow had vanished from his lips. In that instant he had put
off childhood and become a man.
A trumpet sounded in the court-yard. With the cessation of the call,
the gallery was cleared of the soldiery; many of whom, as they dared
not appear in the ranks with visible plunder in their hands, flung
what they had upon the floor, until it was strewn with articles of
richest virtu. When Judah descended, the formation was complete, and
the officer waiting to see his last order executed.
The mother, daughter, and entire household were led out of the north
gate, the ruins of which choked the passage-way. The cries of the
domestics, some of whom had been born in the house, were most
pitiable. When, finally, the horses, and all the dumb tenantry of
the place, were driven past him, Judah began to comprehend. the
scope of the procurator's vengeance. The very structure was devoted.
Far as the order was possible of execution, nothing living was to be
left within its walls. If in Judea there were others desperate
enough to think of assassinating a Roman governor, the story of what
befell the princely family of Hur would be a warning to them, while
the ruin of the habitation would keep the story alive.
The officer waited outside while a detail of men temporarily
restored the gate.
In the street the fighting had almost ceased. Upon the houses here
and there clouds of dust told where the struggle was yet prolonged.
The cohort was, for the most part, standing at rest, its splendour,
like its ranks, in nowise diminished. Borne past the point of care for
himself, Judah had heart for nothing in view but the prisoners,
among whom he looked in vain for his mother and Tirzah.
Suddenly, from the earth where she had been lying, a woman arose and
started swiftly back to the gate. Some of the guards reached out to
seize her, and a great shout followed their failure. She ran to Judah,
and, dropping down, clasped his knees, the coarse black hair
powdered with dust veiling her eyes.
"O Amrah, good Amrah," he said to her, "God help you; I cannot."
She could not speak.
He bent down, and whispered, "Live, Amrah, for Tirzah and my mother.
They will come back, and- "
A soldier drew her away; whereupon she sprang up and rushed
through the gateway and passage into the vacant court-yard.
"Let her go," the officer shouted. "We will seal the house, and
she will starve."
The men resumed their work, and when it was finished there, passed
round to the west side. That gate was also secured, after which the
palace of the Hurs was lost to use.
The cohort at length marched back to the Tower, where the procurator
stayed to recover from his hurts and dispose of his prisoners. On
the tenth day following he visited the Market-place.
CHAPTER VII.
A GALLEY SLAVE.

NEXT day a detachment of legionaries went to the desolated palace,
and, closing the gates permanently, plastered the corners with wax,
and at the sides nailed a notice in Latin:

"THIS IS THE PROPERTY OF.
THE EMPEROR."

In the haughty Roman idea, the sententious announcement was
thought sufficient for the purpose- and it was.
The day after that again, about noon, a decurion with his command of
ten horsemen approached Nazareth from the south- that is, from the
direction of Jerusalem. The place was then a straggling village
perched on a hill-side, and so insignificant that its one street was
little more than a path well beaten by the coming and going of
flocks and herds. The great plain of Esdraelon crept close to it on
the south, and from the height on the west a view could be had of
the chores of the Mediterranean, the region beyond the Jordan, and
Hermon. The valley below, and the country on every side, were given to
gardens, vineyards, orchards, and pasturage. Groves of palm-trees
Orientalized the landscape. The houses, in irregular assemblage,
were of the humbler class- square, one-storey, flat-roofed, and
covered with bright-green vines. The drought that had burned the hills
of Judea to a crisp, brown and lifeless, stopped at the boundary
line of Galilee.
A trumpet, sounded when the cavalcade drew near the village, had a
magical effect upon the inhabitants. The gates and front doors cast
forth groups eager to be the first to catch the meaning of a
visitation so unusual.
Nazareth, it must be remembered, was not only aside from any great
highway, but within the sway of Judas of Gamala; wherefore it should
not be hard to imagine the feelings with which the legionaries were
received. But when they were up and traversing the street, the duty
that occupied them became apparent, and then fear and hatred were lost
in curiosity, under the impulse of which the people, knowing there
must be a halt at the well in the north-eastern part of the town, quit
their gates and doors, and closed in after the procession.
A prisoner whom the horsemen were guarding was the object of
curiosity. He was afoot, bareheaded, half-naked, his hands bound
behind him. A thong fixed to his wrists was looped over the neck of
a horse. The dust went with the party when in movement, wrapping him
in yellow fog, sometimes in a dense cloud. He drooped forward,
footsore and faint. The villagers could see he was young.
At the well the decurion halted, and, with most of the men,
dismounted. The prisoner sank down in the dust of the road, stupefied,
and asking nothing: apparently he was in the last stage of exhaustion.
Seeing, when they came near, that he was but a boy, the villagers
would have helped him had they dared.
In the midst of their perplexity, and while the pitchers were
passing among the soldiers, a man was descried coming down the road
from Sepphoris. At sight of him a woman cried out, "Look! Yonder comes
the carpenter. Now we will hear something."
The person spoken of was quite venerable in appearance. Thin white
locks fell below the edge of his full turban, and a mass of still
whiter beard flowed down the front of his coarse grey gown. He came
slowly, for, in addition to his age, he carried some tools- an axe,
a saw, and a drawing-knife, all very rude and heavy- and had evidently
travelled some distance without rest.
He stopped close by to survey the assemblage.
"Oh, Rabbi, good Rabbi Joseph!" cried a woman, running to him. "Here
is a prisoner; come, ask the soldiers about him, that we may know
who he is, and what he has done, and what they are going to do with
him."
The rabbi's face remained stolid; he glanced at the prisoner,
however, and presently went to the officer.
"The peace of the Lord be with you!" he said, with unbending
gravity.
"And that of the gods with you," the decurion replied.
"Are you from Jerusalem?"
"Yes."
"Your prisoner is young."
"In years, yes."
"May I ask what he has done?"
"He is an assassin."
The people repeated the word in astonishment, but Rabbi Joseph
pursued his inquest.
"Is he a son of Israel?"
"He is a Jew," said the Roman, dryly.
The wavering pity of the bystanders came back.
"I know nothing of your tribes, but can speak of his family," the
speaker continued. "You may have heard of a prince of Jerusalem
named Hur- Ben-Hur, they call him. He lived in Herod's day."
"I have seen him," Joseph said.
"Well, this is his son."
Exclamations became general, and the decurion hastened to stop them.
"In the streets of Jerusalem, day before yesterday, he nearly killed
the noble Gratus by flinging a tile upon his head from the roof of a
palace- his father's, I believe."
There was a pause in the conversation, during which the Nazarenes
gazed at the young Ben-Hur as at a wild beast.
"Did he kill him?" asked the rabbi.
"No."
"He is under sentence."
"Yes- the galleys for life."
"The Lord help him!" said Joseph, for once moved out of his
stolidity.
Thereupon a youth who came up with Joseph, but had stood behind
him unobserved, laid down an axe he had been carrying, and, going to
the great stone standing by the well, took from it a pitcher of water.
The action was so quiet that before the guard could interfere, had
they been disposed to do so, he was stooping over the prisoner and
offering him a drink.
The hand laid kindly upon his shoulder awoke the unfortunate
Judah, and, looking up, he saw a face he never forgot- the face of a
boy about his own age, shaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut
hair; a face lighted by dark-blue eyes, at the time so soft, so
appealing, so full of love and holy purpose, that they had all the
power of command and will. The spirit of the Jew, hardened though it
was by days and nights of suffering, and so imbittered by wrong that
its dreams of revenge took in all the world, melted under the
stranger's look, and became as a child's. He put his lips to the
pitcher, and drank long and deep. Not a word was said to him, nor
did he say a word.
When the draught was finished, the hand that had been resting upon
the sufferer's shoulder was placed upon his head, and stayed there
in the dusty locks time enough to say a blessing; the stranger then
returned the pitcher to its place on the stone, and, taking his axe
again, went back to Rabbi Joseph. All eyes went with him, the
decurion's as well as those of the villagers.
This was the end of the scene at the well. When the men had drunk,
and the horses, the march was resumed. But the temper of the
decurion was not as it had been; he himself raised the prisoner from
the dust, and helped him on a horse behind a soldier. The Nazarenes
went to their houses- among them Rabbi Joseph and his apprentice.
And so, for the first time, Judah and the son of Mary met and
parted.
BOOK THIRD.

"Cleopatra.... Our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.-

Enter, below, DIOMEDES.
How now? is he dead?
Diomedes. His death's upon him, but not dead."
Antony and Cleopatra (act iv. sc. xiii.).

CHAPTER I.
QUINTIS ARRIUS GOES TO SEA.

THE city of Misenum gave name to the promontory which it crowned,
a few miles south-west of Naples. An account of ruins is all that
remains of it now; yet in the year of our Lord 24- to which it is
desirable to advance the reader- the place was one of the most
important on the western coast of Italy.*

* The Roman government, it will be remembered, had two harbours in
which great fleets were constantly kept- Ravenna and Misenum.

In the year mentioned, a traveller coming to the promontory to
regale himself with the view there offered, would have mounted a wall,
and, with the city at his back, looked over the bay of Neapolis, as
charming then as now; and then, as now, he would have seen the
matchless shore, the smoking cone, the sky and waves so softly, deeply
blue, Ischia here and Capri yonder; from one to the other and back
again, through the purpled air, his gaze would have sported; at
last- for the eyes do weary of the beautiful as the palate with
sweets- at last it would have dropped upon a spectacle which the
modern tourist cannot see- half the reserve navy of Rome astir or at
anchor below him. Thus regarded, Misenum was a very proper place for
three masters to meet, and at leisure parcel the world among them.
In the old time, moreover, there was a gateway in the wall at a
certain point fronting the sea- an empty gateway forming the outlet of
a street which, after the exit, stretched itself, in the form of a
broad mole, out many stadia into the waves.
The watchman on the wall above the gateway was disturbed, one cool
September morning, by a party coming down the street in noisy
conversation. He gave one look, then settled into his drowse again.
There were twenty or thirty persons in the party, of whom the
greater number were slaves with torches which flamed little and smoked
much, leaving on the air the perfume of the Indian nard. The masters
walked in advance arm-in-arm. One of them, apparently fifty years old,
slightly bald, and wearing over his scant locks a crown of laurel,
seemed, from the attentions paid him, the central object of some
affectionate ceremony. They all sported ample togas of white wool
broadly bordered with purple. A glance had sufficed the watchman. He
knew, without question, they were of high rank, and escorting a friend
to ship after a night of festivity. Further explanation will be
found in the conversation they carried on.
"No, my Quintus," said one, speaking to him with the crown, "it is
ill of Fortune to take thee from us so soon. Only yesterday thou didst
return from the seas beyond the Pillars. Why, thou hast not even got
back thy land legs."
"By Castor! if a man may swear a woman's oath," said another,
somewhat worse of wine, "let us not lament. Our Quintus is but going
to find what he lost last night. Dice on a rolling ship is not dice on
shore- eh, Quintus?"
"Abuse not Fortune!" exclaimed a third. "She is not blind or fickle.
At Antium, where our Arrius questions her, she answers him with
nods, and at sea she abides with him, holding the rudder. She takes
him from us, but does not always give him back with a new victory?"
"The Greeks are taking him away," another broke in. "Let us abuse
them, not the gods. In learning to trade, they forgot how to fight."
With these words, the party passed the gateway, and came upon the
mole, with the bay before them beautiful in the morning light. To
the veteran sailor the plash of the waves was like a greeting. He drew
a long breath, as if the perfume of the water were sweeter than that
of the nard, and held his hand aloft.
"My gifts were at Praeneste, not Antium- and see! Wind from the
west. Thanks, O Fortune, my mother!" he said, earnestly.
The friends all repeated the exclamation, and the slaves waved their
torches.
"She comes- yonder!" he continued, pointing to a galley outside
the mole. "What need has a sailor for other mistress? Is your
Lucrece more grateful, my Caius?"
He gazed at the coming ship, and justified his pride. A white sail
was bent to the low mast, and the oars dipped, arose, poised a moment,
then dipped again, with wing-like action, and in perfect time.
"Yes, spare the gods," he said, soberly, his eyes fixed upon the
vessel. "They send us opportunities. Ours the fault if we fail. And as
for the Greeks, you forget, O my Lentulus, the pirates I am going to
punish are Greeks. One victory over them is of more account than a
hundred over the Africans."
"Then thy way is to the AEgean?"
The sailor's eyes were full of his ship.
"What grace, what freedom! A bird hath not less care for the
fretting of the waves. See!" he said, but almost immediately added,
"thy pardon, my Lentulus. I am going to the AEgean; and as my
departure is so near, I will tell the occasion- only keep it under the
rose. I would not that you abuse the duumvir when next you meet him.
He is my friend. The trade between Greece and Alexandria, as ye may
have heard, is hardly inferior to that between Alexandria and Rome.
The people in that part of the world forgot to celebrate the Cerealia,
and Triptolemus paid them with a harvest not worth the gathering. At
all events, the trade is so grown that it will not brook
interruption a day. Ye may also have heard of the Chersonesan pirates,
nested up in the Euxine; none bolder, by the Bacchae! Yesterday word
came to Rome that, with a fleet, they had rowed down the Bosphorus,
sunk the galleys of Byzantium and Chalcedon, swept the Propontis, and,
still unsated, burst through into the AEgean. The corn-merchants who
have ships in the East Mediterranean are frightened. They had audience
with the Emperor himself, and from Ravenna there go to-day a hundred
galleys, and from Misenum"- he paused as if to pique the curiosity
of his friends, and ended with an emphatic- "one."
"Happy Quintus! We congratulate thee!"
"The preferment forerunneth promotion. We salute thee duumvir;
nothing less."
"Quintus Arrius, the duumvir, hath a better sound than Quintus
Arrius, the tribune."
In such manner they showered him with congratulations.
"I am glad with the rest," said the bibulous friend, "very glad; but
I must be practical, O my duumvir; and not until I know if promotion
will help thee to knowledge of the tesserae will I have an opinion
as to whether the gods mean thee ill or good in this- this business."
"Thanks, many thanks!" Arrius replied, speaking to them
collectively. "Had ye but lanterns, I would say ye were augurs.
Perpol! I will go further, and show what master diviners ye are!
See- and read."
From the folds of his toga he drew a roll of paper, and passed it to
them, saying, "Received while at table last night from- Sejanus."
The name was already a great one in the Roman world; great, and
not so infamous as it afterwards became.
"Sejanus!" they exclaimed, with one voice, closing in to read what
the minister had written.

"Sejanus to C. Caecilius Rufus, Duumvir.

"Rome, XIX. Kal. Sept.
"Caesar hath good report of Quintus Arrius, the tribune. In
particular he hath heard of his valour, manifested in the western
seas; insomuch that it is his will that the said Quintus be
transferred instantly to the East.
"It is our Caesar's will, further, that you cause a hundred
triremes, of the first class, and full appointment, to be despatched
without delay against the pirates who appeared in the AEgean, and that
Quintus be sent to command the fleet so despatched.
"Details are thine, my Caecilius.
"The necessity is urgent, as thou wilt be advised by the reports
enclosed for thy perusal and the information of the said Quintus.

"SEJANUS."

Arrius gave little heed to the reading. As the ship drew more
plainly out of the perspective, she became more and more an attraction
to him. The look with which he watched her was that of an
enthusiast. At length he tossed the loosened folds of his toga in
the air; in reply to the signal, over the aplustre, or fan-like
fixture at the stern of the vessel, a scarlet flag was displayed;
while several sailors appeared upon the bulwarks, and swung themselves
hand over hand up the ropes to the antenna, or yard, and furled the
sail. The bow was put round, and the time of the oars increased one
half; so that at racing speed she bore down directly towards him and
his friends. He observed the maneuvering with a perceptible
brightening of the eyes. Her instant answer to the rudder, and the
steadiness with which she kept her course, were especially
noticeable as virtues to be relied upon in action.
"By the Nymphae!" said one of the friends, giving back the roll, "we
may not longer say our friend will be great; he is already great.
Our love will now have famous things to feed upon. What more hast thou
for us?"
"Nothing more," Arrius replied. "What ye have of the affair is by
this time old news in Rome, especially between the palace and the
Forum. The duumvir is discreet; what I am to do, where go to find my
fleet, he will tell on the ship, where a sealed package is waiting me.
If, however, ye have offerings for any of the altars to-day, pray
the gods for a friend plying oar and sail somewhere in the direction
of Sicily. But she is here, and will come to," he said, reverting to
the vessel. "I have interest in her masters; they will sail and
fight with me. It is not an easy thing to lay ship side on a shore
like this; so let us judge their training and skill."
"What, is she new to thee?"
"I never saw her before; and, as yet, I know not if she will bring
me one acquaintance."
"Is that well?"
"It matters but little. We of the sea come to know each other
quickly; our loves, like our hates, are born of sudden dangers."
The vessel was of the class called naves liburnicae- long, narrow,
low in the water, and modelled for speed and quick manoeuvre. The
bow was beautiful. A jet of water spun from its foot as she came on,
sprinkling all the prow, which rose in graceful curvature twice a
man's stature above the plane of the deck. Upon the bending of the
sides were figures of Triton blowing shells. Below the bow, fixed to
the keel, and projecting forward under the water-line was the rostrum,
or beak, a device of solid wood, reinforced and armed with iron, in
action used as a ram. A stout moulding extended from the bow the
full length of the ship's sides, defining the bulwarks, which were
tastefully crenelated; below the moulding, in three rows, each covered
with a cap or shield of bull-hide, were the holes in which the oars
were worked- sixty on the right, sixty on the left. In further
ornamentation, caducei leaned against the lofty prow. Two immense
ropes passing across the bow marked the number of anchors stowed on
the foredeck.
The simplicity of the upper works declared the oars the chief
dependence of the crew. A mast, set a little forward of midship, was
held by fore and back stays and shrouds fixed to rings on the inner
side of the bulwarks. The tackle was that required for the
management of one great square sail and the yard to which it was hung.
Above the bulwark the deck was visible.
Save the sailors who had reefed the sail, and yet lingered on the
yard, but one man was to be seen by the party on the mole, and he
stood by the prow helmeted and with a shield.
The hundred and twenty oaken blades, kept white and shining by
pumice and the constant wash of the waves, rose and fell as if
operated by the same hand, and drove the galley forward with a speed
rivalling that of a modern steamer.
So rapidly, and apparently so rashly, did she come that the landsmen
of the tribune's party were alarmed. Suddenly the man by the prow
raised his hand with a peculiar gesture; whereupon all the oars flew
up, poised a moment in air, then fell straight down. The water
boiled and bubbled about them; the galley shook in every timber, and
stopped as if scared. Another gesture of the hand, and again the
oars arose, feathered, and fell; but this time those on the right,
dropped towards the stern, pushed forward; while those on the left,
dropping towards the bow, pulled backward. Three times the oars thus
pushed and pulled against each other. Round to the right the ship
swung as upon a pivot; then, caught by the wind, she settled gently
broadside to the mole.
The movement brought the stern to view, with all its garniture-
Tritons like those at the bow; name in large raised letters; the
rudder at the side; the elevated platform upon which the helmsman sat,
a stately figure in full armour, his hand upon the rudder-rope; and
the aplustre, high, gilt, carved, and bent over the helmsman like a
great runcinate leaf.
In the midst of the rounding-to, a trumpet was blown brief and
shrill, and from the hatchways out poured the marines, all in superb
equipment, brazen helms, burnished shields, and javelins. While the
fighting-men thus went to quarters as for action, the sailors proper
climbed the shrouds and perched themselves along the yard. The
officers and musicians took their posts. There was no shouting or
needless noise. When the oars touched the mole, a bridge was sent
out from the helmsman's deck. Then the tribune turned to his party and
said, with a gravity he had not before shown:
"Duty now, O my friends."
He took the chaplet from his head and gave it to the dice-player.
"Take thou the myrtle, O favourite of the tesserae!" he said. "If
I return, I will seek my sesterce again; if I am not victor, I will
not return. Hang the crown in thy atrium."
To the company he opened his arms, and they came one by one and
received his parting embrace.
"The gods go with thee, O Quintus!" they said.
"Farewell," he replied.
To the slaves waving their torches he waved his hand; then he turned
to the waiting ship, beautiful with ordered ranks and crested helms,
and shields and javelins. As he stepped upon the bridge the trumpets
sounded, and over the aplustre rose the vexillum purpureum, or pennant
of a commander of a fleet.
CHAPTER II.
AT THE OAR.

THE tribune, standing upon the helmsman's deck with the order of the
duumvir open in his hand, spoke to the chief of the rowers.*

* Called hortator.

"What force hast thou?"
"Of oarsmen, two hundred and fifty-two; ten supernumeraries."
"Making reliefs of- "
"Eighty-four."
"And thy habit?"
"It has been to take off and put on every two hours."
The tribune mused a moment.
"The division is hard, and I will reform it, but not now. The oars
may not rest day or night."
Then to the sailing-master he said,
"The wind is fair. Let the sail help the oars."
When the two thus addressed were gone, he turned to the chief
pilot.*

* Called rector.

"What service hast thou had?"
"Two-and-thirty years."
"In what seas chiefly?"
"Between our Rome and the East."
"Thou art the man I would have chosen."
The tribune looked at his orders again.
"Past the Camponellan cape, the course will be to Messina. Beyond
that, follow the bend of the Calabrian shore till Melito is on thy
left, then- Knowest thou the stars that govern in the Ionian Sea?"
"I know them well."
"Then from Melito course eastward for Cythera. The gods willing, I
will not anchor until in the Bay of Antemona. The duty is urgent. I
rely upon thee."
A prudent man was Arrius- prudent, and of the class which, while
enriching the altars at Praeneste and Antium, was of opinion,
nevertheless, that the favour of the blind goddess depended more
upon the votary's care and judgment than upon his gifts and vows.
All night as master of the feast he had sat at table drinking and
playing; yet the odour of the sea returned him to the mood of the
sailor, and he would not rest until he knew his ship. Knowledge leaves
no room for chances. Having begun with the chief of the rowers, the
sailing-master, and the pilot, in company with the other officers- the
commander of the marines, the keeper of the stores, the master of
the machines, the overseer of the kitchen or fires- he passed
through the several quarters. Nothing escaped his inspection. When
he was through, of the community crowded within the narrow walls he
alone knew perfectly all there was of material preparation for the
voyage and its possible incidents; and, finding the preparation
complete, there was left him but one thing further- thorough knowledge
of the personnel of his command. As this was the most delicate and
difficult part of his task, requiring much time, he set about it his
own way.
At noon that day the galley was skimming the sea off Paestum. The
wind was yet from the west, filling the sail to the master's
content. The watches had been established. On the foredeck the altar
had been set and sprinkled with salt and barley, and before it the
tribune had offered solemn prayers to Jove and to Neptune and all
the Oceanidae, and, with vows, poured the wine and burned the incense.
And now, the better to study his men, he was seated in the great
cabin, a very martial figure.
The cabin, it should be stated, was the central compartment of the
galley, in extent quite sixty-five by thirty feet, and lighted by
three broad hatchways. A row of stanchions ran from end to end,
supporting the roof, and near the centre the mast was visible, all
bristling with axes and spears and javelins. To each hatchway there
were double stairs descending right and left, with a pivotal
arrangement at the top to allow the lower ends to be hitched to the
ceiling; and, as these were now raised, the compartment had the
appearance of a sky-lighted hall.
The reader will understand readily that this was the heart of the
ship, the home of all aboard- eating-room, sleeping-chamber, field
of exercise, lounging-place off duty- uses made possible by the laws
which reduced life there to minute details and a routine relentless as
death.
At the after-end of the cabin there was a platform, reached by
several steps. Upon it the chief of the rowers sat; in front of him
a sounding-table, upon which, with a gavel, he beat time for the
oarsmen; at his right a clepsydra, or water-clock, to measure the
reliefs and watches. Above him, on a higher platform, well guarded
by gilded railing, the tribune had his quarters, overlooking
everything, and furnished with a couch, a table, and a cathedra, or
chair, cushioned, and with arms and high back- articles which the
imperial dispensation permitted of the utmost elegance.
Thus at ease, lounging in the great chair, swaying with the motion
of the vessel, the military cloak half draping his tunic, sword in
belt, Arrius kept watchful eye over his command, and was as closely
watched by them. He saw critically everything in view, but dwelt
longest upon the rowers. The reader would doubtless have done the
same; only he would have looked with much sympathy, while, as is the
habit with masters, the tribune's mind ran forward of what he saw,
inquiring for results.
The spectacle was simple enough of itself. Along the sides of the
cabin, fixed to the ship's timbers, were what at first appeared to
be three rows of benches; a closer view, however, showed them a
succession of rising banks, in each of which the second bench was
behind and above the first one, and the third above and behind the
second. To accommodate the sixty rowers on a side, the space devoted
to them permitted nineteen banks separated by intervals of one yard,
with a twentieth bank divided so that what would have been its upper
seat or bench was directly above the lower seat of the first bank. The
arrangement gave each rower when at work ample room, if he timed his
movements with those of his associates, the principle being that of
soldiers marching with cadenced step in close order. The arrangement
also allowed a multiplication of banks, limited only by the length
of the galley.
As to the rowers, those upon the first and second benches sat, while
those upon the third, having longer oars to work, were suffered to
stand. The oars were loaded with lead in the handles, and near the
point of balance hung to pliable thongs, making possible the
delicate touch called feathering, but, at the same time, increasing
the need of skill, since an eccentric wave might at any moment catch a
heedless fellow and hurl him from his seat. Each oar-hole was a vent
through which the labourer opposite it had his plenty of sweet air.
Light streamed down upon him from the grating which formed the floor
of the passage between the deck and the bulwark over his head. In some
respects, therefore, the condition of the men might have been much
worse. Still, it must not be imagined that there was any
pleasantness in their lives. Communication between them was not
allowed. Day after day they filled their places without speech; in
hours of labour they could not see each other's faces; their short
respites were given to sleep and the snatching of food. They never
laughed; no one ever heard one of them sing. What is the use of
tongues when a sigh or a groan will tell all men feel while, perforce,
they think in silence? Existence with the poor wretches was like a
stream under ground sweeping slowly, laboriously on to its outlet,
wherever that might chance to be.
O Son of Mary! The sword has now a heart- and thine the glory! So
now; but, in the days of which we are writing, for captivity there was
drudgery on walls, and in the streets and mines, and the galleys
both of war and commerce were insatiable. When Druilius won the
first sea-fight for his country, Romans plied the oars, and the
glory was to the rower not less than the marine. These benches which
now we are trying to see as they were testified to the change come
with conquest, and illustrated both the policy and the prowess of
Rome. Nearly all the nations had sons there, mostly prisoners of
war, chosen for their brawn and endurance. In one place a Briton;
before him a Libyan; behind him a Crimean. Elsewhere a Scythian, a
Gaul, and a Thebasite. Roman convicts cast down to consort with
Goths and Longobardi, Jews, Ethiopians, and barbarians from the shores
of Maeotis. Here an Athenian, there a red-haired savage from Hibernia,
yonder blue-eyed giants of the Cimbri.
In the labour of the rowers there was not enough art to give
occupation to their minds, rude and simple as they were. The reach
forward, the pull, the feathering, the blade, the dip, were all
there was of it; motions most perfect when most automatic. Even the
care forced upon them by the sea outside grew in time to be a thing
instinctive rather than of thought. So, as the result of long service,
the poor wretches became imbruted- patient, spiritless, obedient-
creatures of vast muscle and exhausted intellects, who lived upon
recollections generally few but dear, and at last lowered into the
semi-conscious alchemic state wherein misery turns to habit, and the
soul takes on incredible endurance.
From right to left, hour after hour, the tribune, swaying in his
easy-chair, turned with thought of everything rather than the
wretchedness of the slaves upon the benches. Their motions, precise,
and exactly the same on both sides of the vessel, after a while became
monotonous; and then he amused himself singling out individuals.
With his stylus he made note of objections, thinking, if all went
well, he would find among the pirates of whom he was in search
better men for the places.
There was no need of keeping the proper names of the slaves
brought to the galleys as to their graves; so, for convenience, they
were usually identified by the numerals painted upon the benches to
which they were assigned. As the sharp eyes of the great man moved
from seat to seat on either hand, they came at last to number sixty,
which, as has been said, belonged properly to the last bank on the
left-hand side, but, wanting room aft, had been fixed above the
first bench of the first bank. There they rested.
The bench of number sixty was slightly above the level of the
platform, and but a few feet away. The light glinting through the
grating over his head gave the rower fairly to the tribune's view-
erect, and, like all his fellows, naked, except a cincture about the
loins. There were, however, some points in his favour. He was very
young, not more than twenty. Furthermore, Arrius was not merely
given to dice; he was a connoisseur of men physically, and when ashore
indulged a habit of visiting the gymnasia to see and admire the most
famous athletae. From some professor, doubtless, he had caught the
idea that strength was as much of the quality as the quantity of the
muscle, while superiority in performance required a certain mind as
well as strength. Having adopted the doctrine, like most men with a
hobby, he was always looking for illustrations to support it.
The reader may well believe that while the tribune, in the search
for the perfect, was often called upon to stop and study, he was
seldom perfectly satisfied- in fact, very seldom held as long as on
this occasion.
In the beginning of each movement of the oar, the rower's body and
face were brought into profile view from the platform; the movement
ended with the body reversed, and in a pushing posture. The grace
and ease of the action at first suggested a doubt of the honesty of
the effort put forth; but it was speedily dismissed; the firmness with
which the oar was held while in the reach forward, its bending under
the push, were proofs of the force applied; not that only, they as
certainly proved the rower's art, and put the critic in the great
arm-chair in search of the combination of strength and cleverness
which was the central idea of his theory.
In course of the study, Arrius observed the subject's youth;
wholly unconscious of tenderness on that account, he also observed
that he seemed of good height, and that his limbs, upper and nether,
were singularly perfect. The arms, perhaps, were too long, but the
objection was well hidden under a mass of muscle which, in some
movements, swelled and knotted like kinking cords. Every rib in the
round body was discernible; yet the leanness was the healthful
reduction so strained after in the palaestrae. And altogether there
was in the rower's action a certain harmony which, besides
addressing itself to the tribune's theory, stimulated both his
curiosity and general interest.
Very soon he found himself waiting to catch a view of the man's face
in full. The head was shapely, and balanced upon a neck broad at the
base, but of exceeding pliancy and grace. The features in profile were
of Oriental outline, and of that delicacy of expression which has
always been thought a sign of blood and sensitive spirit. With these
observations, the tribune's interest in the subject deepened.
"By the gods," he said to himself, "the fellow impresses me! He
promises well. I will know more of him."
Directly the tribune caught the view he wished- the rower turned and
looked at him.
"A Jew! and a boy!"
Under the gaze then fixed steadily upon him, the large eyes of the
slave grew larger- the blood surged to his very brows- the blade
lingered in his hands. But instantly, with an angry crash, down fell
the gavel of the hortator. The rower started, withdrew his face from
the inquisitor, and, as if personally chidden, dropped the oar half
feathered. When he glanced again at the tribune, he was vastly more
astonished- he was met with a kindly smile.
Meantime the galley entered the Straits of Messina, and, skimming
past the city of that name, was after a while turned eastward, leaving
the cloud over AEtna in the sky astern.
Often as Arrius returned to his platform in the cabin he returned to
study the rower, and he kept saying to himself, "The fellow hath a
spirit. A Jew is not a barbarian. I will know more of him."
CHAPTER III.
ARRIUS AND BEN-HUR ON DECK.

THE fourth day out, and the Astraea- so the galley was named-
speeding through the Ionian Sea. The sky was clear, and the wind
blew as if bearing the good-will of all the gods.
As it was possible to overtake the fleet before reaching the bay
east of the island of Cythera, designated for assemblage, Arrius,
somewhat impatient, spent much time on deck. He took note diligently
of matters pertaining to his ship, and, as a rule, was well pleased.
In the cabin, swinging in the great chair, his thought continually
reverted to the rower on number sixty.
"Knowest thou the man just come from yon bench?" he at length
asked of the hortator.
A relief was going on at the moment.
"From number sixty?" returned the chief.
"Yes."
The chief looked sharply at the rower then going forward.
"As thou knowest," he replied, "the ship is but a month from the
maker's hand, and the men are as new to me as the ship."
"He is a Jew," Arrius remarked, thoughtfully.
"The noble Quintus is shrewd."
"He is very young," Arrius continued.
"But our best rower," said the other. "I have seen his oar bend
almost to breaking."
"Of what disposition is he?"
"He is obedient; further I know not. Once he made request of me."
"For what?"
"He wishes me to change him alternately from the right to the left."
"Did he give a reason?"
"He had observed that the men who are confined to one side become
misshapen. He also said that some day of storm or battle there might
be sudden need to change him, and he might then be unserviceable."
"Perpol! The idea is new. What else hast thou observed of him?"
"He is cleanly above his companions."
"In that he is Roman," said Arrius, approvingly. "Have you nothing
of his history?"
"Not a word."
The tribune reflected awhile, and turned to go to his own seat.
"If I should be on deck when his time is up," he paused to say,
"send him to me. Let him come alone."
About two hours later Arrius stood under the aplustre of the galley;
in the mood of one who, seeing himself carried swiftly towards an
event of mighty import, has nothing to do but wait- the mood in
which philosophy vests an even-minded man with the utmost calm, and is
ever so serviceable. The pilot sat with a hand upon the rope by
which the rudder paddles, one on each side of the vessel, were
managed. In the shade of the sail some sailors lay asleep, and up on
the yard there was a look-out. Lifting his eyes from the solarium
set under the aplustre for reference in keeping the course, Arrius
beheld the rower approaching.
"The chief called thee the noble Arrius, and said it was thy will
that I should seek thee here. I am come."
Arrius surveyed the figure, tall, sinewy, glistening in the sun, and
tinted by the rich red blood within- surveyed it admiringly, and
with a thought of the arena; yet the manner was not without effect
upon him: there was in the voice a suggestion of life at least
partly spent under refining influences; the eyes were clear and
open, and more curious than defiant. To the shrewd, demanding,
masterful glance bent upon it, the face gave back nothing to mar its
youthful comeliness- nothing of accusation or sullenness or menace,
only the signs which a great sorrow long borne imprints, as time
mellows the surface of pictures. In tacit acknowledgment of the
effect, the Roman spoke as an older man to a younger, not as a
master to a slave.
"The hortator tells me thou art his best rower."
"The hortator is very kind," the rower answered.
"Hast thou seen much service?"
"About three years."
"At the oars?"
"I cannot recall a day of rest from them."
"The labour is hard; few men bear it a year without breaking, and
thou- thou art but a boy."
"The noble Arrius forgets that the spirit hath much to do with
endurance. By its help the weak sometimes thrive, when the strong
perish."
"From thy speech, thou art a Jew."
"My ancestors further back than the first Roman were Hebrews."
"The stubborn pride of thy race is not lost in thee," said Arrius,
observing a flush upon the rower's face.
"Pride is never so loud as when in chains."
"What cause hast thou for pride?"
"That I am a Jew."
Arrius smiled.
"I have not been to Jerusalem," he said; "but I have heard of its
princes. I knew one of them. He was a merchant, and sailed the seas.
He was fit to have been a king. Of what degree art thou?"
"I must answer thee from the bench of a galley. I am of the degree
of slaves. My father was a prince of Jerusalem, and, as a merchant, he
sailed the seas. He was known and honoured in the guest-chamber of the
great Augustus."
"His name?"
"Ithanar, of the house of Hur."
The tribune raised his hand in astonishment.
"A son of Hur- thou?"
After a silence, he asked,
"What brought thee here?"
Judah lowered his head, and his breast laboured hard. When his
feelings were sufficiently mastered, he looked the tribune in the
face, and answered,
"I was accused of attempting to assassinate Valerius Gratus, the
procurator."
"Thou!" cried Arrius, yet more amazed, and retreating a step.
"Thou that assassin! All Rome rang with the story. It came to my
ship in the river by Lodinum."
The two regarded each other silently.
"I thought the family of Hur blotted from the earth," said Arrius,
speaking first,
A flood of tender recollections carried the young man's pride
away; tears shone upon his cheeks.
"Mother- mother! And my little Tirzah! Where are they? O tribune,
noble tribune, if thou knowest anything of them"- he clasped his hands
in appeal- "tell me all thou knowest. Tell me if they are living- if
living, where are they? and in what condition? Oh, I pray thee, tell
me!"
He drew nearer Arrius, so near that his hands touched the cloak
where it dropped from the latter's folded arms.
"The horrible day is three years gone," he continued- "three
years, O tribune, and every hour a whole lifetime of misery- a
lifetime in a bottomless pit with death, and no relief but in
labour- and in all that time not a word from anyone, not a whisper.
Oh, if, in being forgotten, we could only forget! If only I could hide
from that scene- my sister torn from me, my mother's last look! I have
felt the plague's breath, and the shock of ships in battle; I have
heard the tempest lashing the sea, and laughed, though others
prayed: death would have been a riddance. Bend the oar- yes, in the
strain of mighty effort trying to escape the haunting of what that day
occurred, Think what little will help me. Tell me they are dead, if no
more, for happy they cannot be while I am lost. I have heard them call
me in the night; I have seen them on the water walking. Oh, never
anything so true as my mother's love! And Tirzah- her breath was as
the breath of white lilies. She was the youngest branch of the palm-
so fresh, so tender, so graceful, so beautiful! She made my day all
morning. She came and went in music. And mine was the hand that laid
them low! I- "
"Dost thou admit thy guilt?" asked Arrius, sternly.
The change that came upon Ben-Hur was wonderful to see, it was so
instant and extreme. The voice sharpened; the hands arose
tight-clenched; every fibre thrilled; his eyes flamed.
"Thou hast heard of the God of my fathers," he said; "of the
infinite Jehovah. By his truth and almightiness, and by the love
with which he hath followed Israel from the beginning, I swear I am
innocent!"
The tribune was much moved.
"O noble Roman!" continued Ben-Hur, "give me a little faith, and,
into my darkness, deeper darkening every day, send a light!"
Arrius turned away, and walked the deck.
"Didst thou not have a trial?" he asked, stopping suddenly.
"No!"
The Roman raised his head, surprised.
"No trial- no witnesses! Who passed judgment upon thee?"
Romans, it should be remembered, were at no time such lovers of
the law and its forms as in the ages of their decay.
"They bound me with cords, and dragged me to a vault in the Tower. I
saw no one. No one spoke to me. Next day soldiers took me to the
seaside. I have been a galley-slave ever since."
"What couldst thou have proven?"
"I was a boy, too young to be a conspirator. Gratus was a stranger
to me. If I had meant to kill him, that was not the time or the place.
He was riding in the midst of a legion, and it was broad day. I
could not have escaped. I was of a class most friendly to Rome. My
father had been distinguished for his services to the emperor. We
had a great estate to lose. Ruin was certain to myself, my mother,
my sister. I had no cause for malice, while every consideration-
property, family, life, conscience, the Law- to a son of Israel as the
breath of his nostrils- would have stayed my hand, though the foul
intent had been ever so strong. I was not mad. Death was preferable to
shame; and, believe me, I pray it is so yet."
"Who was with thee when the blow was struck?"
"I was on the house-top- my father's house. Tirzah was with me at my
side- the soul of gentleness. Together we leaned over the parapet to
see the legion pass. A tile gave way under my hand, and fell upon
Gratus. I thought I had killed him. Ah, what horror I felt!"
"Where was thy mother?"
"In her chamber below."
"What became of her?"
Ben-Hur clenched his hands, and drew a breath like a gasp.
"I do not know. I saw them drag her away- that's all I know. Out
of the house they drove every living thing, even the dumb cattle,
and they sealed the gates. The purpose was that she should not return.
I, too, ask for her. Oh for one word! She, at least, was innocent. I
can forgive- but I pray thy pardon, noble tribune! A slave like me
should not talk of forgiveness or of revenge. I am bound to an oar for
life."
Arrius listened intently. He brought all his experience with
slaves to his aid. If the feeling shown in this instance were assumed,
the acting was perfect; on the other hand, if it were real, the
Jew's innocence might not be doubted; and if he were innocent, with
what blind fury the power had been exercised! A whole family blotted
out to atone an accident! The thought shocked him.
There is no wiser providence than that our occupations, however rude
or bloody, cannot wear us out morally; that such qualities as
justice and mercy, if they really possess us, continue to live on
under them, like flowers under the snow. The tribune could be
inexorable, else he had not been fit for the usages of his calling; he
could also be just; and to excite his sense of wrong was to put him in
the way to right the wrong. The crews of the ships in which he
served came after a time to speak of him as the good tribune. Shrewd
readers will not want a better definition of his character.
In this instance there were many circumstances certainly in the
young man's favour, and some to be supposed. Possibly Arrius knew
Valerius Gratus without loving him. Possibly he had known the elder
Hur. In the course of his appeal Judah had asked him of that, and,
as will be noticed, he had made no reply.
For once the tribune was at loss, and hesitated. His power was
ample. He was monarch of the ship. His prepossessions all moved him to
mercy. His faith was won. Yet, he said to himself, there was no haste-
or, rather, there was haste to Cythera; the best rower could not
then be spared; he would wait; he would learn more; he would at
least be sure this was the prince Ben-Hur, and that he was of a
right disposition. Ordinarily slaves were liars.
"It is enough," he said aloud. "Go back to thy place."
Ben-Hur bowed, looked once more into the master's face, but saw
nothing for hope. He turned away slowly, looked back, and said-
"If thou dost think of me again, O tribune, let it not be lost in
thy mind that I prayed thee only for word of my people- mother,
sister."
He moved on.
Arrius followed him with admiring eyes.
"Perpol!" he thought. "With teaching, what a man for the arena! What
a runner! Ye gods! what an arm for the sword or the cestus!- Stay!" he
said aloud.
Ben-Hur stopped, and the tribune went to him.
"If thou wert free, what wouldst thou do?"
"The noble Arrius mocks me!" Judah said, with trembling lips.
"No; by the gods, no!"
"Then I will answer gladly. I would give myself to duty the first of
life. I would know no other. I would know no rest until my mother
and Tirzah were restored to home. I would give every day and hour to
their happiness. I would wait upon them; never a slave more
faithful. They have lost much, but, by the God of my fathers, I
would find them more!"
The answer was unexpected by the Roman. For a moment he lost his
purpose.
"I spoke to thy ambition," he said, recovering. "If thy mother and
sister were dead, or not to be found, what wouldst thou do?"
A distinct pallor overspread Ben-Hur's face, and he looked over
the sea. There was a struggle with some strong feeling; when it was
conquered, he turned to the tribune.
"What pursuit would I follow?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Tribune, I will tell thee truly. Only the night before the dreadful
day of which I have spoken, I obtained permission to be a soldier. I
am of the same mind yet; and, as in all the earth there is but one
school of war, thither I would go."
"The Palaestra!" exclaimed Arrius.
"No; a Roman camp."
"But thou must first acquaint thyself with the use of arms."
Now a master may never safely advise a slave. Arrius saw his
indiscretion, and, in a breath, chilled his voice and manner.
"Go now," he said, "and do not build upon what has passed between
us. Perhaps I do but play with thee. Or,"- he looked away musingly-
"or, if thou dost think of it with any hope, choose between the renown
of a gladiator and the service of a soldier. The former may come of
the favour of the emperor; there is no reward for thee in the
latter. Thou art not a Roman. Go!"
A short while after Ben-Hur was upon his bench again.
A man's task is always light if his heart is light. Handling the oar
did not seem so toilsome to Judah. A hope had come to him, like a
singing bird. He could hardly see the visitor or hear its song; that
it was there, though, he knew; his feelings told him so. The caution
of the tribune- "Perhaps I do but play with thee"- was dismissed often
as it recurred to his mind. That he had been called by the great man
and asked his story was the bread upon which he fed his hungry spirit.
Surely something good would come of it. The light about his bench
was clear and bright with promises, and he prayed-
"O God! I am a true son of the Israel thou hast so loved! Help me, I
pray thee!"
CHAPTER IV.
"No. 60".

IN the Bay of Antemona, east of Cythera the island, the hundred
galleys assembled. There the tribune gave one day to inspection. He
sailed then to Naxos, the largest of the Cyclades, midway the coasts
of Greece and Asia, like a great stone planted in the centre of a
highway, from which he could challenge everything that passed; at
the same time he would be in position to go after the pirates
instantly, whether they were in the AEgean or out on the
Mediterranean.
As the fleet, in order, rowed in towards the mountain shores of
the island, a galley was descried coming from the north. Arrius went
to meet it. She proved to be a transport just from Byzantium, and from
her commander he learned the particulars of which he stood in most
need.
The pirates were from all the farther shores of the Euxine. Even
Tanais, at the mouth of the river which was supposed to feed Palus
Maeotis, was represented among them. Their preparations had been
with the greatest secrecy. The first known of them was their
appearance off the entrance to the Thracian Bosphorus, followed by the
destruction of the fleet in station there. Thence to the outlet of the
Hellespont everything afloat had fallen their prey. There were quite
sixty galleys in the squadron, all well manned and supplied. A few
were biremes, the rest stout triremes. A Greek was in command, and the
pilots, said to be familiar with all the Eastern seas, were Greek. The
plunder had been incalculable. The panic, consequently, was not on the
sea alone; cities, with closed gates, sent their people nightly to the
walls. Traffic had almost ceased.
Where were the pirates now?
To this question, of most interest to Arrius, he received answer.
After sacking Hephaestia, on the island of Lemnos, the enemy had
coursed across to the Thessalian group, and, by last account,
disappeared in the gulfs between Euboea and Hellas.
Such were the tidings.
Then the people of the island, drawn to the hill-tops by the rare
spectacle of a hundred ships careering in united squadron, beheld
the advance division suddenly turn to the north, and the others
follow, wheeling upon the same point like cavalry in a column. News of
the piratical descent had reached them, and now, watching the white
sails until they faded from sight up between Rhene and Syros, the
thoughtful among them took comfort, and were grateful. What Rome
seized with strong hand she always defended: in return for their
taxes, she gave them safety.
The tribune was more than pleased with the enemy's movements; he was
doubly thankful to Fortune. She had brought swift and sure
intelligence, and had lured his foes into the waters where, of all
others, destruction was most assured. He knew the havoc one galley
could play in a broad sea like the Mediterranean, and the difficulty
of finding and overhauling her; he knew, also, how those very
circumstances would enhance the service and glory if, at one blow,
he could put a finish to the whole piratical array.
If the reader will take a map of Greece and the AEgean, he will
notice the island of Euboea lying along the classic coast like a
rampart against Asia, leaving a channel between it and the continent
quite a hundred and twenty miles in length, and scarcely an average of
eight in width. The inlet on the north had admitted the fleet of
Xerxes, and now it received the bold raiders from the Euxine. The
towns along the Pelasgic and Meliac gulfs were rich and their
plunder seductive. All things considered, therefore, Arrius judged
that the robbers might be found somewhere below Thermopylae. Welcoming
the chance, he resolved to enclose them north and south, to do which
not an hour could be lost; even the fruits and wines and women of
Naxos must be left behind. So he sailed away without stop or tack
until, a little before nightfall, Mount Ocha was seen upreared against
the sky, and the pilot reported the Euboean coast.
At a signal the fleet rested upon its oars. When the movement was
resumed, Arrius led a division of fifty of the galleys, intending to
take them up the channel, while another division, equally strong,
turned their prows to the outer or seaward side of the island, with
orders to make all haste to the upper inlet, and descend sweeping
the waters.
To be sure, neither division was equal in number to the pirates; but
each had advantages in compensation, among them, by no means least,
a discipline impossible to a lawless horde, however brave. Besides, it
was a shrewd count on the tribune's side, if, peradventure, one should
be defeated, the other would find the enemy shattered by his
victory, and in condition to be easily overwhelmed.
Meanwhile Ben-Hur kept his bench, relieved every six hours. The rest
in the Bay of Antemona had freshened him, so that the oar was not
troublesome, and the chief on the platform found no fault.
People, generally, are not aware of the ease of mind there is in
knowing where they are, and where they are going. The sensation of
being lost is a keen distress; still worse is the feeling one has in
driving blindly into unknown places. Custom had dulled the feeling
with Ben-Hur, but only measurably. Pulling away hour after hour,
sometimes days and nights together, sensible all the time that the
galley was gliding swiftly along some of the many tracks of the
broad sea, the longing to know where he was, and whither going, was
always present with him; but now it seemed quickened by the hope which
had come to new life in his breast since the interview with the
tribune. The narrower the abiding-place happens to be, the more
intense is the longing; and so he found. He seemed to hear every sound
of the ship in labour, and listened to each one as if it were a
voice come to tell him something; he looked to the grating overhead,
and through it into the light of which so small a portion was his,
expecting, he knew not what; and many times he caught himself on the
point of yielding to the impulse to speak to the chief on the
platform, than which no circumstance of battle would have astonished
that dignitary more.
In his long service, by watching the shifting of the meagre sunbeams
upon the cabin floor when the ship was under way, he had come to know,
generally, the quarter into which she was sailing. This, of course,
was only of clear days like those good fortune was sending the
tribune. The experience had not failed him in the period succeeding
the departure from Cythera. Thinking they were tending towards the old
Judean country, he was sensitive to every variation from the course.
With a pang, he had observed the sudden change northward which, as has
been noticed, took place near Naxos: the cause, however, he could
not even conjecture; for it must be remembered that, in common with
his fellow-slaves, he knew nothing of the situation, and had no
interest in the voyage. His place was at the oar, and he was held
there inexorably, whether at anchor or under sail. Once only in
three years had he been permitted an outlook from the deck. The
occasion we have seen. He had no idea that, following the vessel he
was helping drive, there was a great squadron close at hand and in
beautiful order; no more did he know the object of which it was in
pursuit.
When the sun, going down, withdrew his last ray from the cabin,
the galley still held northward. Night fell, yet Ben-Hur could discern
no change. About that time the smell of incense floated down the
gangways from the deck.
"The tribune is at the altar," he thought. "Can it be we are going
into battle?"
He became observant.
Now he had been in many battles without having seen one. From his
bench he had heard them above and about him, until he was familiar
with all their notes, almost as a singer with a song. So, too, he
had become acquainted with many of the preliminaries of an engagement,
of which, with a Roman as well as a Greek, the most invariable was the
sacrifice to the gods. The rites were the same as those performed at
the beginning of a voyage, and to him, when noticed, they were
always an admonition.
A battle, it should be observed, possessed for him and his
fellow-slaves of the oar an interest unlike that of the sailor and
marine; it came, not of the danger encountered, but of the fact that
defeat, if survived, might bring an alteration of condition-
possibly freedom- at least a change of masters, which might be for the
better.
In good time the lanterns were lighted and hung by the stairs, and
the tribune came down from the deck. At his word the marines put on
their armour. At his word again, the machines were looked to, and
spears, javelins, and arrows, in great sheaves, brought and laid
upon the floor, together with jars of inflammable oil, and baskets
of cotton balls wound loose like the wicking of candles. And when,
finally, Ben-Hur saw the tribune mount his platform and don his
armour, and get his helmet and shield out, the meaning of the
preparations might not be any longer doubted, and he made ready for
the last ignominy of his service.
To every bench, as a fixture, there was a chain with heavy
anklets. These the hortator proceeded to lock upon the oarsmen,
going from number to number, leaving no choice but to obey, and, in
event of disaster, no possibility of escape.
In the cabin, then, a silence fell, broken, at first, only by the
sough of the oars turning in the leathern cases. Every man upon the
benches felt the shame, Ben-Hur more keenly than his companions. He
would have put it away at any price. Soon the clanking of the
fetters notified him of the progress the chief was making in his
round. He would come to him in turn; but would not the tribune
interpose for him?
The thought may be set down to vanity or selfishness, as the
reader pleases; it certainly, at that moment, took possession of
Ben-Hur. He believed the Roman would interpose; anyhow, the
circumstance would test the man's feelings. If, intent upon the
battle, he would but think of him, it would be proof of his opinion
formed- proof that he had been tacitly promoted above his associates
in misery- such proof as would justify hope.
Ben-Hur waited anxiously. The interval seemed like an age. At
every turn of the oar he looked towards the tribune, who, his simple
preparations made, lay down upon the couch and composed himself to
rest; whereupon number sixty chid himself, and laughed grimly, and
resolved not to look that way again.
The hortator approached. Now he was at number one- the rattle of the
iron links sounded horribly. At last number sixty! Calm from
despair, Ben-Hur held his oar at poise, and gave his foot to the
officer. Then the tribune stirred- sat up- beckoned to the chief.
A strong revulsion seized the Jew. From the hortator the great man
glanced at him; and when he dropped his oar all the section of the
ship on his side seemed aglow. He heard nothing of what was said;
enough that the chain hung idly from its staple in the bench, and that
the chief, going to his seat, began to beat the sounding-board. The
notes of the gavel were never so like music. With his breast against
the leaded handle, he pushed with all his might- pushed until the
shaft bent as if about to break.
The chief went to the tribune, and, smiling, pointed to number
sixty.
"What strength!" he said.
"And what spirit!" the tribune answered. "Perpol! He is better
without the irons. Put them on him no more."
So saying, he stretched himself upon the couch again.
The ship sailed on hour after hour under the oars in water
scarcely rippled by the wind. And the people not on duty slept, Arrius
in his place, the marines on the floor.
Once- twice- Ben-Hur was relieved; but he could not sleep. Three
years of night, and through the darkness a sunbeam at last! At sea
adrift and lost, and now land! Dead so long, and, lo! the thrill and
stir of resurrection. Sleep was not for such an hour. Hope deals
with the future; now and the past are but servants that wait on her
with impulse and suggestive circumstance. Starting from the favour
of the tribune, she carried him forward indefinitely. The wonder is,
not that things so purely imaginative as the results she points us
to can make us so happy, but that we can receive them as so real. They
must be as gorgeous poppies under the influence of which, under the
crimson and purple and gold, reason lies down the while, and is not.
Sorrows assuaged; home and the fortunes of his house restored;
mother and sister in his arms once more- such were the central ideas
which made him happier that moment than he had ever been. That he
was rushing, as on wings, into horrible battle had, for the time,
nothing to do with his thoughts. The things thus in hope were
unmixed with doubts- they were. Hence his joy so full, so perfect,
there was no room in his heart for revenge. Messala, Gratus, Rome, and
all the bitter, passionate memories connected with them, were as
dead plagues- miasms of the earth above which he floated. far and
safe, listening to singing stars.
The deeper darkness before the dawn was upon the waters, and all
things going well with the Astraea, when a man, descending from the
deck, walked swiftly to the platform where the tribune slept, and
awoke him. Arrius arose, put on his helmet, sword, and shield, and
went to the commander of the marines.
"The pirates are close by. Up and ready!" he said, and passed to the
stairs, calm, confident, insomuch that one might have thought,
"Happy fellow! Apicius has set a feast for him."
CHAPTER V.
THE SEA FIGHT.

EVERY soul aboard, even the ship, awoke. Officers went to their
quarters. The marines took arms, and were led out, looking in all
respects like legionaries. Sheaves of arrows and armfuls of javelins
were carried on deck. By the central stairs the oil-tanks and
fireballs were set ready for use. Additional lanterns were lighted.
Buckets were filled with water. The rowers in relief assembled under
guard in front of the chief. As Providence would have it, Ben-Hur
was one of the latter. Overhead he heard the muffled noises of the
final preparations- of the sailors furling sail, spreading the
nettings, unslinging the machines, and hanging the armour of bull-hide
over the sides. Presently quiet settled about the galley again;
quiet full of vague dread and expectation, which, interpreted, means
ready.
At a signal passed down from the deck, and communicated to the
hortator by a petty officer stationed on the stairs, all at once the
oars stopped.
What did it mean?
Of the hundred and twenty slaves chained to the benches, not one but
asked himself the question. They were without incentive. Patriotism,
love of honour, sense of duty, brought them no inspiration. They
felt the thrill common to men rushed helpless and blind into danger.
It may be supposed the dullest of them, poising his oar, thought of
all that might happen, yet could promise himself nothing; for
victory would but rivet his chains the firmer, while the chances of
the ship were his; sinking or on fire, he was doomed to her fate.
Of the situation without they might not ask, And who were the enemy?
And what if they were friends, brethren, countrymen? The reader,
carrying the suggestion forward, will see the necessity which governed
the Roman when, in such emergencies, he locked the hapless wretches to
their seats.
There was little time, however, for such thought with them. A
sound like the rowing of galleys astern attracted Ben-Hur, and the
Astraea rocked as if in the midst of countering waves. The idea of a
fleet at hand broke upon him- a fleet in manoeuvre- forming probably
for attack. His blood started with the fancy.
Another signal came down from the deck. The oars dipped, and the
galley started imperceptibly. No sound from without, none from within,
yet each man in the cabin instinctively poised himself for a shock;
the very ship seemed to catch the sense, and hold its breath, and go
crouched tiger-like.
In such a situation time is inappreciable; so that Ben-Hur could
form no judgment of distance gone. At last there was a sound of
trumpets on deck, full, clear, long blown. The chief beat the
sounding-board until it rang; the rowers reached forward full
length, and, deepening the dip of their oars, pulled suddenly with all
their united force. The galley, quivering in every timber, answered
with a leap. Other trumpets joined in the clamour- all from the
rear, none forward- from the latter quarter only a rising sound of
voices in tumult heard briefly. There was a mighty blow; the rowers in
front of the chief's platform reeled, some of them fell; the ship
bounded back, recovered, and rushed on more irresistibly than
before. Shrill and high arose the shrieks of men in terror; over the
blare of trumpets, and the grind and crash of the collision, they
arose; then under his feet, under the keel, pounding, rumbling,
breaking to pieces, drowning, Ben-Hur felt something overridden. The
men about him looked at each other afraid. A shout of triumph from the
deck- the beak of the Roman had won! But who were they whom the sea
had drunk? Of what tongue, from what land were they?
No pause, no stay! Forward rushed the Astraea; and, as it went, some
sailors ran down, and plunging the cotton balls into the oil-tanks,
tossed them dripping to comrades at the head of the stairs: fire was
to be added to other horrors of the combat.
Directly the galley heeled over so far that the oarsmen on the
uppermost side with difficulty kept their benches. Again the hearty
Roman cheer, and with it, despairing shrieks. An opposing vessel,
caught by the grappling-hooks of the great crane swinging from the
prow, was being lifted into the air that it might be dropped and sunk.
The shouting increased on the right hand and on the left; before,
behind, swelled an indescribable clamour. Occasionally there was a
crash, followed by sudden peals of fright, telling of other ships
ridden down, and their crews drowned in the vortexes.
Nor was the fight all on one side. Now and then a Roman in armour
was borne down the hatchway, and laid bleeding, sometimes dying, on
the floor.
Sometimes, also, puffs of smoke, blended with steam, and foul with
the scent of roasting human flesh, poured into the cabin, turning
the dimming light into yellow murk. Gasping for breath the while,
Ben-Hur knew they were passing through the cloud of a ship on fire,
and burning up with the rowers chained to the benches.
The Astraea all this time was in motion. Suddenly she stopped. The
oars forward were dashed from the hands of the rowers, and the
rowers from their benches. On deck, then, a furious trampling, and
on the sides a grinding of ships afoul of each other. For the first
time the beating of the gavel was lost in the uproar. Men sank on
the floor in fear or looked about seeking a hiding-place. In the midst
of the panic a body plunged or was pitched headlong down the hatchway,
falling near Ben-Hur. He beheld the half-naked carcass, a mass of hair
blackening the face, and under it a shield of bull-hide and
wicker-work- a barbarian from the white-skinned nations of the North
whom death had robbed of plunder and revenge. How came he there? An
iron hand had snatched him from the opposing deck- no, the Astraea had
been boarded! The Romans were fighting on their own deck? A chill
smote the young Jew: Arrius was hard pressed- he might be defending
his own life. If he should be slain! God of Abraham forefend! The
hopes and dreams so lately come, were they only hopes and dreams?
Mother and sister- house- home- Holy Land- was he not to see them,
after all? The tumult thundered above him; he looked around; in the
cabin all was confusion- the rowers on the benches paralyzed; men
running blindly hither and thither; only the chief on his seat
imperturbable, vainly beating the sounding-board, and waiting the
orders of the tribune- in the red murk illustrating the matchless
discipline which had won the world.
The example had a good effect upon Ben-Hur. He controlled himself
enough to think. Honour and duty bound the Roman to the platform;
but what had he to do with such motives then? The bench was a thing to
run from; while, if he were to die a slave, who would be the better of
the sacrifice? With him living was duty, if not honour. His life
belonged to his people. They arose before him never more real: he
saw them, their arms outstretched; he heard them imploring him. And he
would go to them. He started- stopped. Alas! a Roman judgment held him
in doom. While it endured, escape would be profitless. In the wide,
wide earth there was no place in which he would be safe from the
imperial demand; upon the land none, nor upon the sea. Whereas he
required freedom according to the forms of law, so only could he abide
in Judea and execute the filial purpose to which he would devote
himself: in other land he would not live. Dear God! How he had
waited and watched and prayed for such a release! And how it had
been delayed! But at last he had seen it in the promise of the
tribune. What else the great man's meaning? And if the benefactor so
belated should now be slain! The dead come not back to redeem the
pledges of the living. It should not be- Arrius should not die. At
least, better perish with him than survive a galley-slave.
Once more Ben-Hur looked around. Upon the roof of the cabin the
battle yet beat; against the sides the hostile vessels yet crushed and
grided. On the benches the slaves struggled to tear loose from their
chains, and, finding their efforts vain, howled like madmen; the
guards had gone upstairs; discipline was out, panic in. No, the
chief kept his chair, unchanged, calm as ever- except the gavel,
weaponless. Vainly with his clangour he filled the lulls in the din.
Ben-Hur gave him a last look, then broke away- not in flight, but to
seek the tribune.
A very short space lay between him and the stairs of the hatchway
aft. He took it with a leap, and was half-way up the steps- up far
enough to catch a glimpse of the sky blood-red with fire, of the ships
alongside, of the sea covered with ships and wrecks, of the fight
closed in about the pilot's quarter, the assailants many, the
defenders few- when suddenly his foothold was knocked away, and he
pitched backward. The floor, when he reached it, seemed to be
lifting itself and breaking to pieces; then, in a twinkling, the whole
after-part of the hull broke asunder, and, as if it had all the time
been lying in wait, the sea, hissing and foaming, leaped in, and all
became darkness and surging water to Ben-Hur.
It cannot be said that the young Jew helped himself in this
stress. Besides his usual strength, he had the indefinite extra
force which nature keeps in reserve for just such perils to life;
yet the darkness, and the whirl and roar of water, stupefied him. Even
the holding of his breath was involuntary.
The influx of the flood tossed him like a log forward into the
cabin, where he would have drowned but for the refluence of the
sinking motion. As it was, fathoms under the surface the hollow mass
vomited him forth, and he arose along with the loosed debris. In the
act of rising he clutched something, and held to it. The time he was
under seemed an age longer than it really was; at last he gained the
top; with a great gasp he filled his lungs afresh, and, tossing the
water from his hair and eyes, climbed higher upon the plank he held,
and looked about him.
Death had pursued him closely under the waves; he found it waiting
for him when he was risen- waiting multiform.
Smoke lay upon the sea like a semi-transparent fog, through which
here and there shone cores of intense brilliance. A quick intelligence
told him that they were ships on fire. The battle was yet on; nor
could he say who was victor. Within the radius of his vision now and
then ships passed, shooting shadows athwart lights. Out of the dun
clouds farther on he caught the crash of other ships colliding. The
danger, however, was closer at hand. When the Astraea went down, her
deck, it will be recollected, held her own crew, and the crews of
the two galleys which had attacked her at the same time, all of whom
were ingulfed. Many of them came to the surface together, and on the
same plank or support of whatever kind continued the combat, begun
possibly in the vortex fathoms down. Writhing and twisting in deadly
embrace, sometimes striking with sword or javelin, they kept the sea
around them in agitation, at one place inky-black, at another aflame
with fiery reflections. With their struggles he had nothing to do;
they were all his enemies: not one of them but would kill him for
the plank upon which he floated. He made haste to get away.
About that time he heard oars in quickest movement, and beheld a
galley coming down upon him. The tall prow seemed doubly tall, and the
red light playing upon its gilt and carving gave it an appearance of
snaky life. Under its foot the water churned to flying foam.
He struck out, pushing the plank, which was very broad and
unmanageable. Seconds were precious- half a second might save or
lose him. In the crisis of the effort, up from the sea, within arm's
reach, a helmet shot like a gleam of gold. Next came two hands with
fingers extended- large hands were they, and strong- their hold once
fixed, might not be loosed. Ben-Hur swerved from them appalled. Up
rose the helmet and the head it encased- then two arms, which began to
beat the water wildly- the head turned back, and gave the face to
the light. The mouth gaping wide; the eyes open, but sightless, and
the bloodless pallor of a drowning man- never anything more ghastly!
Yet he gave a cry of joy at the sight, and as the face was going under
again, he caught the sufferer by the chain which passed from the
helmet beneath the chin, and drew him to the plank.
The man was Arrius, the tribune.
For a while the water foamed and eddied violently about Ben-Hur,
taxing all his strength to hold to the support and at the same time
keep the Roman's head above the surface. The galley had passed,
leaving the two barely outside the stroke of its oars. Right through
the floating men, over heads helmeted as well as heads bare, she
drove, in her wake nothing but the sea sparkling with fire. A
muffled crash, succeeded by a great outcry, made the rescuer look
again from his charge. A certain savage pleasure touched his heart-
the Astraea was avenged.
After that the battle moved on. Resistance turned to flight. But who
were the victors? Ben-Hur was sensible how much his freedom and the
life of the tribune depended upon that event. He pushed the plank
under the latter until it floated him, after which all his care was to
keep him there. The dawn came slowly. He watched its growing
hopefully, yet sometimes afraid. Would it bring the Romans or the
pirates? If the pirates, his charge was lost.
At last morning broke in full, the air without a breath. Off to
the left he saw the land, too far to think of attempting to make it.
Here and there men were adrift like himself. In spots the sea was
blackened by charred and sometimes smoking fragments. A galley up a
long way was lying to with a torn sail hanging from the tilted yard,
and the oars all idle. Still farther away he could discern moving
specks, which he thought might be ships in flight or pursuit, or
they might be white birds awing.
An hour passed thus. His anxiety increased. If relief came not
speedily, Arrius would die. Sometimes he seemed already dead, he lay
so still. He took the helmet off, and then, with greater difficulty,
the cuirass; the heart he found fluttering. He took hope at the
sign, and held on. There was nothing to do but wait, and, after the
manner of his people, pray.
CHAPTER VI.
ARRIUS ADOPTS BEN-HUR.

THE throes of recovery from drowning are more painful than the
drowning. These Arrius passed through, and, at length, to Ben-Hur's
delight, reached the point of speech.
Gradually, from incoherent questions as to where he was, and by whom
and how he had been saved, he reverted to the battle. The doubt of the
victory stimulated his faculties to full return, a result aided not
a little by a long rest- such as could be had on their frail
support. After a while he became talkative.
"Our rescue, I see, depends upon the result of the fight. I see also
what thou hast done for me. To speak fairly, thou hast saved my life
at the risk of thy own. I make the acknowledgment broadly; and,
whatever cometh, thou hast my thanks. More than that, if fortune
doth but serve me kindly, and we get well out of this peril, I will do
thee such favour as becometh a Roman who hath power and opportunity to
prove his gratitude. Yet, yet it is to be seen if, with thy good
intent, thou hast really done me a kindness; or, rather, speaking to
thy good-will"- he hesitated- "I would exact of thee a promise to do
me, in a certain event, the greatest favour one man can do another-
and of that let me have thy pledge now."
"If the thing be not forbidden, I will do it," Ben-Hur replied.
Arrius rested again.
"Art thou, indeed, a son of Hur, the Jew?" he next asked.
"It is as I have said."
"I knew thy father- "
Judah drew himself nearer, for the tribune's voice was weak- he drew
nearer, and listened eagerly- at last he thought to hear of home.
"I knew him, and loved him," Arrius continued.
There was another pause, during which something diverted the
speaker's thought.
"It cannot be," he proceeded, "that thou, a son of his, hast not
heard of Cato and Brutus. They were very great men, and never as great
as in death. In their dying, they left this law- A Roman may not
survive his good fortune. Art thou listening?"
"I hear."
"It is a custom of gentlemen in Rome to wear a ring. There is one on
my hand. Take it now."
He held the hand to Judah, who did as he asked.
"Now put it on thine own hand."
Ben-Hur did so.
"The trinket hath its uses," said Arrius next. "I have property
and money. I am accounted rich even in Rome. I have no family. Show
the ring to my freedman who hath control in my absence; you will
find him in a villa near Misenum. Tell him how it came to thee, and
ask anything, or all he may have; he will not refuse the demand. If
I live, I will do better by thee. I will make thee free, and restore
thee to thy home and people; or thou mayst give thyself to the pursuit
that pleaseth thee most. Dost thou hear?"
"I could not choose but hear."
"Then pledge me. By the gods- "
"Nay, good tribune, I am a Jew."
"By thy God, then, or in the form most sacred to those of thy faith-
pledge me to do what I tell thee now, and as I tell thee; I am
waiting, let me have thy promise."
"Noble Arrius, I am warned by thy manner to expect something of
gravest concern. Tell me thy wish first."
"Wilt thou promise, then?"
"That were to give the pledge, and- Blessed be the God of my
fathers! yonder cometh a ship!"
"In what direction?"- "From the north."- "Canst thou tell her
nationality by outward signs?"- "No. My service hath been at the
oars."- "Hath she a flag?"- "I cannot see one."
Arrius remained quiet some time, apparently in deep reflection.
"Does the ship hold this way yet?" he at length asked.- "Still
this way."- "Look for the flag now."- "She hath none."- "Nor any other
sign?"
"She hath a sail set, and is of three banks, and cometh swiftly-
that is all I can say of her."
"A Roman in triumph would have out many flags. She must be an enemy.
Hear, now," said Arrius, becoming grave again, "hear, while yet I
may speak. If the galley be a pirate, thy life is safe; they may not
give thee freedom; they may put thee to the oar again; but they will
not kill thee. On the other hand, I- "
The tribune faltered.
"Perpol!" he continued, resolutely. "I am too old to submit to
dishonour. In Rome let them tell how Quintus Arrius, as became a Roman
tribune, went down with his ship in the midst of the foe. This is what
I would have thee do. If the galley prove a pirate, push me from the
plank and drown me. Dost thou hear? Swear thou wilt do it."
"I will not swear," said Ben-Hur, firmly; "neither will I do the
deed. The Law, which is to me most binding, O tribune, would make me
answerable for thy life. Take back the ring"- he took the seal from
his finger- "take it back, and all thy promises of favour in the event
of delivery from this peril. The judgment which sent me to the oar for
life made me a slave, yet I am not a slave; no more am I thy freedman.
I am a son of Israel, and this moment, at least, my own master. Take
back the ring."
Arrius remained passive.
"Thou wilt not?" Judah continued. "Not in anger, then, nor in any
despite, but to free myself from a hateful obligation, I will give thy
gift to the sea. See, O tribune!"
He tossed the ring away. Arrius heard the splash where it struck and
sank, though he did not look.
"Thou hast done a foolish thing," he said- "foolish for one placed
as thou art. I am not dependent upon thee for death. Life is a
thread I can break without thy help; and, if I do, what will become of
thee? Men determined on death prefer it at the hands of others, for
the reason that the soul which Plato giveth us is rebellious at the
thought of self-destruction; that is all. If the ship be a pirate, I
will escape from the world. My mind is fixed. I am a Roman. Success
and honour are all in all. Yet I would have served thee; thou
wouldst not. The ring was the only witness of my will available in
this situation. We are both lost. I will die regretting the victory
and glory wrested from me; thou wilt live to die a little later,
mourning the pious duties undone because of this folly. I pity thee."
Ben-Hur saw the consequences of his act more distinctly than before,
yet he did not falter.
"In the three years of my servitude, O tribune, thou wert the
first to look upon me kindly. No, no! There was another." The voice
dropped, the eyes became humid, and he saw plainly, as if it were then
before him, the face of the boy who helped him to a drink by the old
well at Nazareth. "At least," he proceeded, "thou wert the first to
ask me who I was; and if, when I reached out and caught thee, blind
and sinking the last time, I, too, had thought of the many ways in
which thou couldst be useful to me in my wretchedness, still the act
was not all selfish; this I pray you to believe. Moreover, seeing as
God giveth me to now, the ends I dream of are to be wrought by fair
means alone. As a thing of conscience I would rather die with thee
than be thy slayer. My mind is firmly set as thine; though thou wert
to offer me all Rome, O tribune, and it belonged to thee to make the
gift good, I would not kill thee. Thy Cato and Brutus were as little
children compared to the Hebrew whose law a Jew must obey."
"But my request. Hast- "
"Thy command would be of more weight, and that would not move me.
I have said."
Both became silent, waiting.
Ben-Hur looked often at the coming ship. Arrius rested with closed
eyes, indifferent.
"Art thou sure she is an enemy?" Ben-Hur asked.- "I think so," was
the reply.- "She stops, and puts a boat over the side."- "Dost thou
see her flag?" "Is there no other sign by which she may be known if
Roman?"- "If Roman, she hath a helmet over the mast's top."- "Then
be of cheer. I see the helmet."
Still Arrius was not assured.
"The men in the small boat are taking in the people afloat.
Pirates are not humane."
"They may need rowers," Arrius replied, recurring, possibly, to
times when he had made rescues for the purpose.
Ben-Hur was very watchful of the actions of the strangers.
"The ship moves off," he said.
"Whither?"
"Over on our right there is a galley which I take to be deserted.
The new-comer heads towards it. Now she is alongside. Now she is
sending men aboard."
Then Arrius opened his eyes and threw off his calm.
"Thank thou thy God," he said to Ben-Hur, after a look at the
galleys, "thank thou thy God, as I do my many gods. A pirate would
sink, not save, yon ship. By the act and the helmet on the mast I know
a Roman. The victory is mine. Fortune hath not deserted me. We are
saved. Wave thy hand- call to them- bring them quickly. I shall be
duumvir, and thou! I knew thy father, and loved him. He was a prince
indeed. He taught me a Jew was not a barbarian. I will take thee
with me. I will make thee my son. Give thy God thanks, and call the
sailors. Haste! The pursuit must be kept. Not a robber shall escape.
Hasten them!"
Judah raised himself upon the plank, and waved his hand, and
called with all his might; at last he drew the attention of the
sailors in the small boat, and they were speedily taken up.
Arrius was received on the galley with all the honours due a hero so
the favourite of Fortune. Upon a couch on the deck he heard the
particulars of the conclusion of the fight. When the survivors
afloat upon the water were all saved and the prize secured, he
spread his flag of commandant anew, and hurried northward to rejoin
the fleet and perfect the victory. In due time the fifty vessels
coming down the channel closed in upon the fugitive pirates, and
crushed them utterly; not one escaped. To swell the tribune's glory,
twenty galleys of the enemy were captured.
Upon his return from the cruise, Arrius had warm welcome on the mole
at Misenum. The young man attending him very early attracted the
attention of his friends there; and to their questions as to who he
was the tribune proceeded in the most affectionate manner to tell
the story of his rescue and introduce the stranger, omitting carefully
all that pertained to the latter's previous history. At the end of the
narrative, he called Ben-Hur to him, and said, with a hand resting
affectionately upon his shoulder-
"Good friends, this is my son and heir, who, as he is to take my
property- if it be the will of the gods that I leave any- shall be
known to you by my name. I pray you all to love him as you love me."
Speedily as opportunity permitted, the adoption was formally
perfected. And in such manner the brave Roman kept his faith with
Ben-Hur, giving him happy introduction into the imperial world. The
month succeeding Arrius's return the armilustrium was celebrated
with the utmost magnificence in the theatre at Scaurus. One side of
the structure was taken up with military trophies; among which by
far the most conspicuous and most admired were twenty prows,
complemented by their corresponding aplustra, cut bodily from as
many galleys; and over them, so as to be legible to the eighty
thousand spectators in the seats, was this inscription:-

TAKEN FROM THE PIRATES IN THE GULF OF EURIPUS,
BY
QUINTUS ARRIUS,
DUUMVIR.
BOOK FOURTH.

"Alva. Should the monarch prove unjust-
And, at this time-
"Queen. Then I must wait for justice
Until it come; and they are happiest far
Whose consciences may calmly wait their right."
-SCHILLER, Don Carlos (act iv. sc. 15).

CHAPTER I.
BEN-HUR RETURNS EAST.

THE month to which we now come is July, the year that of our Lord
23, and the place Antioch, then Queen of the East, and next to Rome
the strongest, if not the most populous, city in the world.
There is an opinion that the extravagance and dissoluteness of the
age had their origin in Rome, and spread thence throughout the empire;
that the great cities but reflected the manners of their mistress on
the Tiber. This may be doubted. The reaction of the conquest would
seem to have been upon the morals of the conqueror. In Greece she
found a spring of corruption; so also in Egypt; and the student,
having exhausted the subject, will close the books assured that the
flow of the demoralizing river was from the East westwardly, and
that this very city of Antioch, one of the oldest seats of Assyrian
power and splendour, was a principal source of the deadly stream.
A transport galley entered the mouth of the river Orontes from the
blue waters of the sea. It was in the forenoon. The heat was great,
yet all on board who could avail themselves of the privilege were on
deck- Ben-Hur among others.
The five years had brought the young Jew to perfect manhood.
Though the robe of white linen in which he was attired somewhat masked
his form, his appearance was unusually attractive. For an hour and
more he had occupied a seat in the shade of the sail, and in that time
several fellow-passengers of his own nationality had tried to engage
him in conversation, but without avail. His replies to their questions
had been brief, though gravely courteous, and in the Latin tongue. The
purity of his speech, his cultivated manners, his reticence, served to
stimulate their curiosity the more. Such as observed him closely
were struck by an incongruity between his demeanour, which had the
ease and grace of a patrician, and certain points of his person. Thus,
his arms were disproportionately long; and when, to steady himself
against the motion of the vessel, he took hold of anything near by,
the size of his hands and their evident power compelled remark; so the
wonder who and what he was mixed continually with a wish to know the
particulars of his life. In other words, his air cannot be better
described than as a notice- This man has a story to tell.
The galley, in coming, had stopped at one of the ports of Cyprus,
and picked up a Hebrew of most respectable appearance, quiet,
reserved, paternal. Ben-Hur ventured to ask him some questions; the
replies won his confidence, and resulted finally in an extended
conversation.
It chanced also that as the galley from Cyprus entered the receiving
bay of the Orontes, two other vessels which had been sighted out in
the sea met it and passed into the river at the same time; and as they
did so both the strangers threw out small flags of brightest yellow.
There was much conjecture as to the meaning of the signals. At
length a passenger addressed himself to the respectable Hebrew for
information upon the subject.
"Yes, I know the meaning of the flags," he replied; "they do not
signify nationality- they are merely marks of ownership."
"Has the owner many ships?"
"He has."
"You know him?"
"I have dealt with him."
The passengers looked at the speaker as if requesting him to go
on. Ben-Hur listened with interest.
"He lives in Antioch," the Hebrew continued, in his quiet way. "That
he is vastly rich has brought him into notice, and the talk about
him is not always kind. There used to be in Jerusalem a prince of a
very ancient family named Hur."
Judah strove to be composed, yet his heart beat quicker.
"The prince was a merchant with a genius for business. He set on
foot many enterprises, some reaching far East, others West. In the
great cities he had branch houses. The one in Antioch was in charge of
a man said by some to have been a family servant called Simonides,
Greek in name, yet an Israelite. The master was drowned at sea. His
business, however, went on, and was scarcely less prosperous. After
a while misfortune overtook the family. The prince's only son,
nearly grown, tried to kill the procurator Gratus in one of the
streets of Jerusalem. He failed by a narrow chance, and has not
since been heard of. In fact, the Roman's rage took in the whole
house- not one of the name was left alive. Their palace was sealed up,
and is now a rookery for pigeons; the estate was confiscated;
everything that could be traced to the ownership of the Hurs was
confiscated. The procurator cured his hurt with a golden salve."
The passengers laughed.
"You mean he kept the property," said one of them.
"They say so," the Hebrew replied; "I am only telling a story as I
received it. And, to go on, Simonides, who had been the prince's agent
here in Antioch, opened trade in a short time on his own account,
and in a space incredibly brief became the master merchant of the
city. In imitation of his master, he sent caravans to India; and on
the sea at present he has galleys enough to make a royal fleet. They
say nothing goes amiss with him. His camels do not die, except of
old age; his ships never founder; if he throw a chip into the river,
it will come back to him gold."
"How long has he been going on thus?"
"Not ten years."
"He must have had a good start."
"Yes, they say the procurator took only the prince's property
ready at hand- his horses, cattle, houses, land, vessels, goods. The
money could not be found, though there must have been vast sums of it.
What became of it has been an unsolved mystery."
"Not to me," said a passenger, with a sneer.
"I understand you," the Hebrew answered. "Others have had your idea.
That it furnished old Simonides his start is a common belief. The
procurator is of that opinion- or he has been- for twice in five years
he has caught the merchant, and put him to torture."
Judah griped the rope he was holding with crushing force.
"It is said," the narrator continued, "that there is not a sound
bone in the man's body. The last time I saw him he sat in a chair, a
shapeless cripple, propped against cushions."
"So tortured!" exclaimed several listeners in a breath.
"Disease could not have produced such a deformity. Still the
suffering made no impression upon him. All he had was his lawfully,
and he was making lawful use of it- that was the most they wrung
from him. Now, however, he is past persecution. He has a license to
trade signed by Tiberius himself."
"He paid roundly for it, I warrant."
"These ships are his," the Hebrew continued, passing the remark. "It
is a custom among his sailors to salute each other upon meeting by
throwing out yellow flags, sight of which is as much as to say, 'We
have had a fortunate voyage.'"
The story ended there.
When the transport was fairly in the channel of the river, Judah
spoke to the Hebrew.
"What was the name of the merchant's master?"
"Ben-Hur, Prince of Jerusalem."
"What became of the prince's family?"
"The boy was sent to the galleys. I may say he is dead. One year
is the ordinary limit of life under that sentence. The widow and
daughter have not been heard of; those who know what became of them
will not speak. They died, doubtless, in the cells of one of the
castles which spot the waysides of Judea."
Judah walked to the pilot's quarter. So absorbed was he in thought
that he scarcely noticed the shores of the river, which from sea to
city were surpassingly beautiful with orchards of all the Syrian
fruits and vines, clustered about villas rich as those of Neapolis. No
more did he observe the vessels passing in an endless fleet, nor
hear the singing and shouting of the sailors, some in labour, some
in merriment. The sky was full of sunlight, lying in hazy warmth
upon the land and the water; nowhere except over his life was there
a shadow.
Once only he awoke to a momentary interest, and that was when some
one pointed out the Grove of Daphne, discernible from a bend in the
river.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE ORONTES.

WHEN the city came into view, the passengers were on deck, eager
that nothing of the scene might escape them. The respectable Jew
already introduced to the reader was the principal spokesman.
"The river here runs to the west," he said, in the way of general
answer. "I remember when it washed the base of the walls; but as Roman
subjects we have lived in peace, and, as always happens in such times,
trade has had its will; now the whole river front is taken up with
wharves and docks. Yonder"- the speaker pointed southward- "is Mount
Casius, or, as these people love to call it, the Mountains of Orontes,
looking across to its brother Amnus in the north; and between them
lies the Plain of Antioch. Farther on are the Black Mountains,
whence the Ducts of the Kings bring the purest water to wash the
thirsty streets and people; yet they are forests in wilderness
state, dense, and full of birds and beasts."
"Where is the lake?" one asked.
"Over north there. You can take horse, if you wish to see it- or,
better, a boat, for a tributary connects it with the river."
"The Grove of Daphne!" he said, to a third inquirer. "Nobody can
describe it; only beware! It was begun by Apollo, and completed by
him. He prefers it to Olympus. People go there for one look- just one-
and never come away. They have a saying which tells it all- 'Better be
a worm and feed on the mulberries of Daphne than a king's guest.'"
"Then you advise me to stay away from it?"
"Not I! Go you will. Everybody goes, cynic philosopher, virile
boy, women, and priests- all go. So sure am I of what you will do that
I assume to advise you. Do not take quarters in the city- that will be
loss of time; but go at once to the village in the edge of the
grove. The way is through a garden, under the spray of fountains.
The lovers of the god and his Penaean maid built the town; and in
its porticos and paths and thousand retreats you will find
characters and habits and sweets and kinds elsewhere impossible. But
the wall of the city! there it is, the masterpiece of Xeraeus, the
master of mural architecture."
All eyes followed his pointing finger.
"This part was raised by order of the first of the Seleucidae. Three
hundred years have made it part of the rock it rests upon."
The defence justified the encomium. High, solid, and with many
bold angles, it curved southwardly out of view.
"On the top there are four hundred towers, each a reservoir of
water," the Hebrew continued. "Look now! Over the wall, tall as it is,
see in the distance two hills, which you may know as the rival
crests of Sulpius. The structure on the farthest one is the citadel,
garrisoned all the year round by a Roman legion. Opposite it this
way rises the Temple of Jupiter, and under that the front of the
legate's residence- a palace full of offices, and yet a fortress
against which a mob would dash harmlessly as a south wind."
At this point the sailors began taking in sail, whereupon the Hebrew
exclaimed, heartily, "See! you who hate the sea, and you who have
vows, get ready your curses and your prayers. The bridge yonder,
over which the road to Seleucia is carried, marks the limit of
navigation. What the ship unloads for further transit, the camel takes
up there. Above the bridge begins the island upon which Calinicus
built his new city, connecting it with five great viaducts so solid
time has made no impression upon them, nor floods nor earthquakes.
Of the main town, my friends, I have only to say you will be happier
all your lives for having seen it."
As he concluded, the ship turned and made slowly for her wharf under
the wall, bringing even more fairly to view the life with which the
river at that point was possessed. Finally, the lines were thrown, the
oars shipped, and the voyage was done. Then Ben-Hur sought the
respectable Hebrew.
"Let me trouble you a moment before saying farewell."
The man bowed assent.
"Your story of the merchant has made me curious to see him. You
called him Simonides?"
"Yes. He is a Jew with a Greek name."
"Where is he to be found?"
The acquaintance gave a sharp look before he answered-
"I may save you mortification. He is not a money-lender."
"Nor am I a money-borrower," said Ben-Hur, smiling at the other's
shrewdness.
The man raised his head and considered an instant.
"One would think," he then replied, "that the richest merchant in
Antioch would have a house for business corresponding to his wealth;
but if you would find him in the day, follow the river to yon
bridge, under which he quarters in a building that looks like a
buttress of the wall. Before the door there is an immense landing,
always covered with cargoes come and to go. The fleet that lies moored
there is his. You cannot fail to find him."
"I give you thanks."
"The peace of our fathers go with you."
"And with you."
With that they separated.
Two street-porters, loaded with his baggage, received Ben-Hur's
orders upon the wharf.
"To the citadel," he said; a direction which implied an official
military connection.
Two great streets, cutting each other at right angles, divided the
city into quarters. A curious and immense structure, called the
Nymphaeum, arose at the foot of the one running north and south.
When the porters turned south there, the new-comer, though fresh
from Rome, was amazed at the magnificence of the avenue. On the
right and left there were palaces, and between them extended
indefinitely double colonnades of marble, leaving separate ways for
footmen, beasts, and chariots; the whole under shade, and cooled by
fountains of incessant flow.
Ben-Hur was not in mood to enjoy the spectacle. The story of
Simonides haunted him. Arrived at the Omphalus- a monument of four
arches wide as the streets, superbly illustrated, and erected to
himself by Epiphanes, the eighth of the Seleucidae- he suddenly
changed his mind.
"I will not go to the citadel to-night," he said to the porters.
"Take me to the khan nearest the bridge on the road to Seleucia."
The party faced about, and in good time he was deposited in a public
house of primitive but ample construction, within stone's-throw of the
bridge under which old Simonides had his quarters. He lay upon the
house-top through the night. In his inner mind lived the thought,
"Now- now I will hear of home- and mother- and the dear little Tirzah.
If they are on earth, I will find them."
CHAPTER III.
THE DEMAND ON SIMONIDES.

NEXT day early, to the neglect of the city, Ben-Hur sought the house
of Simonides. Through an embattled gateway he passed to a continuity
of wharves; thence up the river midst a busy press, to the Seleucian
Bridge, under which he paused to take in the scene.
There, directly under the bridge, was the merchant's house, a mass
of grey stone, unhewn, referrible to no style, looking, as the voyager
had described it, like a buttress of the wall against which it leaned.
Two immense doors in front communicated with the wharf. Some holes
near the top, heavily barred, served as windows. Weeds waved from
the crevices, and in places black moss splotched the otherwise bald
stones.
The doors were open. Through one of them business went in; through
the other it came out; and there was hurry, hurry in all its
movements.
On the wharf there were piles of goods in every kind of package, and
groups of slaves, stripped to the waist, going about in the abandon of
labour.
Below the bridge lay a fleet of galleys, some loading, others
unloading. A yellow flag blew out from each mast-head. From fleet
and wharf, and from ship to ship, the bondmen of traffic passed in
clamorous counter-currents.
Above the bridge, across the river, a wall rose from the water's
edge, over which towered the fanciful cornices and turrets of an
imperial palace, covering every foot of the island spoken of in the
Hebrew's description. But, with all its suggestions, Ben-Hur
scarcely noticed it. Now, at last, he thought to hear of his people-
this certainly, if Simonides had indeed been his father's slave. But
would the man acknowledge the relation? That would be to give up his
riches and the sovereignty of trade so royally witnessed on the
wharf and river. And what was of still greater consequence to the
merchant, it would be to forego his career in the midst of amazing
success, and yield himself voluntarily once more a slave. Simple
thought of the demand seemed a monstrous audacity. Stripped of
diplomatic address, it was to say, You are my slave; give me all you
have, and- yourself.
Yet Ben-Hur derived strength for the interview from faith in his
rights and the hope uppermost in his heart. If the story to which he
was yielding were true, Simonides belonged to him, with all he had.
For the wealth, be it said in justice, he cared nothing. When he
started to the door determined in mind, it was with a promise to
himself- "Let him tell me of mother and Tirzah, and I will give him
his freedom without account."
He passed boldly into the house.
The interior was that of a vast depot where, in ordered spaces,
and under careful arrangement, goods of every kind were heaped and
pent. Though the light was murky and the air stifling, men moved about
briskly; and in places he saw workmen with saws and hammers making
packages for shipments. Down a path between the piles he walked
slowly, wondering if the man of whose genius there were here such
abounding proofs could have been his father's slave? If so, to what
class had he belonged? If a Jew, was he the son of a servant? Or was
he a debtor or a debtor's son? Or had he been sentenced and sold for
theft? These thoughts, as they passed, in nowise disturbed the growing
respect for the merchant of which he was each instant more and more
conscious. A peculiarity of our admiration for another is that it is
always looking for circumstances to justify itself.
At length a man approached and spoke to him.
"What would you have?"
"I would see Simonides, the merchant."
"Will you come this way?"
By a number of paths left in the stowage, they finally came to a
flight of steps; ascending which, he found himself on the roof of
the depot, and in front of a structure which cannot be better
described than as a lesser stone house built upon another, invisible
from the landing below, and out west of the bridge under the open sky.
The roof, hemmed in by a low wall, seemed like a terrace, which, to
his astonishment, was brilliant with flowers; in the rich surrounding,
the house sat squat- a plain square block, unbroken except by a
doorway in front. A dustless path led to the door, through a bordering
of shrubs of Persian rose in perfect bloom. Breathing a sweet
attar-perfume, he followed the guide.
At the end of a darkened passage within, they stopped before a
curtain half parted. The man called out,
"A stranger to see the master."
A clear voice replied, "In God's name, let him enter."
A Roman might have called the apartment into which the visitor was
ushered his atrium. The walls were panelled; each panel was
comparted like a modern office-desk, and each compartment crowded with
labelled folios all filemot with age and use. Between the panels,
and above and below them, were borders of wood once white, now
tinted like cream, and carved with marvellous intricacy of design.
Above a cornice of gilded balls, the ceiling rose in pavilion style
until it broke into a shallow dome set with hundreds of panes of
violet mica, permitting a flood of light deliciously reposeful. The
floor was carpeted with grey rugs so thick that an invading foot
fell half buried and soundless.
In the midlight of the room were two persons- a man resting in a
chair high-backed, broad-armed, and lined with pliant cushions; and at
his left, leaning against the back of the chair, a girl well forward
into womanhood. At sight of them Ben-Hur felt the blood redden his
forehead; bowing, as much to recover himself as in respect, he lost
the lifting of the hands, and the shiver and shrink with which the
sitter caught sight of him- an emotion as swift to go as it had been
to come. When he raised his eyes the two were in the same position,
except the girl's hand had fallen and was resting lightly upon the
elder's shoulder; both of them were regarding him fixedly.
"If you are Simonides, the merchant, and a Jew"- Ben-Hur stopped
an instant- "then the peace of the God of our father Abraham upon
you and- yours."
The last word was addressed to the girl.
"I am the Simonides of whom you speak, by birthright a Jew," the man
made answer, in a voice singularly clear. "I am Simonides, and a
Jew; and I return you your salutation, with prayer to know who calls
upon me."
Ben-Hur looked as he listened, and where the figure of the man
should have been in healthful roundness, there was only a formless
heap sunk in the depths of the cushions, and covered by a quilted robe
of sombre silk. Over the heap shone a head royally proportioned- the
ideal head of a statesman and conqueror- a head broad of base and
dome-like in front, such as Angelo would have modelled for Caesar.
White hair dropped in thin locks over the white brows, deepening the
blackness of the eyes shining through them like sullen lights. The
face was bloodless, and much puffed with folds, especially under the
chin. In other words, the head and face were those of a man who
might move the world more readily than the world could move him- a man
to be twice twelve times tortured into the shapeless cripple he was,
without a groan, much less a confession; a man to yield his life,
but never a purpose or a point; a man born in armour, and assailable
only through his loves. To him Ben-Hur stretched his hands, open and
palm up, as he would offer peace at the same time he asked it.
"I am Judah, son of Ithamar, late head of the House of Hur, and a
prince of Jerusalem."
The merchant's right hand lay outside the robe- a long, thin hand,
articulate to deformity with suffering. It closed tightly; otherwise
there was not the slightest expression of feeling of any kind on his
part; nothing to warrant an inference of surprise or interest; nothing
but this calm answer-
"The princes of Jerusalem, of the pure blood, are always welcome
in my house; you are welcome. Give the young man a seat, Esther."
The girl took an ottoman near by, and carried it to Ben-Hur. As
she arose from placing the seat, their eyes met.
"The peace of our Lord with you," she said, modestly. "Be seated and
at rest."
When she resumed her place by the chair, she had not divined his
purpose. The powers of woman go not so far: if the matter is of
finer feeling, such as pity, mercy, sympathy, that she detects; and
therein is a difference between her and man which will endure as
long as she remains, by nature, alive to such feelings. She was simply
sure he brought some wound of life for healing.
Ben-Hur did not take the offered seat, but said, deferentially, "I
pray the good master Simonides that he will not hold me an intruder.
Coming up the river yesterday, I heard he knew my father."
"I knew the Prince Hur. We were associated in some enterprises
lawful to merchants who find profit in lands beyond the sea and the
desert. But sit, I pray you- and, Esther, some wine for the young man.
Nehemiah speaks of a son of Hur who once ruled the half part of
Jerusalem; an old house; very old, by the faith! In the days of
Moses and Joshua even some of them found favour in the sight of the
Lord, and divided honours with those princes among men. It can
hardly be that their descendant, lineally come to us, will refuse a
cup of wine-fat of the genuine vine of Sorek, grown on the south
hillsides of Hebron."
By the time of the conclusion of this speech, Esther was before
Ben-Hur with a silver cup filled from a vase upon a table a little
removed from the chair. She offered the drink with downcast face. He
touched her hand gently to put it away. Again their eyes met;
whereat he noticed that she was small, not nearly to his shoulder in
height; but very graceful, and fair and sweet of face, with eyes black
and inexpressibly soft. She is kind and pretty, he thought, and
looks as Tirzah would were she living. Poor Tirzah! Then he said
aloud,
"No, thy father- if he is thy father?" he paused.
"I am Esther, the daughter of Simonides," she said, with dignity.
"Then, fair Esther, thy father, when he has heard my further speech,
will not think worse of me if yet I am slow to take his wine of famous
extract; nor less I hope not to lose grace in thy sight. Stand thou
here with me a moment!"
Both of them, as in common cause, turned to the merchant.
"Simonides!" he said, firmly, "my father, at his death, had a
trusted servant of thy name, and it has been told me that thou art the
man!"
There was a sudden start of the wrenched limbs under the robe, and
the thin hand clenched.
"Esther, Esther!" the man called, sternly; "here, not there, as thou
art thy mother's child and mine- here, not there, I say!"
The girl looked once from father to visitor; then she replaced the
cup upon the table, and went dutifully to the chair. Her countenance
sufficiently expressed her wonder and alarm.
Simonides lifted his left hand, and gave it into hers, lying
lovingly upon his shoulder, and said, dispassionately, "I have grown
old in dealing with men- old before my time. If he who told thee
that whereof thou speakest was a friend acquainted with my history,
and spoke of it not harshly, he must have persuaded thee that I
could not be else than a man distrustful of my kind. The God of Israel
help him who, at the end of life, is constrained to acknowledge so
much! My loves are few, but they are. One of them is a soul which"- he
carried the hand holding his to his lips, in manner unmistakable- "a
soul which to this time has been unselfishly mine, and such sweet
comfort that, were it taken from me, I would die."
Esther's head drooped until her cheek touched his.
"The other love is but a memory; of which I will say further that,
like a benison of the Lord, it hath a compass to contain a whole
family, if only"- his voice lowered and trembled- "if only I knew
where they were."
Ben-Hur's face suffused, and, advancing a step, he cried,
impulsively, "My mother and sister! Oh, it is of them you speak!"
Esther, as if spoken to, raised her head; but Simonides returned
to his calm, and answered, coldly, "Hear me to the end. Because I am
that I am, and because of the loves of which I have spoken, before I
make return to thy demand touching my relations to the Prince Hur, and
as something which of right should come first, do thou show me
proofs of who thou art. Is thy witness in writing? Or cometh it in
person?"
The demand was plain, and the right of it indisputable. Ben-Hur
blushed, clasped his hands, stammered, and turned away at loss.
Simonides pressed him.
"The proofs, the proofs, I say! Set them before me- lay them in my
hands!"
Yet Ben-Hur had no answer. He had not anticipated the requirement;
and, now that it was made, to him as never before came the awful
fact that the three years in the galley had carried away all the
proofs of his identity; mother and sister gone, he did not live in the
knowledge of any human being. Many there were acquainted with him, but
that was all. Had Quintus Arrius been present, what could he have said
more than where he found him, and that he believed the pretender to be
the son of Hur? But, as will presently appear in full, the brave Roman
sailor was dead. Judah had felt the loneliness before; to the core
of life the sense struck him now. He stood, hands clasped, face
averted, in stupefaction. Simonides respected his suffering, and
waited in silence.
"Master Simonides," he said, at length, "I can only tell my story;
and I will not that unless you stay judgment so long, and with
good-will deign to hear me."
"Speak," said Simonides, now, indeed, master of the situation-
"speak, and I will listen the more willingly that I have not denied
you to be the very person you claim yourself."
Ben-Hur proceeded then, and told his life hurriedly, yet with the
feeling which is the source of all eloquence; but as we are familiar
with it down to his landing at Misenum, in company with Arrius,
returned victorious from the AEgean, at that point we will take up the
words.
"My benefactor was loved and trusted by the emperor, who heaped
him with honourable rewards. The merchants of the East contributed
magnificent presents, and he became doubly rich among the rich of
Rome. May a Jew forget his religion? or his birthplace, if it were the
Holy Land of our fathers? The good man adopted me his son by formal
rites of law; and I strove to make him just return: no child was
ever more dutiful to father than I to him. He would have had me a
scholar; in art, philosophy, rhetoric, oratory, he would have
furnished me the most famous teacher, I declined his insistence,
because I was a Jew, and could not forget the Lord God, or the glory
of the prophets, or the city set on the hills by David and Solomon.
Oh, ask you why I accepted any of the benefactions of the Roman? I
loved him; next place, I thought I could, with his help, array
influences which would enable me one day to unseal the mystery
close-locking the fate of my mother and sister; and to these there was
yet another motive of which I shall not speak except to say it
controlled me so far that I devoted myself to arms, and the
acquisition of everything deemed essential to thorough knowledge of
the art of war. In the palaestrae and circuses of the city I toiled,
and in the camps no less; and in all of them I have a name, but not
that of my fathers. The crowns I won- and on the walls of the villa by
Misenum there are many of them- all came to me as the son of Arrius,
the duumvir. In that relation only am I known among Romans.... In
steadfast pursuit of my secret aim, I left Rome for Antioch, intending
to accompany the Consul Maxentius in the campaign he is organizing
against the Parthians. Master of personal skill in all arms, I seek
now the higher knowledge pertaining to the conduct of bodies of men in
the field. The consul has admitted me one of his military family.
But yesterday, as our ship entered the Orontes, two other ships sailed
in with us flying yellow flags. A fellow-passenger and countryman from
Cyprus explained that the vessels belonged to Simonides, the
master-merchant of Antioch; he told us, also, who the merchant was;
his marvellous success in commerce; of his fleets and caravans, and
their coming and going; and, not knowing I had interest in the theme
beyond my associate listeners, he said Simonides was a Jew, once the
servant of the Prince Hur; nor did he conceal the cruelties of Gratus,
or the purpose of their infliction."
At this allusion Simonides bowed his head, and, as if to help him
conceal his feelings and her own deep sympathy, the daughter hid her
face on his neck. Directly he raised his eyes, and said, in a clear
voice, "I am listening."
"O good Simonides!" Ben-Hur then said, advancing a step, his whole
soul seeking expression, "I see thou art not convinced, and that yet I
stand in the shadow of thy distrust."
The merchant held his features fixed as marble, and his tongue as
still.
"And not less clearly I see the difficulties of my position,"
Ben-Hur continued. "All my Roman connection I can prove; I have only
to call upon the consul, now the guest of the governor of the city;
but I cannot prove the particulars of thy demand upon me. I cannot
prove I am my father's son. They who could serve me in that- alas!
they are dead or lost."
He covered his face with his hands; whereupon Esther arose, and,
taking the rejected cup to him, said, "The wine is of the country we
all so love. Drink, I pray thee!"
The voice was sweet as that of Rebekah offering drink at the well
near Nahor the city; he saw there were tears in her eyes, and he
drank, saying, "Daughter of Simonides, thy heart is full of
goodness; and merciful art thou to let the stranger share it with
thy father. Be thou blessed of our God! I thank thee."
Then he addressed himself to the merchant again:
"As I have no proof that I am my father's son, I will withdraw
that I demanded of thee, O Simonides, and go hence to trouble you no
more; only let me say I did not seek thy return to servitude nor
account of thy fortune; in any event, I would have said, as now I say,
that all which is product of thy labour and genius is thine; keep it
in welcome. I have no need of any part thereof. When the good Quintus,
my second father, sailed on the voyage which was his last, he left
me his heir, princely rich. If, therefore, thou dost think of me
again, be it with remembrance of this question, which, as I do swear
by the prophets and Jehovah, thy God and mine, was the chief purpose
of my coming here: What dost thou know- what canst thou tell me- of my
mother and Tirzah, my sister- she who should be in beauty and grace
even as this one, thy sweetness of life, if not thy very life? Oh!
what canst thou tell me of them?"
The tears ran down Esther's cheeks; but the man was willful: in a
clear voice, he replied,
"I have said I knew the Prince Ben-Hur. I remember hearing of the
misfortune which overtook his family. I remember the bitterness with
which I heard it. He who wrought such misery to the widow of my friend
is the same who, in the same spirit, hath since wrought upon me. I
will go further, and say to you, I have made diligent quest concerning
the family, but- I have nothing to tell you of them. They are lost."
Ben-Hur uttered a great groan.
"Then- then it is another hope broken!" he said, struggling with his
feelings. "I am used to disappointments. I pray you pardon my
intrusion; and if I have occasioned you annoyance, forgive it
because of my sorrow. I have nothing now to live for but vengeance.
Farewell."
At the curtain he turned, and said, simply, "I thank you both."
"Peace go with you," the merchant said.
Esther could not speak for sobbing.
And so he departed.
CHAPTER IV.
SIMONIDES AND ESTHER.

SCARCELY was Ben-Hur gone, when Simonides seemed to wake as from
sleep: his countenance flushed; the sullen light of his eyes changed
to brightness; and he said, cheerily-
"Esther, ring- quick!"
She went to the table, and rang a service-bell.
One of the panels in the wall swung back, exposing a doorway which
gave admittance to a man who passed round to the merchant's front, and
saluted him with a half-sa-laam.
"Malluch, here- nearer- to the chair," the master said, imperiously.
"I have a mission which shall not fail though the sun should. Hearken!
A young man is now descending to the storeroom tall, comely, and in
the garb of Israel; follow him, his shadow not more faithful; and
every night send me report of where he is, what he does, and the
company he keeps; and if, without discovery, you overhear his
conversations, report them word for word, together with whatever
will serve to expose him, his habits, motives, life. Understand you?
Go quickly! Stay, Malluch: if he leave the city, go after him- and,
mark you, Malluch, be as a friend. If he bespeak you, tell him what
you will to the occasion most suited, except that you are in my
service; of that, not a word. Haste- make haste!"
The man saluted as before, and was gone.
Then Simonides rubbed his wan hands together and laughed.
"What is the day, daughter?" he said, in the midst of the mood.
"What is the day? I wish to remember it for happiness come. See, and
look for it laughing, and laughing tell me, Esther."
The merriment seemed unnatural to her; and, as if to entreat him
from it, she answered, sorrowfully, "Woe's me, father, that I should
ever forget this day!"
His hands fell down the instant, and his chin, dropping upon his
breast, lost itself in the muffling folds of flesh composing his lower
face.
"True, most true, my daughter!" he said, without looking up. "This
is the twentieth day of the fourth month. To-day five years ago, my
Rachel, thy mother, fell down and died. They brought me home broken as
thou seest me, and we found her dead of grief. Oh, to me she was a
cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi! I have gathered my
myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey. We
laid her away in a lonely place- in a tomb cut in the mountain; no one
near her. Yet in the darkness she left me a little light, which the
years have increased to a brightness of morning." He raised his hand
and rested it upon his daughter's head. "Dear Lord, I thank thee
that now in my Esther my lost Rachel liveth again!"
Directly he lifted his head, and said, as with a sudden thought, "Is
it not clear day outside?"
"It was, when the young man came in."
"Then let Abimelech come and take me to the garden, where I can
see the river and the ships, and I will tell thee, dear Esther, why
but now my mouth filled with laughter, and my tongue with singing, and
my spirit was like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of
spices."
In answer to the bell a servant came, and at her bidding pushed
the chair, set on little wheels for the purpose, out of the room to
the roof of the lower house, called by him his garden. Out through the
roses, and by beds of lesser flowers, all triumphs of careful
attendance, but now unnoticed, he was rolled to a position from
which he could view the palace-tops over against him on the island,
the bridge in lessening perspective to the farther shore, and the
river below the bridge crowded with vessels, all swimming amidst the
dancing splendours of the early sun upon the rippling water. There the
servant left him with Esther.
The much shouting of labourers, and their beating and pounding,
did not disturb him any more than the trampling of people on the
bridge-floor almost overhead, being as familiar to his ear as the view
before him to his eye, and therefore unnoticeable, except as
suggestions of profits in promise.
Esther sat on the arm of the chair nursing his hand, and waiting his
speech, which came at length in a calm way, the mighty will having
carried him back to himself.
"When the young man was speaking, Esther, I observed thee, and
thought thou wert won by him."
Her eyes fell as she replied.
"Speak you of faith, father? I believed him."
"In thy eyes, then, he is the lost son of the Prince Hur?"
"If he is not- " She hesitated.
"And if he is not, Esther?"
"I have been thy handmaiden, father, since my mother answered the
call of the Lord God; by thy side I have heard and seen thee deal in
wise ways with all manner of men seeking profit, holy and unholy;
and now I say, if indeed the young man be not the prince he claims
to be, then before me falsehood never played so well the part of
righteous truth."
"By the glory of Solomon, daughter, thou speakest earnestly. Dost
thou believe thy father his father's servant?"
"I understood him to ask of that as something he had but heard."
For a time Simonides' gaze swam among his swimming ships, though
they had no place in his mind.
"Well, thou art a good child, Esther, of genuine Jewish
shrewdness, and of years and strength to hear a sorrowful tale.
Wherefore give me heed, and I will tell you of myself, and of thy
mother, and of many things pertaining to the past not in thy knowledge
or thy dreams- things withheld from the persecuting Roman for a hope's
sake, and from thee that thy nature should grow towards the Lord
straight as the reed to the sun.... I was born in a tomb in the valley
of Hinnom, on the south side of Zion. My father and mother were Hebrew
bond-servants, tenders of the fig and olive trees growing, with many
vines, in the King's Garden hard by Siloam; and in my boyhood I helped
them. They were of the class bound to serve forever. They sold me to
the Prince Hur, then, next to Herod the King, the richest man in
Jerusalem. From the garden he transferred me to his storehouse in
Alexandria of Egypt, where I came of age. I served him six years,
and in the seventh, by the law of Moses, I went free."
Esther clapped her hands lightly.
"Oh, then, thou art not his father's servant?"
"Nay, daughter, hear. Now, in those days there were lawyers in the
cloisters of the Temple who disputed vehemently, saying the children
of servants bound forever took the condition of their parents; but the
Prince Hur was a man righteous in all things, and an interpreter of
the law after the straitest sect, though not of them. He said I was
a Hebrew servant bought, in the true meaning of the great lawgiver,
and, by sealed writings, which I yet have, he set me free."
"And my mother?" Esther asked.
"Thou shalt hear all, Esther; be patient. Before I am through thou
shalt see it were easier for me to forget myself than thy mother....
At the end of my service I came up to Jerusalem to the Passover. My
master entertained me. I was in love with him already, and I prayed to
be continued in his service. He consented, and I served him yet
another seven years, but as a hired son of Israel. In his behalf I had
charge of ventures on the sea by ships, and of ventures on land by
caravans eastward to Susa and Persepolis, and the lands of silk beyond
them. Perilous passages were they, my daughter; but the Lord blessed
all I undertook. I brought home vast gains for the prince, and
richer knowledge for myself, without which I could not have mastered
the charges since fallen to me.... One day I was a guest in his
house at Jerusalem. A servant entered with some sliced bread on a
platter. She came to me first. It was then I saw thy mother, and loved
her, and took her away in my secret heart. After a while a time came
when I sought the prince to make her my wife. He told me she was
bond-servant forever; but if she wished, he would set her free that
I might be gratified. She gave me love for love, but was happy where
she was, and refused her freedom. I prayed and besought, going again
and again after long intervals. She would be my wife, she all the time
said, if I would become her fellow in servitude. Our father Jacob
served yet other seven years for his Rachel. Could I not as much for
mine? But thy mother said I must become as she, to serve forever. I
came away, but went back. Look, Esther, look here."
He pulled out the lobe of his left ear.
"See you not the scar of the awl?"
"I see it," she said; "and, oh, I see how thou didst love my
mother!"
"Love her, Esther! She was to me more than the Shulamite to the
singing king, fairer, more spotless; a fountain of gardens, a well
of living waters, and streams from Lebanon. The master, even as I
required him, took me to the judges, and back to his door, and
thrust the awl through my ear into the door, and I was his servant for
ever. So I won my Rachel. And was ever love like mine?"
Esther stooped and kissed him, and they were silent, thinking of the
dead.
"My master was drowned at sea, the first sorrow that ever fell
upon me," the merchant continued. "There was mourning in his house,
and in mine here in Antioch, my abiding-place at the time. Now,
Esther, mark you! When the good prince was lost, I had risen to be his
chief steward, with everything of property belonging to him in my
management and control. Judge you how much he loved and trusted me!
I hastened to Jerusalem to render account to the widow. She
continued me in the stewardship. I applied myself with greater
diligence. The business prospered, and grew year by year. Ten years
passed; then came the blow which you heard the young man tell about-
the accident, as he called it, to the Procurator Gratus. The Roman
gave it out an attempt to assassinate him. Under that pretext, by
leave from Rome, he confiscated to his own use the immense fortune
of the widow and children. Nor stopped he there. That there might be
no reversal of the judgment, he removed all the parties interested.
From that dreadful day to this the family of Hur have been lost. The
son, whom I had seen as a child, was sentenced to the galleys. The
widow and daughter are supposed to have been buried in some of the
many dungeons of Judea, which, once closed upon the doomed, are like
sepulchres sealed and locked. They passed from the knowledge of men as
utterly as if the sea had swallowed them unseen. We could not hear how
they died- nay, not even that they were dead."
Esther's eyes were dewy with tears.
"Thy heart is good, Esther, good as thy mother's was; and I pray
it have not the fate of most good hearts- to be trampled upon by the
unmerciful and blind. But hearken further. I went up to Jerusalem to
give help to my benefactress, and was seized at the gate of the city
and carried to the sunken cells of the Tower of Antonia; why, I knew
not, until Gratus himself came and demanded of me the moneys of the
House of Hur, which he knew, after our Jewish custom of exchange, were
subject to my draft in the different marts of the world. He required
me to sign to his order. I refused. He had the houses, lands, goods,
ships, and movable property of those I served; he had not their
moneys. I saw, if I kept favour in the sight of the Lord, I could
rebuild their broken fortunes. I refused the tyrant's demands. He
put me to torture; my will held good, and he set me free, nothing
gained. I came home and began again, in the name of Simonides of
Antioch, instead of the Prince Hur of Jerusalem. Thou knowest, Esther,
how I have prospered; that the increase of the millions of the
prince in my hands was miraculous; thou knowest how, at the end of
three years, while going up to Caesarea, I was taken and a second time
tortured by Gratus to compel a confession that my goods and moneys
were subject to his order of confiscation; thou knowest he failed as
before. Broken in body, I came home and found my Rachel dead of fear
and grief for me. The Lord our God reigned, and I lived. From the
emperor himself I bought immunity and license to trade throughout
the world. To-day- praised be He who maketh the clouds his chariot and
walketh upon the winds!- to-day, Esther, that which was in my hands
for stewardship is multiplied into talents sufficient to enrich a
Caesar."
He lifted his head proudly; their eyes met; each read the other's
thought. "What shall I with the treasure, Esther?" he asked, without
lowering his gaze.
"My father," she answered, in a low voice, "did not the rightful
owner call for it but now?"
Still his look did not fail.
"And thou, my child; shall I leave thee a beggar?"
"Nay, father, am not I, because I am thy child, his bond-servant?
And of whom was it written, 'Strength and honour are her clothing, and
she shall rejoice in time to come?'"
A gleam of ineffable love lighted his face as he said, "The Lord
hath been good to me in many ways; but thou, Esther, art the sovereign
excellence of his favour."
He drew her to his breast and kissed her many times.
"Hear now," he said, with clearer voice- "hear now why I laughed
this morning. The young man faced me the apparition of his father in
comely youth. My spirit arose to salute him. I felt my trial-days were
over and my labours ended. Hardly could I keep from crying out. I
longed to take him by the hand and show the balance I had earned,
and say, 'Lo, 'tis all thine! and I am thy servant, ready now to be
called away.' And so I would have done, Esther, so I would have
done, but that moment three thoughts rushed to restrain me. I will
be sure he is my master's son- such was the first thought; if he is my
master's son, I will learn somewhat of his nature. Of those born to
riches, bethink you, Esther, how many there are in whose hands
riches are but breeding curses"- he paused, while his hands
clutched, and his voice shrilled with passion- "Esther, consider the
pains I endured at the Roman's hands; nay, not Gratus's alone: the
merciless wretches who did his bidding the first time and the last
were Romans, and they all alike laughed to hear me scream. Consider my
broken body, and the years I have gone shorn of my stature; consider
thy mother yonder in her lonely tomb, crushed of soul as I of body;
consider the sorrows of my master's family if they are living, and the
cruelty of their taking-off if they are dead; consider all, and,
with heaven's love about thee, tell me, daughter, shall not a hair
fall or a red drop run in expiation? Tell me not, as the preachers
sometimes do- tell me not that vengeance is the Lord's. Does he not
work his will harmfully as well as in love by agencies? Has he not his
men of war more numerous than his prophets? Is not his the law, Eye
for eye, hand for hand, foot for foot? Oh, in all these years I have
dreamed of vengeance, and prayed and provided for it, and gathered
patience from the growing of my store, thinking and promising, as
the Lord liveth, it will one day buy me punishment of the
wrongdoers? And when, speaking of his practice with arms, the young
man said it was for a nameless purpose, I named the purpose even as he
spoke- vengeance! and that, Esther, that it was- the third thought
which held me still and hard while his pleading lasted, and made me
laugh when he was gone."
Esther caressed the faded hands, and said, as if her spirit with his
were running forward to results, "He is gone. Will he come again?"
"Ay, Malluch, the faithful goes with him, and will bring him back
when I am ready."
"And when will that be, father?"
"Not long, not long. He thinks all his witnesses dead. There is
one living who will not fail to know him, if he be indeed my
master's son.
"His mother?"
"Nay, daughter, I will set the witness before him; till then let
us rest the business with the Lord. I am tired. Call Abimelech."
Esther called the servant, and they returned into the house.
CHAPTER V.
THE GROVE OF DAPHNE.

WHEN Ben-Hur sallied from the great warehouse, it was with the
thought that another failure was to be added to the many he had
already met in the quest for his people; and the idea was depressing
exactly in proportion as the objects of his quest were dear to him; it
curtained him round about with a sense of utter loneliness on earth,
which, more than anything else, serves to eke from a soul cast down
its remaining interest in life.
Through the people, and the piles of goods, he made way to the
edge of the landing, and was tempted by the cool shadows darkening the
river's depth. The lazy current seemed to stop and wait for him. In
counteraction of the spell, the saying of the voyager flashed into
memory- "Better be a worm, and feed upon the mulberries of Daphne,
than a king's guest." He turned, and walked rapidly down the landing
and back to the khan.
"The road to Daphne!" the steward said, surprised at the question
Ben-Hur put to him. "You have not been here before? Well, count this
the happiest day of your life. You cannot mistake the road. The next
street to the left, going south, leads straight to Mount Sulpius,
crowned by the altar of Jupiter and the Amphitheatre; keep it to the
third cross street, known as Herod's Colonnade; turn to your right
there, and hold the way through the old city of Seleucus to the bronze
gates of Epiphanes. There the road to Daphne begins- and may the
gods keep you!"
A few directions respecting his baggage, and Ben-Hur set out.
The Colonnade of Herod was easily found; thence to the brazen gates,
under a continuous marble portico, he passed with a multitude mixed of
people from all the trading nations of the earth.
It was about the fourth hour of the day when he passed out the gate,
and found himself one of a procession apparently interminable,
moving to the famous Grove. The road was divided into separate ways
for footmen, for men on horses, and men in chariots; and those again
into separate ways for outgoers and incomers. The lines of division
were guarded by low balustrading, broken by massive pedestals, many of
which were surmounted with statuary. Right and left of the road
extended margins of sward perfectly kept, relieved at intervals by
groups of oak and sycamore trees, and vine-clad summer-houses for
the accommodation of the weary, of whom, on the return side, there
were always multitudes. The ways of the footmen were paved with red
stone, and those of the riders strewn with white sand compactly
rolled, but not so solid as to give back an echo to hoof or wheel. The
number and variety of fountains at play were amazing, all gifts of
visiting kings, and called after them. Out southwest to the gates of
the Grove, the magnificent thoroughfare stretched a little over four
miles from the city.
In his wretchedness of feeling, Ben-Hur barely observed the royal
liberality which marked the construction of the road. Nor more did
he at first notice the crowd going with him. He treated the
processional displays with like indifference. To say the truth,
besides his self-absorption, he had not a little of the complacency of
a Roman visiting the provinces fresh from the ceremonies which daily
eddied round and round the golden pillar set up by Augustus as the
centre of the world. It was not possible for the provinces to offer
anything new or superior. He rather availed himself of every
opportunity to push forward through the companies in the way, and
too slow-going for his impatience. By the time he reached Heracleia, a
suburban village intermediate the city and the Grove, he was
somewhat spent with exercise, and began to be susceptible of
entertainment. Once a pair of goats led by a beautiful woman, woman
and goats alike brilliant with ribbons and flowers, attracted his
attention. Then he stopped to look at a bull of mighty girth, and
snowy-white, covered with vines freshly cut, and bearing on its
broad back a naked child in a basket, the image of a young Bacchus,
squeezing the juice of ripened berries into a goblet, and drinking
with libational formulas. As he resumed his walk, he wondered whose
altars would be enriched by the offerings. A horse went by with
clipped mane, after the fashion of the time, his rider superbly
dressed. He smiled to observe the harmony of pride between the man and
the brute. Often after that he turned his head at hearing the rumble
of wheels and the dull thud of hoofs; unconsciously he was becoming
interested in the styles of chariots and charioteers, as they
rustled past him going and coming. Nor was it long until he began to
make notes of the people around him. He saw they were of all ages,
sexes, and conditions, and all in holiday attire. One company was
uniformed in white, another in black; some bore flags, some smoking
censers; some went slowly, singing hymns; others stopped to the
music of flutes and tabrets. If such were the going to Daphne every
day in the year, what a wondrous sight Daphne must be! At last there
was a clapping of hands, and a burst of joyous cries; following the
pointing of many fingers, he looked and saw upon the brow of a hill
the templed gate of the consecrated Grove. The hymns swelled to louder
strains; the music quickened time; and, borne along by the impulsive
current, and sharing the common eagerness, he passed in, and,
Romanized in taste as he was, fell to worshipping the place.
Rearward of the structure which graced the entrance-way- a purely
Grecian pile- he stood upon a broad esplanade paved with polished
stone; around him a restless exclamatory multitude, in gayest colours,
relieved against the iridescent spray flying crystal-white from
fountains; before him, off to the south-west, dustless paths
radiated out into a garden, and beyond that into a forest, over
which rested a veil of pale blue vapour. Ben-Hur gazed wistfully,
uncertain where to go. A woman that moment exclaimed,
"Beautiful! But where to now?"
Her companion, wearing a chaplet of bays, laughed and answered,
"Go to, thou pretty barbarian! The question implies an earthly fear;
and did we not agree to leave all such behind in Antioch with the
rusty earth? The winds which blow here are respirations of the gods.
Let us give ourselves to waftage of the winds."
"But if we should get lost?"
"O thou timid! No one was ever lost in Daphne, except those on
whom her gates close forever."
"And who are they?" she asked, still fearful.
"Such as have yielded to the charms of the place and chosen it for
life and death. Hark! Stand we here, and I will show you of whom I
speak."
Upon the marble pavement there was a scurry of sandalled feet; the
crowd opened, and a party of girls rushed about the speaker and his
fair friend, and began singing and dancing to the tabrets they
themselves touched. The woman, scared, clung to the man, who put an
arm about her, and, with kindled face, kept time to the music with the
other hand overhead. The hair of the dancers floated free, and their
limbs blushed through the robes of gauze which scarcely draped them.
Words may not be used to tell of the voluptuousness of the dance.
One brief round, and they darted off through the yielding crowd
lightly as they had come.
"Now, what think you?" cried the man to the woman.
"Who are they?" she asked.
"Devadasi- priestesses devoted to the Temple of Apollo. There is
an army of them. They make the chorus in celebrations. This is their
home. Sometimes they wander off to other cities, but all they make
is brought here to enrich the house of the divine musician. Shall we
go now?"
Next minute the two were gone.
Ben-Hur took comfort in the assurance that no one was ever lost in
Daphne, and he, too, set out- where, he knew not.
A sculpture reared upon a beautiful pedestal in the garden attracted
him first. It proved to be the statue of a centaur. An inscription
informed the unlearned visitor that it exactly represented Chiron, the
beloved of Apollo and Diana, instructed by them in the mysteries of
hunting, medicine, music, and prophecy. The inscription also bade
the stranger look out at a certain part of the heavens, at a certain
hour of the clear night, and he would behold the dead alive among
the stars, whither Jupiter had transferred the good genius.
The wisest of the centaurs continued, nevertheless, in the service
of mankind. In his hand he held a scroll, on which, graven in Greek,
were paragraphs of a notice:-

"O Traveller!
"Art thou a stranger?
"I. Hearken to the singing of the brooks, and fear not the rain of
the fountains; so will the Naiades learn to love thee.
"II. The invited breezes of Daphne are Zephyrus and Auster: gentle
ministers of life, they will gather sweets for thee; when Eurus blows,
Diana is elsewhere hunting; when Boreas blusters, go hide, for
Apollo is angry.
"III. The shades of the Grove are thine in the day; at night they
belong to Pan and his Dryades. Disturb them not.
"IV. Eat of the Lotus by the brooksides sparingly, unless thou
wouldst have surcease of memory, which is to become a child of Daphne.
"V. Walk thou round the weaving spider- 'tis Arachne at work for
Minerva.
"VI. Wouldst thou behold the tears of Daphne, break but a bud from a
laurel bough- and die.
"Heed thou!
"And stay and be happy."

Ben-Hur left the interpretation of the mystic notice to others
fast enclosing him, and turned away as the white bull was led by.
The boy sat in the basket, followed by a procession; after them again,
the woman with the goats; and behind her, the flute and tabret
players, and another procession of gift-bringers.
"Whither go they?" asked a bystander.
Another made answer, "The bull to Father Jove; the goat- "
"Did not Apollo once keep the flocks of Admetus?"
"Ay, the goat to Apollo!"
The goodness of the reader is again besought in favour of an
explanation. A certain facility of accommodation in the matter of
religion comes to us after much intercourse with people of a different
faith; gradually we attain the truth that every creed is illustrated
by good men who are entitled to our respect, but whom we cannot
respect without courtesy to their creed. To this point Ben-Hur had
arrived. Neither the years in Rome nor those in the galley had made an
impression upon his religious faith: he was yet a Jew. In his view,
nevertheless, it was not an impiety to look for the beautiful in the
Grove of Daphne.
The remark does not interdict the further saying, if his scruples
had been ever so extreme, not improbably he would at this time have
smothered them. He was angry; not as the irritable, from chafing of
a trifle; nor was his anger like the fool's, pumped from the wells
of nothing, to be dissipated by a reproach or a curse; it was the
wrath peculiar to ardent natures rudely awakened by the sudden
annihilation of a hope- dream, if you will- in which the choicest
happinesses were thought to be certainly in reach. In such case
nothing intermediate will carry off the passion- the quarrel is with
Fate.
Let us follow the philosophy a little further, and say to ourselves,
it were well in such quarrels if Fate were something tangible, to be
despatched with a look or a blow, or a speaking personage with whom
high words were possible; then the unhappy mortal would not always end
the affair by punishing himself.
In ordinary mood, Ben-Hur would not have come to the Grove alone,
or, coming alone, he would have availed himself of his position in the
consul's family, and made provision against wandering idly about,
unknowing and unknown; he would have had all the points of interest in
mind, and gone to them under guidance, as in the despatch of business;
or, wishing to squander days of leisure in the beautiful place, he
would have had in hand a letter to the master of it all, whoever he
might be. This would have made him a sight-seer, like the shouting
herd he was accompanying; whereas he had no reverence for the
deities of the Grove, nor curiosity; a man in the blindness of
bitter disappointment, he was adrift, not waiting for Fate, but
seeking it as a desperate challenger.
Every one has known this condition of mind, though perhaps not all
in the same degree; every one will recognize it as the condition in
which he has done brave things with apparent serenity; and every one
reading will say, Fortunate for Ben-Hur if the folly which now catches
him is but a friendly harlequin with whistle and painted cap, and
not some Violence with a pointed sword pitiless.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MULBERRIES OF DAPHNE.

BEN-HUR entered the woods with the processions. He had not
interest enough at first to ask where they were going; yet, to relieve
him from absolute indifference, he had a vague impression that they
were in movement to the temples, which were the central objects of the
Grove, supreme in attractions.
Presently, as singers dreamfully play with a flitting chorus, he
began repeating to himself, "Better be a worm, and feed on the
mulberries of Daphne, than a king's guest." Then of the much
repetition arose questions importunate of answer. Was life in the
Grove so very sweet? Wherein was the charm? Did it lie in some tangled
depth of philosophy? Or was it something in fact, something on the
surface, discernible to every-day wakeful senses! Every year
thousands, forswearing the world, gave themselves to service here. Did
they find the charm? And was it sufficient, when found, to induce
forgetfulness profound enough to shut out of mind the infinitely
diverse things of life? those that sweeten and those that imbitter?
hopes hovering in the near future as well as sorrows born of the past?
If the Grove were so good for them, why should it not be good for him?
He was a Jew; could it be that the excellences were for all the
world but children of Abraham? Forthwith he bent all his faculties
to the task of discovery, unmindful of the singing of the
gift-bringers and the quips of his associates.
In the quest, the sky yielded him nothing; it was blue, very blue,
and full of twittering swallows- so was the sky over the city.
Further on, out of the woods at his right hand, a breeze poured
across the road, splashing him with a wave of sweet smells, blent of
roses and consuming spices. He stopped, as did others, looking the way
the breeze came.
"A garden over there," he said, to a man at his elbow.
"Rather some priestly ceremony in performance- something to Diana,
or Pan, or a deity of the woods."
The answer was in his mother tongue. Ben-Hur gave the speaker a
surprised look.
"A Hebrew?" he asked him.
The man replied with a deferential smile,
"I was born within a stone's-throw of the Market-place in
Jerusalem."
Ben-Hur was proceeding to further speech, when the crowd surged
forward, thrusting him out on the side of the walk next the woods, and
carrying the stranger away. The customary gown and staff, a brown
cloth on the head tied by a yellow rope, and a strong Judean face to
avouch the garments of honest right, remained in the young man's mind,
a kind of summary of the man.
This took place at a point where a path into the woods began,
offering a happy escape from the noisy processions. Ben-Hur availed
himself of the offer.
He walked first into a thicket which, from the road, appeared in a
state of nature, close, impenetrable, a nesting-place for wild
birds. A few steps, however, gave him to see the master's hand even
there. The shrubs were flowering or fruit-bearing; under the bending
branches the ground was pranked with brightest blooms; over them the
jasmine stretched its delicate bonds. From lilac and rose, and lily
and tulip, from oleander and strawberry-tree, all old friends in the
gardens of the valleys about the city of David, the air, lingering
or in haste, loaded itself with exhalations day and night; and that
nothing might be wanting to the happiness of the nymphs and naiads,
down through the flower-lighted shadows of the mass a brook went its
course gently, and by many winding ways.
Out of the thicket, as he proceeded, on his right and left, issued
the cry of the pigeon and the cooing of turtle-doves; blackbirds
waited for him, and bided his coming close; a nightingale kept its
place fearless, though he passed in arm's-length; a quail ran before
him at his feet, whistling to the brood she was leading, and as he
paused for them to get out of his way, a figure crawled from a bed
of honeyed musk brilliant with balls of golden blossoms. Ben-Hur was
startled. Had he, indeed, been permitted to see a satyr at home? The
creature looked up at him, and showed in its teeth a hooked
pruning-knife; he smiled at his own scare, and, lo! the charm was
evolved! Peace without fear- peace a universal condition- that it was!
He sat upon the ground beneath a citron-tree, which spread its
grey roots sprawling to receive a branch of the brook. The nest of a
titmouse hung close to the bubbling water, and the tiny creature
looked out of the door of the nest into his eyes. "Verily, the bird is
interpreting to me," he thought. "It says, 'I am not afraid of you,
for the law of this happy place is Love.'"
The charm of the Grove seemed plain to him; he was glad, and
determined to render himself one of the lost in Daphne. In charge of
the flowers and shrubs, and watching the growth of all the dumb
excellences everywhere to be seen, could not he, like the man with the
pruning-knife in his mouth, forego the days of his troubled life-
forego them forgetting and forgotten?
But by-and-by his Jewish nature began to stir within him.
The charm might be sufficient for some people. Of what kind were
they?
Love is delightful- ah! how pleasant as a successor to
wretchedness like his. But was it all there was of life? All?
There was an unlikeness between him and those who buried
themselves contentedly here. They had no duties- they could not have
had; but he-
"God of Israel!" he cried aloud, springing to his feet, with burning
cheeks- "Mother! Tirzah! Cursed be the moment, cursed the place, in
which I yield myself happy in your loss!"
He hurried away through the thicket, and came to a stream flowing
with the volume of a river between banks of masonry, broken at
intervals by gated sluiceways. A bridge carried the path he was
traversing across the stream; and, standing upon it, he saw other
bridges, no two of them alike. Under him the water was lying in a deep
pool, clear as a shadow; down a little way it tumbled with a roar over
rocks; then there was another pool, and another cascade; and so on,
out of view; and bridges and pools and resounding cascades said,
plainly as inarticulate things can tell a story, the river was running
by permission of a master, exactly as the master would have it,
tractable as became a servant of the gods.
Forward from the bridge he beheld a landscape of wide valleys and
irregular heights, with groves and lakes and fanciful houses linked
together by white paths and shining streams. The valleys were spread
below, that the river might be poured upon them for refreshment in
days of drought, and they were as green carpets figured with beds
and fields of flowers, and flecked with flocks of sheep white as balls
of snow; and the voices of shepherds following the flocks were heard
afar. As if to tell him of the pious inscription of all he beheld, the
altars out under the open sky seemed countless, each with a
white-gowned figure attending it, while processions in white went
slowly hither and thither between them; and the smoke of the altars
half-risen hung collected in pale clouds over the devoted places.
Here, there, happy in flight, intoxicated in pause, from object to
object, point to point, now in the meadow, now on the heights, now
lingering to penetrate the groves and observe the processions, then
lost in efforts to pursue the paths and streams which trended mazily
into dim perspectives to end finally in- Ah, what might be a fitting
end to scene so beautiful! What adequate mysteries were hidden
behind an introduction so marvellous! Here and there, the speech was
beginning, his gaze wandered, so he could not help the conviction,
forced by the view, and as the sum of it all, that there was peace
in the air and on the earth, and invitation everywhere to come and lie
down here and be at rest.
Suddenly a revelation dawned upon him- the Grove was, in fact, a
temple- one far-reaching, wall-less temple!
Never anything like it!
The architect had not stopped to pother about columns and
porticos, proportions or interiors, or any limitation upon the epic he
sought to materialize; he had simply made a servant of Nature- art can
go no further. So the cunning son of Jupiter and Callisto built the
old Arcadia; and in this, as in that, the genius was Greek.
From the bridge Ben-Hur went forward into the nearest valley.
He came to a flock of sheep. The shepherd was a girl, and she
beckoned him, "Come!"
Farther on, the path was divided by an altar- a pedestal of black
gneiss, capped with a slab of white marble deftly foliated, and on
that a brazier of bronze holding a fire. Close by it, a woman,
seeing him, waved a wand of willow, and as he passed called him,
"Stay!" And the temptation in her smile was that of passionate youth.
On yet further, he met one of the processions; at its head a troop
of little girls, nude except as they were covered with garlands, piped
their shrill voices into a song; then a troop of boys, also nude,
their bodies deeply sunbrowned, came dancing to the song of the girls;
behind them the procession, all women, bearing baskets of spices and
sweets to the altars- women clad in simple robes, careless of
exposure. As he went by they held their hands to him, and said, "Stay,
and go with us." One, a Greek, sang a verse from Anacreon:

"For to-day I take or give;
For to-day I drink and live;
For to-day I beg or borrow;
Who knows about the silent morrow?"

But he pursued his way indifferent, and came next to a grove
luxuriant, in the heart of the vale at the point where it would be
most attractive to the observing eye. As it came close to the path
he was travelling, there was a seduction in its shade, and through the
foliage he caught the shining of what appeared a pretentious statue;
so he turned aside, and entered the cool retreat.
The grass was fresh and clean. The trees did not crowd each other;
and they were of every kind native to the East, blended well with
strangers adopted from far quarters; here grouped in exclusive
companionship palm-trees plumed like queens; there sycamores,
overtopping laurels of darker foliage; and evergreen oaks rising
verdantly, with cedars vast enough to be kings on Lebanon; and
mulberries; and terebinths so beautiful it is not hyperbole to speak
of them as blown from the orchards of Paradise.
The statue proved to be a Daphne of wondrous beauty. Hardly,
however, had he time to more than glance at her face: at the base of
the pedestal a girl and a youth were lying upon a tiger's skin
asleep in each other's arms; close by them the implements of their
service- his axe and sickle, her basket- flung carelessly upon a
heap of faded roses.
The exposure startled him. Back in the hush of the perfumed
thicket he discovered, as he thought, that the charm of the great
Grove was peace without fear, and almost yielded to it; now, in this
sleep in the day's broad glare- this sleep at the foot of Daphne- he
read a further chapter to which only the vaguest allusion is
sufferable. The law of the place was Love, but Love without Law.
And this was the sweet peace of Daphne!
This the life's end of her ministers!
For this kings and princes gave of their revenues!
For this a crafty priesthood subordinated nature- her birds and
brooks and lilies, the river, the labour of many hands, the sanctity
of altars, the fertile power of the sun!
It would be pleasant now to record that as Ben-Hur pursued his
walk assailed by such reflections, he yielded somewhat to sorrow for
the votaries of the great out-door temple; especially for those who,
by personal service, kept it in a state so surpassingly lovely. How
they came to the condition was not any longer a mystery; the motive,
the influence, the inducement, was before him. Some there were, no
doubt, caught by the promise held out to their troubled spirits of
endless peace in a consecrated abode, to the beauty of which, if
they had not money, they could contribute their labour; this class
implied intellect peculiarly subject to hope and fear; but the great
body of the faithful could not be classed with such. Apollo's nets
were wide, and their meshes small; and hardly may one tell what all
his fishermen landed: this less for that they cannot be described than
because they ought not to be. Enough that the mass were of the
sybarities of the world, and of the herds in number vaster and in
degree lower- devotees of the unmixed sensualism to which the East was
almost wholly given. Not to any of the exaltations- not to the
singing-god, or his unhappy mistress; not to any philosophy
requiring for its enjoyment the calm of retirement, nor to any service
for the comfort there is in religion, nor to love in its holier sense-
were they abiding their vows. Good reader, why shall not the truth
be told here? Why not learn that, at this age, there were in all earth
but two peoples capable of exaltations of the kind referred to-
those who lived by the law of Moses, and those who lived by the law of
Brahma. They alone could have cried you, Better a law without love
than a love without law.
Besides that, sympathy is in great degree a result of the mood we
are in at the moment: anger forbids the emotion. On the other hand, it
is easiest taken on when we are in a state of most absolute
self-satisfaction. Ben-Hur walked with a quicker step, holding his
head higher; and, while not less sensitive to the delightfulness of
all about him, he made his survey with calmer spirit, though sometimes
with curling lip; that is to say, he could not so soon forget how
nearly he himself had been imposed upon.
CHAPTER VII.
THE STADIUM IN THE GROVE.

IN front of Ben-Hur there was a forest of cypress-trees, each a
column tall and straight as a mast. Venturing into the shady precinct,
he heard a trumpet gaily blown, and an instant after saw lying upon
the grass close by the countryman whom he had run upon in the road
going to the temples. The man arose, and came to him.
"I give you peace again," he said, pleasantly.
"Thank you," Ben-Hur replied, then asked, "go you my way?"
"I am for the stadium, if that is your way."
"The Stadium!"
"Yes. The trumpet you heard but now was a call for the competitors."
"Good friend," said Ben-Hur, frankly, "I admit my ignorance of the
Grove; and if you will let me be your follower, I will be glad."
"That will delight me. Hark! I hear the wheels of the chariots. They
are taking the track."
Ben-Hur listened a moment, then completed the introduction by laying
his hand upon the man's arm, and saying, "I am the son of Arrius,
the duumvir, and thou?"
"I am Malluch, a merchant of Antioch."
"Well, good Malluch, the trumpet, and the gride of wheels, and the
prospect of diversion excite me. I have some skill in the exercises.
In the palaestrae of Rome I am not unknown. Let us to the course."
Malluch lingered to say, quickly, "The duumvir was a Roman, yet I
see his son in the garments of a Jew."
"The noble Arrius was my father by adoption," Ben-Hur answered.
"Ah! I see, and beg pardon."
Passing through the belt of forest, they came to a field with a
track laid out upon it, in shape and extent exactly like those of
the stadia. The course, or track proper, was of soft earth, rolled and
sprinkled, and on both sides defined by ropes, stretched loosely
upon upright javelins. For the accommodation of spectators, and such
as had interests reaching forward of the mere practice, there were
several stands shaded by substantial awnings, and provided with
seats in rising rows. In one of the stands the two new-comers found
places.
Ben-Hur counted the chariots as they went by- nine in all.
"I commend the fellows," he said, with good-will. "Here in the
East I thought they aspired to nothing better than the two; but they
are ambitious, and play with royal fours. Let us study their
performance."
Eight of the fours passed the stand, some walking, others on the
trot, and all unexceptionally handled; then the ninth one came on
the gallop. Ben-Hur burst into exclamation.
"I have been in the stables of the emperor, Malluch, but, by our
father Abraham of blessed memory! I never saw the like of these."
The last four was then sweeping past. All at once they fell into
confusion. Someone on the stand uttered a sharp cry. Ben-Hur turned,
and saw an old man half-risen from an upper seat, his hands clenched
and raised, his eyes fiercely bright, his long white beard fairly
quivering. Some of the spectators nearest him began to laugh.
"They should respect his beard at least. Who is he?" asked Ben-Hur.
"A mighty man from the desert, somewhere beyond Moab, and owner of
camels in herds, and horses descended, they say, from the racers of
the first Pharaoh- Sheik Ilderim by name and title."
Thus Malluch replied.
The driver meanwhile exerted himself to quiet the four, but
without avail. Each ineffectual effort excited the sheik the more.
"Abaddon seize him!" yelled the patriarch, shrilly. "Run! fly! do
you hear, my children?" The question was to his attendants, apparently
of the tribe. "Do you hear? They are desert-born, like yourselves.
Catch them- quick!"
The plunging of the animals increased.
"Accursed Roman!" and the sheik shook his fist at the driver. "Did
he not swear he could drive them- swear it by all his brood of bastard
Latin gods? Nay, hands off me- off, I say! They should run swift as
eagles, and with the temper of hand-bred lambs, he swore. Cursed be
he- cursed the mother of liars who calls him son! See them, the
priceless! Let him touch one of them with a lash, and"- the rest of
the sentence was lost in a furious grinding of his teeth. "To their
heads, some of you, and speak them- a word, one is enough, from the
tent-song your mothers sang you. Oh, fool, fool that I was to put
trust in a Roman!"
Some of the shrewder of the old man's friends planted themselves
between him and the horses. An opportune failure of breath on his part
helped the stratagem.
Ben-Hur, thinking he comprehended the sheik, sympathized with him.
Far more than mere pride of property- more than anxiety for the result
of the race- in his view it was within the possible for the patriarch,
according to his habits of thought and his ideas of the inestimable,
to love such animals with a tenderness akin to the most sensitive
passion.
They were all bright bays, unspotted, perfectly matched, and so
proportioned as to seem less than they really were. Delicate ears
pointed small heads; the faces were broad and full between the eyes;
the nostrils in expansion disclosed membrane so deeply red as to
suggest the flashing of flame; the necks were arches, overlaid with
fine mane so abundant as to drape the shoulders and breast, while in
happy consonance the forelocks were like ravellings of silken veils;
between the knees and the fetlocks the legs were flat as an open hand,
but above the knees they were rounded with mighty muscles, needful
to upbear the shapely close-knit bodies; the hoofs were like cups of
polished agate; and in rearing and plunging they whipped the air,
and sometimes the earth, with tails glossy-black and thick and long.
The sheik spoke of them as the priceless, and it was a good saying.
In this second and closer look at the horses, Ben-Hur read the story
of their relation to their master. They had grown up under his eyes,
objects of his special care in the day, his visions of pride in the
night, with his family at home in the black tent out on the
shadeless bosom of the desert, as his children beloved. That they
might win him a triumph over the haughty and hated Roman, the old
man had brought his loves to the city, never doubting they would
win, if only he could find a trusty expert to take them in hand; not
merely one with skill, but of a spirit which their spirits would
acknowledge. Unlike the colder people of the West, he could not
protest the driver's inability, and dismiss him civilly; an Arab and a
sheik, he had to explode, and rive the air about him with clamour.
Before the patriarch was done with his expletives, a dozen hands
were at the bits of the horses, and their quiet assured. About that
time, another chariot appeared upon the track; and, unlike the others,
driver, vehicle, and racers were precisely as they would be
presented in the Circus the day of final trial. For a reason which
will presently be more apparent, it is desirable now to give this
turnout plainly to the reader.
There should be no difficulty in understanding the carriage known to
us all as the chariot of classical renown. One has but to picture to
himself a dray with low wheels and broad axle, surmounted by a box
open at the tail-end. Such was the primitive pattern. Artistic
genius came along in time, and, touching the rude machine, raised it
into a thing of beauty- that, for instance, in which Aurora, riding in
advance of the dawn, is given to our fancy.
The jockeys of the ancients, quite as shrewd and ambitious as
their successors of the present, called their humblest turnout a
two, and their best in grade a four; in the latter, the contested
the Olympics and the other festal shows founded in imitation of them.
The same sharp gamesters preferred to put their horses to the
chariot all abreast; and for distinction they termed the two next
the pole yoke-steeds, and those on the right and left outside
trace-mates. It was their judgment, also, that, by allowing the
fullest freedom of action, the greatest speed was attainable;
accordingly, the harness resorted to was peculiarly simple; in fact,
there was nothing of it save a collar round the animal's neck, and a
trace fixed to the collar, unless the lines and a halter fall within
the term. Wanting to hitch up, the masters pinned a narrow wooden
yoke, or cross-tree, near the end of the pole, and, by straps passed
through rings at the end of the yoke, buckled the latter to the
collar. The traces of the yoke-steeds they hitched to the axle;
those of the trace-mates to the top rim of the chariot-bed. There
remained then but the adjustment of the lines, which, judged by the
modern devices, was not the least curious part of the method. For this
there was a large ring at the forward extremity of the pole;
securing the ends to that ring first they parted the lines so as to
give one to each horse and proceeded to pass them to the driver,
slipping them separately through rings on the inner side of the
halters at the mouth.
With this plain generalization in mind, all further desirable
knowledge upon the subject can be had by following the incidents of
the scene occurring.
The other contestants had been received in silence; the last comer
was more fortunate. While moving towards the stand from which we are
viewing the scene, his progress was signalized by loud demonstrations,
by clapping of hands and cheers, the effect of which was to centre
attention upon him exclusively. His yoke-steeds, it was observed, were
black, while the trace-mates were snow-white. In conformity to the
exacting canons of Roman taste, they had all four been mutilated; that
is to say, their tails had been clipped, and, to complete the
barbarity, their shorn manes were divided into knots tied with flaring
red and yellow ribbons.
In advancing, the stranger at length reached a point where the
chariot came into view from the stand, and its appearance would of
itself have justified the shouting. The wheels were very marvels of
construction. Stout bands of burnished bronze reinforced the hubs,
otherwise very light; the spokes were sections of ivory tusks, set
in with the natural curve outward to perfect the dishing, considered
important then as now; bronze tires held the fellies, which were of
shining ebony. The axle, in keeping with the wheels, was tipped with
heads of snarling tigers done in brass, and the bed was woven of
willow wands gilded with gold.
The coming of the beautiful horses and resplendent chariot drew
Ben-Hur to look at the driver with increased interest.
Who is he?
When Ben-Hur asked himself the question first, he could not see
the man's face or even his full figure; yet the air and manner were
familiar and pricked him keenly with a reminder of a period long gone.
Who could it be?
Nearer now, and the horses approaching at a trot. From the
shouting and the gorgeousness of the turnout, it was thought he
might be some official favourite or famous prince. Such an
appearance was not inconsistent with exalted rank. Kings often
struggled for the crown of leaves which was the prize of victory. Nero
and Commodus, it will be remembered, devoted themselves to the
chariot. Ben-Hur arose and forced a passage down nearly to the railing
in front of the lower seat of the stand. His face was earnest, his
manner eager.
And directly the whole person of the driver was in view. A companion
rode with him, in classic description a Myrtilus, permitted men of
high estate indulging their passion for the race-course. Ben-Hur could
see only the driver, standing erect in the chariot, with the reins
passed several times round his body- a handsome figure, scantily
covered by a tunic of light-red doth, in the right hand a whip; in the
other, the arm raised and lightly extended, the four lines. The pose
was exceedingly graceful and animated. The cheers and clapping of
hands were received with statuesque indifference. Ben-Hur stood
transfixed- his instinct and memory had served him faithfully- the
driver was Messala!
By the selection of horses, the magnificence of the chariot, the
attitude, and display of person- above all, by the expression of the
cold, sharp, eagle features, imperialized in his countrymen by sway of
the world through so many generations, Ben-Hur knew Messala unchanged,
as haughty, confident, and audacious as ever, the same in ambition,
cynicism, and mocking insouciance.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FOUNTAIN OF CASTALIA.

As Ben-Hur descended the steps of the stand, an Arab arose upon
the last one at the foot, and cried out,
"Men of the East and West- hearken! The good Sheik Ilderim giveth
greeting. With four horses, sons of the favourites of Solomon the
Wise, he hath come up against the best. Needs he most a mighty man
to drive them. Whoso will take them to his satisfaction, to him he
promiseth enrichment forever. Here- there- in the city and in the
Circuses, and wherever the strong most do congregate, tell ye this his
offer. So saith my master, Sheik Ilderim the Generous."
The proclamation awakened a great buzz among the people under the
awning. By night it would be repeated and discussed in all the
sporting circles of Antioch. Ben-Hur, hearing it, stopped and looked
hesitatingly from the herald to the sheik. Malluch thought he was
about to accept the offer, but was relieved when he presently turned
to him, and asked, "Good Malluch, where to now?"
The worthy replied, with a laugh, "Would you liken yourself to
others visiting the Grove for the first time, you will straightway
to hear your fortune told."
"My fortune, said you? Though the suggestion has in it a flavour
of unbelief, let us to the goddess at once."
"Nay, son of Arrius, these Apollonians have a better trick than
that. Instead of speech with a Pythia or a Sibyl, they will sell you a
plain papyrus leaf, hardly dry from the stalk, and bid you dip it in
the water of a certain fountain, when it will show you a verse in
which you may hear of your future."
The glow of interest departed from Ben-Hur's face.
"There are people who have no need to vex themselves about their
future," he said, gloomily.
"Then you prefer to go to the temples?"
"The temples are Greek, are they not?"
"They call them Greek."
"The Hellenes were masters of the beautiful in art; but in
architecture they sacrificed variety to unbending beauty. Their
temples are all alike. How call you the fountain?"
"Castalia."
"Oh! it has repute throughout the world. Let us thither."
Malluch kept watch on his companion as they went, and saw that for
the moment at least his good spirits were out. To the people passing
he gave no attention; over the wonders they came upon there were no
exclamations; silently, even sullenly, he kept a slow pace.
The truth was, the sight of Messala had set Ben-Hur to thinking.
It seemed scarce an hour ago that the strong hands had torn him from
his mother, scarce an hour ago that the Roman had put seal upon the
gates of his father's house. He recounted how, in the hopeless
misery of the life- if such it might be called- in the galleys, he had
had little else to do, aside from labour, than dream dreams of
vengeance, in all of which Messala was the principal. There might
be, he used to say to himself, escape for Gratus, but for Messala-
never! And to strengthen and harden his resolution, he was
accustomed to repeat over and over, Who pointed us out to the
persecutors? And when I begged him for help- not for myself- who
mocked me, and went away laughing? And always the dream had the same
ending. The day I meet him, help me, thou good God of my people!- help
me to some fitting special vengeance!
And now the meeting was at hand.
Perhaps, if he had found Messala poor and suffering, Ben-Hur's
feeling had been different; but it was not so. He found him more
than prosperous; in the prosperity there was a dash and glitter- gleam
of sun on gilt of gold.
So it happened that what Malluch accounted a passing loss of
spirit was pondering when the meeting should be, and in what manner he
could make it most memorable.
They turned after a while into an avenue of oaks, where the people
were going and coming in groups; footmen here, and horsemen; there
women in litters borne by slaves; and now and then chariots rolled
by thunderously.
At the end of the avenue the road, by an easy grade, descended
into a lowland, where, on the right hand, there was a precipitous
facing of grey rock, and on the left an open meadow of vernal
freshness. Then they came in view of the famous Fountain of Castalia.
Edging through a company assembled at the point, Ben-Hur beheld a
jet of sweet water pouring from the crest of a stone into a basin of
black marble, where, after much boiling and foaming, it disappeared as
through a funnel.
By the basin, under a small portico cut in the solid wall, sat a
priest, old, bearded, wrinkled, cowled- never being more perfectly
eremitish. From the manner of the people present, hardly might one say
which was the attraction, the fountain, forever sparkling, or the
priest, forever there. He heard, saw, was seen, but never spoke.
Occasionally a visitor extended a hand to him with a coin in it.
With a cunning twinkle of the eyes, he took the money, and gave the
party in exchange a leaf of papyrus.
The receiver made haste to plunge the papyrus into the basin;
then, holding the dripping leaf in the sunlight, he would be
rewarded with a versified inscription upon its face; and the fame of
the fountain seldom suffered loss by poverty of merit in the poetry.
Before Ben-Hur could test the oracle, some other visitors were seen
approaching across the meadow, and their appearance piqued the
curiosity of the company, his not less than theirs.
He saw first a camel, very tall and very white, in leading of a
driver on horseback. A houdah on the animal, besides being unusually
large, was of crimson and gold. Two other horsemen followed the
camel with tall spears in hand.
"What a wonderful camel!" said one of the company.
"A prince from afar," another one suggested.
"More likely a king."
"If he were on an elephant I would say he was a king."
A third man had a very different opinion.
"A camel- and a white camel!" he said, authoritatively. "By
Apollo, friends, they who come yonder- you can see there are two of
them- are neither kings nor princes; they are women!"
In the midst of the dispute the strangers arrived.
The camel seen at hand did not belie his appearance afar. A
taller, statelier brute of his kind no traveller at the fountain,
though from the remotest parts, had ever beheld. Such great black
eyes! such exceedingly fine white hair! feet so contractile when
raised, so soundless in planting, so broad when set!- nobody had
ever seen the peer of this camel. And how well he became his housing
of silk, and all its frippery of gold in fringe and gold in tassel!
The tinkling of silver bells went before him, and he moved lightly, as
if unknowing of his burden.
But who were the man and woman under the houdah?
Every eye saluted them with the inquiry.
If the former were a prince or a king, the philosophers of the crowd
might not deny the impartiality of Time. When they saw the thin
shrunken face buried under an immense turban, the skin of the hue of a
mummy, making it impossible to form an idea of his nationality, they
were pleased to think the limit of life was for the great as well as
the small. They saw about his person nothing so enviable as the
shawl which draped him.
The woman was seated in the manner of the East, amidst veils and
laces of surpassing fineness. Above her elbows she wore armlets
fashioned like coiled asps, and linked to bracelets at the wrists by
strands of gold; otherwise the arms were bare and of singular
natural grace, complemented with hands modelled daintily as a child's.
One of the hands rested upon the side of the carriage, showing tapered
fingers glittering with rings, and stained at the tips till they
blushed like the pink of mother-of-pearl. She wore an open caul upon
her head, sprinkled with beads of coral, and strung with coin-pieces
called sunlets, some of which were carried across her forehead,
while others fell down her back, half-smothered in the mass of her
straight blue-black hair, of itself an incomparable ornament, not
needing the veil which covered it, except as a protection against
sun and dust. From her elevated seat she looked upon the people
calmly, pleasantly, and apparently so intent upon studying them as
to be unconscious of the interest she herself was exciting; and,
what was unusual- nay, in violent contravention of the custom among
women of rank in public- she looked at them with an open face.
It was a fair face to see; quite youthful; in form, oval: complexion
not white, like the Greek; nor brunet, like the Roman; nor blond, like
the Gaul; but rather the tinting of the sun of the Upper Nile upon a
skin of such transparency that the blood shone through it on cheek and
brow with nigh the ruddiness of lamplight. The eyes, naturally
large, were touched along the lids with the black paint immemorial
throughout the East. The lips were slightly parted, disclosing,
through their scarlet lake, teeth of glistening whiteness. To all
these excellences of countenance the reader is finally besought to
superadd the air derived from the pose of a small head, classic in
shape, set upon a neck long, drooping, and graceful- the air, we may
fancy, happily described by the word queenly.
As if satisfied with the survey of people and locality, the fair
creature spoke to the driver- an Ethiopian of vast brawn, naked to the
waist- who led the camel nearer the fountain, and caused it to
kneel; after which he received from her hand a cup, and proceeded to
fill it at the basin. That instant the sound of wheels and the
trampling of horses in rapid motion broke the silence her beauty had
imposed, and, with a great outcry, the bystanders parted in every
direction, hurrying to get away.
"The Roman has a mind to ride us down. Look out!" Malluch shouted to
Ben-Hur, setting him at the same time an example of hasty flight.
The latter faced to the direction the sounds came from, and beheld
Messala in his chariot pushing the four straight at the crowd. This
time the view was near and distinct.
The parting of the company uncovered the camel, which might have
been more agile than his kind generally; yet the hoofs were almost
upon him, and he resting with closed eyes, chewing the endless cud
with such sense of security as long favouritism may be supposed to
have bred in him. The Ethiopian wrung his hands afraid. In the houdah,
the old man moved to escape; but he was hampered with age, and could
not, even in the face of danger, forget the dignity which was
plainly his habit. It was too late for the woman to save herself.
Ben-Hur stood nearest them, and he called to Messala-
"Hold! Look where thou goest! Back, back!"
The patrician was laughing in hearty good-humour; and, seeing
there was but one chance of rescue, Ben-Hur stepped in, and caught the
bits of the left yoke-steed and his mate. "Dog of a Roman! Carest thou
so little for life?" he cried, putting forth all his strength. The two
horses reared, and drew the others round; the tilting of the pole
tilted the chariot; Messala barely escaped a fall, while his
complacent Myrtilus rolled back like a clod to the ground. Seeing
the peril past, all the bystanders burst into derisive laughter.
The matchless audacity of the Roman then manifested itself.
Loosing the lines from his body, he tossed them to one side,
dismounted, walked round the camel, looked at Ben-Hur, and spoke
partly to the old man and partly to the woman.
"Pardon, I pray you- I pray you both. I am Messala," he said;
"and, by the old Mother of the earth, I swear I did not see you or
your camel! As to these good people- perhaps I trusted too much to
my skill. I sought a laugh at them- the laugh is theirs. Good may it
do them!"
The good-natured, careless look and gesture he threw the
bystanders accorded well with the speech. To hear what more he had
to say, they became quiet. Assured of victory over the body of the
offended, he signed his companion to take the chariot to a safer
distance, and addressed himself boldly to the woman.
"Thou hast interest in the good man here, whose pardon, if not
granted now, I shall seek with the greater diligence hereafter; his
daughter, I should say."
She made him no reply.
"By Pallas, thou art beautiful! Beware Apollo mistake thee not for
his lost love. I wonder what land can boast herself thy mother. Turn
not away. A truce! a truce! There is the sun of India in thine eyes;
in the corners of thy mouth, Egypt hath set her love-signs. Perpol!
Turn not to that slave, fair mistress, before proving merciful to this
one. Tell me at least that I am pardoned."
At this point she broke in upon him.
"Wilt thou come here?" she asked, smiling, and with gracious bend of
the head to Ben-Hur.
"Take the cup and fill it, I pray thee," she said to the latter. "My
father is thirsty."
"I am thy most willing servant!"
Ben-Hur turned about to do the favour, and was face to face with
Messala. Their glances met; the Jew's defiant; the Roman's sparkling
with humour.
"O stranger, beautiful as cruel!" Messala said, waving his hand to
her. "If Apollo get thee not, thou shalt see me again. Not knowing thy
country, I cannot name a god to commend thee to; so, by all the
gods, I will commend thee to- myself!"
Seeing the Myrtilus had the four composed and ready, he returned
to the chariot. The woman looked after him as he moved away, and
whatever else there was in her look, there was no displeasure.
Presently she received the water; her father drank; then she raised
the cup to her lips, and, leaning down, gave it to Ben-Hur; never
action more graceful and gracious.
"Keep it, we pray of thee! It is full of blessings- all thine!"
Immediately the camel was aroused, and on his feet, and about to go,
when the old man called-
"Stand thou here."
Ben-Hur went to him respectfully.
"Thou hast served the stranger well to-day. There is but one God. In
his holy name I thank thee. I am Balthasar, the Egyptian. In the Great
Orchard of Palms, beyond the village of Daphne, in the shade of the
palms, Sheik Ilderim the Generous abideth in his tents, and we are his
guests. Seek us there. Thou shalt have welcome sweet with the savour
of the grateful."
Ben-Hur was left in wonder at the old man's clear voice and reverend
manner. As he gazed after the two departing, he caught sight of
Messala going as he had come, joyous, indifferent, and with a
mocking laugh.
CHAPTER IX.
THE CHARIOT RACE DISCUSSED.

As a rule, there is no surer way to the dislike of men than to
behave well where they have behaved badly. In this instance,
happily, Malluch was an exception to the rule. The affair he had
just witnessed raised Ben-Hur in his estimation, since he could not
deny him courage and address; could he now get some insight into the
young man's history, the results of the day would not be all
unprofitable to good master Simonides.
On the latter point, referring to what he had as yet learned, two
facts comprehended it all- the subject of his investigation was a Jew,
and the adopted son of a famous Roman. Another conclusion which
might be of importance was beginning to formulate itself in the shrewd
mind of the emissary; between Messala and the son of the duumvir there
was a connection of some kind. But what was it?- and how could it be
reduced to assurance? With all his sounding, the ways and means of
solution were not at call. In the heat of the perplexity, Ben-Hur
himself came to his help. He laid his hand on Malluch's arm and drew
him out of the crowd, which was already going back to its interest
in the grey old priest and the mystic fountain.
"Good Malluch," he said, stopping, "may a man forget his mother?"
The question was abrupt and without direction, and therefore of
the kind which leaves the person addressed in a state of confusion.
Malluch looked into Ben-Hur's face for a hint of meaning, but saw,
instead, two bright-red spots, one on each cheek, and in his eyes
traces of what might have been repressed tears; then he answered,
mechanically, "No!" adding, with fervour, "never;" and a moment after,
when he began to recover himself, "If he is an Israelite, never!"
And when at length he was completely recovered- "My first lesson in
the synagogue was the Shema; my next was the saying of the son of
Sirach, 'Honour thy father with thy whole soul, and forget not the
sorrows of thy mother.'"
The red spots on Ben-Hur's face deepened.
"The words bring my childhood back again; and, Malluch, they prove
you a genuine Jew. I believe I can trust you."
Ben-Hur let go the arm he was holding, and caught the folds of the
gown covering his own breast, and pressed them close, as if to smother
a pain, or a feeling there as sharp as a pain.
"My father," he said, "bore a good name, and was not without
honour in Jerusalem, where he dwelt. My mother, at his death, was in
the prime of womanhood; and it is not enough to say of her she was
good and beautiful: in her tongue was the law of kindness, and her
works were the praise of all in the gates, and she smiled at days to
come. I had a little sister, and she and I were the family, and we
were so happy that I, at least, have never seen harm in the saying
of the old rabbi, 'God could not be everywhere, and, therefore, he
made mothers.' One day an accident happened to a Roman in authority as
he was riding past our house at the head of a cohort; the
legionaries burst the gate and rushed in and seized us. I have not
seen my mother or sister since. I cannot say they are dead or
living. I do not know what became of them. But, Malluch, the man in
the chariot yonder was present at the separation; he gave us over to
the captors; he heard my mother's prayer for her children, and he
laughed when they dragged her away. Hardly may one say which graves
deepest in memory, love or hate. To-day I knew him afar- and, Malluch-
"
He caught the listener's arm again.
"And, Malluch, he knows and takes with him now the secret I would
give my life for: he could tell if she lives, and where she is, and
her condition; if she- no, they- much sorrow has made the two as
one- if they are dead, he could tell where they died, and of what, and
where their bones await my finding."
"And will he not?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I am a Jew, and he is a Roman."
"But Romans have tongues, and Jews, though ever so despised, have
methods to beguile them."
"For such as he? No; and, besides, the secret is one of state. All
my father's property was confiscated and divided."
Malluch nodded his head slowly, much as to admit the argument;
then he asked anew, "Did he not recognize you?"
"He could not. I was sent to death in life, and have been long since
accounted of the dead."
"I wonder you did not strike him," said Malluch, yielding to a touch
of passion.
"That would have been to put him past serving me forever. I would
have had to kill him, and Death, you know, keeps secrets better even
than a guilty Roman."
The man who, with so much to avenge, could so calmly put such an
opportunity aside must be confident of his future or have ready some
better design, and Malluch's interest changed with the thought; it
ceased to be that of an emissary in duty bound to another. Ben-Hur was
actually asserting a claim upon him for his own sake. In other
words, Malluch was preparing to serve him with good heart and from
downright admiration.
After brief pause, Ben-Hur resumed speaking.
"I would not take his life, good Malluch; against that extreme the
possession of the secret is for the present, at least, his
safeguard; yet I may punish him, and so you give me help, I will try."
"He is a Roman," said Malluch, without hesitation; "and I am of
the tribe of Judah. I will help you. If you choose, put me under oath-
under the most solemn oath."
"Give me your hand, that will suffice."
As their hands fell apart, Ben-Hur said, with lightened feeling,
"That I would charge you with is not difficult, good friend; neither
is it dreadful to conscience. Let us move on."
They took the road which led to the right across the meadow spoken
of in the description of the coming to the fountain. Ben-Hur was first
to break the silence.
"Do you know Sheik Ilderim the Generous?"
"Yes."
"Where is his Orchard of Palms? or, rather, Malluch, how far is it
beyond the village of Daphne?"
Malluch was touched by a doubt; he recalled the prettiness of the
favour shown him by the woman at the fountain, and wondered if he
who had the sorrows of a mother in mind was about to forget them for a
lure of love; yet he replied, "The Orchard of Palms lies beyond the
village two hours by horse, and one by a swift camel."
"Thank you; and to your knowledge once more. Have the games of which
you told me been widely published? and when will they take place?"
The questions were suggestive; and if they did not restore Malluch
his confidence, they at least stimulated his curiosity.
"Oh yes, they will be of ample splendour. The prefect is rich, and
could afford to lose his place; yet, as is the way with successful
men, his love of riches is nowise diminished; and to gain a friend
at court, if nothing more, he must make ado for the Consul
Maxentius, who is coming hither to make final preparations for a
campaign against the Parthians. The money there is in the preparations
the citizens of Antioch know from experience; so they have had
permission to join the prefect in the honours intended for the great
man. A month ago heralds went to the four quarters to proclaim the
opening of the Circus for the celebration. The name of the prefect
would be of itself good guarantee of variety and magnificence,
particularly throughout the East; but when to his promises Antioch
joins hers, all the islands and the cities by the sea stand assured of
the extraordinary, and will be here in person or by their most
famous professionals. The fees offered are royal."
"And the Circus- I have heard it is second only to the Maximus."
"At Rome, you mean. Well, ours seats two hundred thousand people,
yours seats seventy-five thousand more; yours is of marble, so is
ours; in arrangement they are exactly the same."
"Are the rules the same?"
Malluch smiled.
"If Antioch dared be original, son of Arrius, Rome would not be
the mistress she is. The laws of the Circus Maximus govern except in
one particular: there but four chariots may start at once, here all
start without reference to number."
"That is the practice of the Greeks," said Ben-Hur.
"Yes, Antioch is more Greek than Roman."
"So then, Malluch, I may choose my own chariot?"
"Your own chariot and horses. There is no restriction upon either."
While replying, Malluch observed the thoughtful look on Ben-Hur's
face give place to one of satisfaction.
"One thing more now, O Malluch. When will the celebration be?"
"Ah! your pardon," the other answered. "To-morrow- and the next
day," he said, counting aloud, "then, to speak in the Roman style,
if the sea-gods be propitious, the consul arrives. Yes, the sixth
day from this we have the games."
"The time is short, Malluch, but it is enough." The last words
were spoken decisively. "By the prophets of our old Israel! I will
take to the reins again. Stay! a condition; is there assurance that
Messala will be a competitor?"
Malluch saw now the plan, and all its opportunities for the
humiliation of the Roman; and he had not been true descendant of Jacob
if, with all his interest wakened, he had not rushed to a
consideration of the chances. His voice actually trembled as he
said, "Have you the practice?"
"Fear not, my friend. The winners in the Circus Maximus have held
their crowns these three years at my will. Ask them- ask the best of
them, and they will tell you so. In the last great games the emperor
himself offered me his patronage if I would take his horses in hand
and run them against the entries of the world."
"But you did not?"
Malluch spoke eagerly.
"I- I am a Jew"- Ben-Hur seemed shrinking within himself as he
spoke- "and, though I wear a Roman name, I dared not do professionally
a thing to sully my father's name in the cloisters and courts of the
Temple. In the palaestrae I could indulge practice which, if
followed into the circus, would become an abomination; and if I take
to the course here, Malluch, I swear it will not be for the prize or
the winner's fee."
"Hold- swear not so!" cried Malluch. "The fee is ten thousand
sestertii- a fortune for life!"
"Not for me, though the prefect trebled it fifty times. Better
than that, better than all the imperial revenues from the first year
of the first Caesar- I will make this race to humble my enemy.
Vengeance is permitted by the law."
Malluch smiled and nodded as if saying, "Right, right- trust me a
Jew to understand a Jew."
"The Messala will drive," he said, directly. "He is committed to the
race in many ways- by publication in the streets, and in the baths and
theatres, the palace and barracks; and, to fix him past retreat, his
name is on the tablets of every young spendthrift in Antioch."
"In wager, Malluch?"
"Yes, in wager; and every day he comes ostentatiously to practise,
as you saw him."
"Ah! and that is the chariot, and those the horses, with which he
will make the race? Thank you, thank you, Malluch! You have served
me well already. I am satisfied. Now be my guide to the Orchard of
Palms, and give me introduction to Sheik Ilderim the Generous."
"When?"
"To-day. His horses may be engaged to-morrow."
"You like them, then?"
Ben-Hur answered with animation-
"I saw them from the stand an instant only, for Messala then drove
up, and I might not look at anything else; yet I recognized them as of
the blood which is the wonder as well as the glory of the deserts. I
never saw the kind before, except in the stables of Caesar; but once
seen they are always to be known. To-morrow, upon meeting, I will know
you, Malluch, though you do not so much as salute me; I will know
you by your face, by your form, by your manner; and by the same
signs I will know them, and with the same certainty. If all that is
said of them be true, and I can bring their spirit under control of
mine, I can- "
"Win the sestertii!" said Malluch, laughing.
"No," answered Ben-Hur, as quickly. "I will do what better becomes a
man born to the heritage of Jacob- I will humble mine enemy in a
most public place. But," he added, impatiently, "we are losing time.
How can we most quickly reach the tents of the sheik?"
Malluch took a moment for reflection.
"It is best we go straight to the village, which is fortunately near
by; if two swift camels are to be had for hire there, we will be on
the road but an hour."
"Let us about it, then."
The village was an assemblage of palaces in beautiful gardens,
interspersed with khans of princely sort. Dromedaries were happily
secured, and upon them the journey to the famous Orchard of Palms
was begun.
CHAPTER X.
BEN-HUR HEARS OF CHRIST.

BEYOND the village the country was undulating and cultivated; in
fact, it was the garden-land of Antioch, with not a foot lost to
labour. The steep faces of the hills were terraced; even the hedges
were brighter of the trailing vines which, besides the lure of
shade, offered passers-by sweet promises of wine to come, and grapes
in clustered purple ripeness. Over melon-patches, and through
apricot and fig-tree groves, and groves of oranges and limes, the
white-washed houses of the farmers were seen; and everywhere Plenty,
the smiling daughter of Peace, gave notice by her thousand signs
that she was at home, making the generous traveller merry at heart,
until he was even disposed to give Rome her dues. Occasionally,
also, views were had of Taurus and Lebanon, between which, a
separating line of silver, the Orontes placidly pursued its way.
In course of their journey the friends came to the river, which they
followed with the windings of the road, now over bold bluffs, and then
into vales, all alike allotted for country-seats; and if the land
was in full foliage of oak and sycamore and myrtle, and bay and
arbutus, and perfuming jasmine, the river was bright with slanted
sunlight, which would have slept where it fell but for ships in
endless procession, gliding with the current, tacking for the wind, or
bounding under the impulse of oars- some coming, some going, and all
suggestive of the sea, and distant peoples, and famous places, and
things coveted on account of their rarity. To the fancy there is
nothing so winsome as a white sail seaward blown, unless it be a white
sail homeward bound, its voyage happily done. And down the shore the
friends went continuously till they came to a lake fed by
black-water from the river, clear, deep, and without current. An old
palm-tree dominated the angle of the inlet; turning to the left at the
foot of the tree, Malluch clapped his hands and shouted-
"Look, look! The Orchard of Palms!"
The scene was nowhere else to be found unless in the favoured
oases of Arabia or the Ptolemaean farms along the Nile; and to sustain
a sensation new as it was delightful, Ben-Hur was admitted into a
tract of land apparently without limit and level as a floor. All under
foot was fresh grass, in Syria the rarest and most beautiful
production of the soil; if he looked up, it was to see the sky
palely blue through the groinery of countless date-bearers, very
patriarchs of their kind, so numerous and old, and of such mighty
girth, so tall, so serried, so wide of branch, each branch so
perfect with fronds, plumy and wax-like and brilliant, they seemed
enchanters enchanted. Here was the grass colouring the very
atmosphere; there the lake, cool and clear, rippling but a few feet
under the surface, and helping the trees to their long life in old
age. Did the Grove of Daphne excel this one? And the palms, as if they
knew Ben-Hur's thought, and would win him after a way of their own,
seemed, as he passed under their arches, to stir and sprinkle him with
dewy coolness.
The road wound in close parallelism with the shore of the lake;
and when it carried the travellers down to the water's edge, there was
always on that side a shining expanse limited not far off by the
opposite shore, on which, as on this one, no tree but the palm was
permitted.
"See that," said Malluch, pointing to a giant of the place. "Each
ring upon its trunk marks a year of its life. Count them from root
to branch, and if the sheik tells you the grove was planted before the
Seleucidae were heard of in Antioch, do not doubt him."
One may not look at a perfect palm-tree but that, with a subtlety
all its own, it assumes a presence for itself, and makes a poet of the
beholder. This is the explanation of the honours it has received,
beginning with the artists of the first kings, who could find no
form in all the earth to serve them so well as a model for the pillars
of their palaces and temples; and for the same reason Ben-Hur was
moved to say-
"As I saw him at the stand to-day, good Malluch, Sheik Ilderim
appeared to be a very common man. The rabbis in Jerusalem would look
down upon him, I fear, as a son of a dog of Edom. How came he in
possession of the Orchard? And how has he been able to hold it against
the greed of Roman governors?"
"If blood derives excellence from time, son of Arrius, then is old
Ilderim a man, though he be an uncircumcised Edomite."
Mulluch spoke warmly.
"All his fathers before him were sheiks. One of them- I shall not
say when he lived or did the good deed- once helped a king who was
being hunted with swords. The story says he loaned him a thousand
horsemen, who knew the paths of the wilderness and its hiding-places
as shepherds know the scant hills they inhabit with their flocks;
and they carried him here and there until the opportunity came, and
then with their spears they slew the enemy, and set him upon his
throne again. And the king, it is said, remembered the service, and
brought the son of the desert to this place, and bade him set up his
tent and bring his family and his herds, for the lake and trees, and
all the land from the river to the nearest mountains, were his and his
children's forever. And they have never been disturbed in the
possession. The rulers succeeding have found it policy to keep good
terms with the tribe, to whom the Lord has given increase of men and
horses, and camels and riches, making them masters of many highways
between cities; so that it is with them any time they please to say to
commerce, 'Go in peace,' or 'Stop,' and what they say shall be done.
Even the prefect in the citadel overlooking Antioch thinks it happy
day with him when Ilderim, surnamed the Generous on account of good
deeds done unto all manner of men, with his wives and children, and
his trains of camels and horses, and his belongings of sheik, moving
as our fathers Abraham and Jacob moved, comes up to exchange briefly
his bitter wells for the pleasantness you see about us."
"How is it, then?" said Ben-Hur, who had been listening unmindful of
the slow gait of the dromedaries. "I saw the sheik tear his beard
while he cursed himself that he had put trust in a Roman. Caesar,
had he heard him, might have said, 'I like not such a friend as
this; put him away.'"
"It would be but shrewd judgment," Malluch replied, smiling.
"Ilderim is not a lover of Rome; he has a grievance. Three years ago
the Parthians rode across the road from Bozra to Damascus, and fell
upon a caravan laden, among other things, with the incoming
tax-returns of a district over that way. They slew every creature
taken, which the censors in Rome could have forgiven if the imperial
treasure had been spared and forwarded. The farmers of the taxes,
being chargeable with the loss, complained to Caesar, and Caesar
held Herod to payment, and Herod, on his part, seized property of
Ilderim, whom he charged with treasonable neglect of duty. The sheik
appealed to Caesar, and Caesar has made him such answer as might be
looked for from the unwinking sphinx. The old man's heart has been
aching sore ever since, and he nurses his wrath, and takes pleasure in
its daily growth."
"He can do nothing, Malluch."
"Well," said Malluch, "that involves another explanation, which I
will give you, if we can draw nearer. But see!- the hospitality of the
sheik begins early- the children are speaking to you."
The dromedaries stopped, and Ben-Hur looked down upon some little
girls of the Syrian peasant class, who were offering him their baskets
filled with dates. The fruit was freshly gathered, and not to be
refused; he stooped and took it, and as he did so a man in the tree by
which they were halted cried, "Peace to you, and welcome!"
Their thanks said to the children, the friends moved on at such gait
as the animals chose.
"You must know," Malluch continued, pausing now and then to
dispose of a date, "that the merchant Simonides gives me his
confidence, and sometimes flatters me by taking me into council; and
as I attend him at his house, I have made acquaintance with many of
his friends, who, knowing my footing with the host, talk to him freely
in my presence. In that way I became somewhat intimate with Sheik
Ilderim."
For a moment Ben-Hur's attention wandered. Before his mind's eye
there arose the image, pure, gentle, and appealing, of Esther, the
merchant's daughter. Her dark eyes bright with the peculiar Jewish
lustre met his in modest gaze; he heard her step as when she
approached him with the wine, and her voice as she tendered him the
cup; and he acknowledged to himself again all the sympathy she
manifested for him, and manifested so plainly that words were
unnecessary, and so sweetly that words would have been but a
detraction. The vision was exceeding pleasant, but upon his turning to
Malluch, it flew away.
"A few weeks ago," said Malluch, continuing, "the old Arab called on
Simonides, and found me present. I observed he seemed much moved about
something, and, in deference, offered to withdraw, but he himself
forbade me. 'As you are an Israelite,' he said, 'stay, for I have a
strange story to tell.' The emphasis on the word Israelite excited
my curiosity. I remained, and this is in substance his story- I cut it
short because we are drawing nigh the tent, and I leave the details to
the good man himself. A good many years ago, three men called at
Ilderim's tent out in the wilderness. They were all foreigners, a
Hindoo, a Greek, and an Egyptian; and they had come on camels, the
largest he had ever seen, and all white. He welcomed them, and gave
them rest. Next morning they arose and prayed a prayer new to the
sheik- a prayer addressed to God and his son- this with much mystery
besides. After breaking fast with him, the Egyptian told who they
were, and whence they had come. Each had seen a star, out of which a
voice had bidden them go to Jerusalem and ask, 'Where is he that is
born King of the Jews?' They obeyed. From Jerusalem they were led by a
star to Bethlehem, where, in a cave, they found a child newly born,
which they fell down and worshipped; and after worshipping it, and
giving it costly presents, and bearing witness of what it was, they
took to their camels, and fled without pause to the sheik, because
if Herod- meaning him surnamed the Great- could lay hands upon them,
he would certainly kill them. And, faithful to his habit, the sheik
took care of them, and kept them concealed for a year, when they
departed, leaving with him gifts of great value, and each going a
separate way."
"It is, indeed, a most wonderful story," Ben-Hur exclaimed at its
conclusion. "What did you say they were to ask at Jerusalem?"
"They were to ask, 'Where is he that is born King of the Jews?'"
"Was that all?"
"There was more to the question, but I cannot recall it."
"And they found the child?"
"Yes, and worshipped him."
"It is a miracle, Malluch."
"Ilderim is a grave man, though excitable as all Arabs are. A lie on
his tongue is impossible."
Malluch spoke positively. Thereupon the dromedaries were
forgotten, and, quite as unmindful of their riders, they turned off
the road to the growing grass.
"Has Ilderim heard nothing more of the three men?" asked Ben-Hur.
"What became of them?"
"Ah, yes, that was the cause of his coming to Simonides the day of
which I was speaking. Only the night before that day the Egyptian
reappeared to him."
"Where?"
"Here at the door of the tent to which we are coming."
"How knew he the man?"
"As you knew the horses to-day- by face and manner."
"By nothing else?"
"He rode the same great white camel, and gave him the same name-
Balthasar, the Egyptian."
"It is a wonder of the Lord's!"
Ben-Hur spoke with excitement.
And Malluch, wondering, asked, "Why so?"
"Balthasar, you said?"
"Yes, Balthasar, the Egyptian."
"That was the name the old man gave us at the fountain to-day."
Then, at the reminder, Malluch became excited.
"It is true," he said; "and the camel was the same- and you saved
the man's life."
"And the woman," said Ben-Hur, like one speaking to himself- "the
woman was his daughter."
He fell to thinking; and even the reader will say he was having a
vision of the woman, and that it was more welcome than that of Esther,
if only because it stayed longer with him; but no-
"Tell me again," he said, presently. "Were the three to ask,
'Where is he that is to be King of the Jews?'"
"Not exactly. The words were born to be King of the Jews. Those were
the words as the old sheik caught them first in the desert, and he has
ever since been waiting the coming of the king; nor can any one
shake his faith that he will come."
"How- as king?"
"Yes, and bringing the doom of Rome- so says the sheik."
Ben-Hur kept silent awhile, thinking and trying to control his
feelings.
"The old man is one of many millions," he said, slowly- "one of many
millions each with a wrong to avenge; and this strange faith, Malluch,
is bread and wine to his hope; for who but a Herod may be King of
the Jews while Rome endures? But, following the story, did you hear
what Simonides said to him?"
"If Ilderim is a grave man, Simonides is a wise one," Malluch
Replied. "I listened, and he said- But hark! Some one comes overtaking
us."
The noise grew louder, until presently they heard the rumble of
wheels mixed with the beating of horse-hoofs- a moment later Sheik
Ilderim himself appeared on horseback, followed by a train, among
which were the four wine-red Arabs drawing the chariot. The sheik's
chin, in its muffling of long white beard, was drooped upon his
breast. Our friends had out-travelled him; but at sight of them, he
raised his head, and spoke kindly.
"Peace to you!- Ah, my friend Malluch! Welcome! And tell me you
are not going, but just come; that you have something for me from
the good Simonides- may the Lord of his fathers keep him in life for
many years to come! Aye, take up the straps, both of you, and follow
me. I have bread and leben, or, if you prefer it, arrack and the flesh
of young kid. Come!"
They followed after him to the door of the tent, in which, when they
were dismounted, he stood to receive them, holding a platter with
three cups filled with creamy liquor just drawn from a great
smoke-stained skin bottle, pendent from the central post.
"Drink," he said, heartily, "drink, for this is the fear-naught of
the tentmen."
They each took a cup, and drank till but the foam remained.
"Enter now, in God's name."
And when they were gone in, Malluch took the sheik aside, and
spoke to him privately; after which he went to Ben-Hur and excused
himself.
"I have told the sheik about you, and he will give you the trial
of his horses in the morning. He is your friend. Having done for you
all I can, you must do the rest, and let me return to Antioch. There
is one there who has my promise to meet him to-night. I have no choice
but to go. I will come back to-morrow; prepared, if all goes well in
the meantime, to stay with you until the games are over."
With blessings given and received, Malluch set out in return.
CHAPTER XI.
THE WISE SERVANT AND HIS DAUGHTER.

WHAT time the lower horn of a new moon touched the castellated piles
on Mount Sulpius, and two-thirds of the people of Antioch were out
on their house-tops comforting themselves with the night breeze when
it blew, and with fans when it failed, Simonides sat in the chair
which had come to be a part of him, and from the terrace looked down
over the river, and his ships a-swing at their moorings. The wall at
his back cast its shadow broadly over the water to the opposite shore.
Above him the endless tramp upon the bridge went on. Esther was
holding a plate for him containing his frugal supper- some wheaten
cakes light as wafers, some honey, and a bowl of milk, into which he
now and then dipped the wafers after dipping them into the honey.
"Malluch is a laggard to-night," he said, showing where his thoughts
were.
"Do you believe he will come?" Esther asked.
"Unless he has taken to the sea or the desert, and is yet
following on, he will come."
Simonides spoke with quiet confidence.
"He may write," she said.
"Not so, Esther. He would have despatched a letter when he found
he could not return, and told me so; because I have not received
such a letter, I know he can come, and will."
"I hope so," she said, very softly.
Something in the utterance attracted his attention; it might have
been the tone, it might have been the wish. The smallest bird cannot
light upon the greatest tree without sending a shock to its most
distant fibre; every mind is at times no less sensitive to the most
trifling words.
"You wish him to come, Esther?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, lifting her eyes to his.
"Why? Can you tell me?" he persisted.
"Because"- she hesitated, then began again- "because the young man
is- " The stop was full.
"Our master. Is that the word?"
"Yes."
"And you still think I should not suffer him to go away without
telling him to come, if he chooses, and take us- and all we have- all,
Esther- the goods, the shekels, the ships, the slaves, and the
mighty credit, which is a mantle of cloth of gold and finest silver
spun for me by the greatest of the angels of men- Success."
She made no answer.
"Does that move you nothing? No?" he said, with the slightest
taint of bitterness. "Well, well, I have found, Esther, the worst
reality is never unendurable when it comes out from behind the
clouds through which we at first see it darkly- never- not even the
rack. I suppose it will be so with death. And by that philosophy the
slavery to which we are going must afterwhile become sweet. It pleases
me even now to think what a favoured man our master is. The fortune
cost him nothing- not an anxiety, not a drop of sweat not so much as a
thought; it attaches to him undreamed of, and in his youth. And,
Esther, let me waste a little vanity with the reflection; he gets what
he could not go into the market and buy with all the pelf in a sum-
thee, my child, my darling; thou blossom from the tomb of my lost
Rachel!"
He drew her to him, and kissed her twice- once for herself, once for
her mother.
"Say not so," she said, when his hand fell from her neck. "Let us
think better of him; he knows what sorrow is, and will set us free."
"Ah, thy instincts are fine, Esther; and thou knowest I lean upon
them in doubtful cases where good or bad is to be pronounced of a
person standing before thee as he stood this morning. But- but"- his
voice rose and hardened- "these limbs upon which I cannot stand-
this body drawn and beaten out of human shape- they are not all I
bring him of myself. Oh no, no! I bring him a soul which has triumphed
over torture and Roman malice keener than any torture- I bring him a
mind which has eyes to see gold at a distance farther than the ships
of Solomon sailed, and power to bring it to hand- aye, Esther, into my
palm here for the fingers to grip and keep lest it take wings at
some other's word- a mind skilled at scheming"- he stopped and
laughed.- "Why, Esther, before the new moon, which in the courts of
the Temple on the Holy Hill they are this moment celebrating, passes
into its next quartering I could ring the world so as to startle
even Caesar; for know you, child, I have that faculty which is
better than any one sense, better than a perfect body, better than
courage and will, better than experience, ordinarily the best
product of the longest lives- the faculty divinest of men, but which"-
he stopped, and laughed again, not bitterly, but with real zest-
"but which even the great do not sufficiently account, while with
the herd it is a non-existent- the faculty of drawing men to my
purpose and holding them faithfully to its achievement, by which, as
against things to be done, I multiply myself into hundreds and
thousands. So the captains of my ships plough the seas, and bring me
honest returns; so Malluch follows the youth, our master, and will"-
just then a footstep was heard upon the terrace- "Ha, Esther! said I
not so?- He is here- and we will have tidings. For my sake, sweet
child- my lily just budded- I pray the Lord God, who has not forgotten
his wandering sheep of Israel, that they be good and comforting. Now
we will know if he will let thee go with all thy beauty, and me with
all my faculties."
Malluch came to the chair.
"Peace to you, good master," he said, with a low obeisance- "and
to you, Esther, most excellent of daughters."
He stood before them deferentially, and the attitude and the address
left it difficult to define his relation to them; the one was that
of a servant, the other indicated the familiar and friend. On the
other side, Simonides, as was his habit in business, after answering
the salutation, went straight to the subject.
"What of the young man, Malluch?"
The events of the day were told quietly and in the simplest words,
and until he was through there was no interruption; nor did the
listener in the chair so much as move a hand during the narration; but
for his eyes, wide open and bright, and an occasional long-drawn
breath, he might have been accounted an effigy.
"Thank you, thank you, Malluch," he said, heartily, at the
conclusion; "you have done well- no one could have done better. Now
what say you of the young man's nationality?"
"He is an Israelite, good master, and of the tribe of Judah."
"You are positive?"
"Very positive."
"He appears to have told you but little of his life."
"He has somewhere learned to be prudent. I might call him
distrustful. He baffled all my attempts upon his confidence until we
started from the Castalian fount going to the village of Daphne."
"A place of abomination! Why went he there?"
"I would say from curiosity, the first motive of the many who go;
but, very strangely, he took no interest in the things he saw. Of
the Temple, he merely asked if it were Grecian. Good master, the young
man has a trouble of mind from which he would hide, and he went to the
Grove, I think, as we go to sepulchres with our dead- he went to
bury it."
"That were well, if so," Simonides said, in a low voice; then
louder, "Malluch, the curse of the time is prodigality. The poor
make themselves poorer as apes of the rich, and the merely rich
carry themselves like princes. Saw you signs of the weakness in the
youth? Did he display moneys- coin of Rome or Israel?"
"None, none, good master."
"Surely, Malluch, where there are so many inducements to folly- so
much, I mean, to eat and drink- surely he made you generous offer of
some sort. His age, if nothing more, would warrant that much."
"He neither ate nor drank in my company."
"In what he said or did, Malluch, could you in anywise detect his
master-idea? You know they peep through cracks close enough to stop
the wind."
"Give me to understand you," said Malluch, in doubt.
"Well, you know we nor speak nor act, much less decide grave
questions concerning ourselves, except we be driven by a motive. In
that respect, what make you of him?"
"As to that, Master Simonides, I can answer with much assurance.
He is devoted to finding his mother and sister- that first. Then he
has a grievance against Rome; and as the Messala of whom I told you
had something to do with the wrong, the great present object is to
humiliate him. The meeting at the fountain furnished an opportunity,
but it was put aside as not sufficiently public."
"The Messala is influential," said Simonides, thoughtfully.
"Yes; but the next meeting will be in the Circus."
"Well- and then?"
"The son of Arrius will win."
"How know you?"
Malluch smiled.
"I am judging by what he says."
"Is that all?"
"No; there is a much better sign- his spirit."
"Aye; but, Malluch, his idea of vengeance- what is its scope? Does
he limit it to the few who did him the wrong, or does he take in the
many? And more- is his feeling but the vagary of a sensitive boy, or
has it the seasoning of suffering manhood to give it endurance? You
know, Malluch, the vengeful thought that has root merely in the mind
is but a dream of idlest sort which one clear day will dissipate;
while revenge the passion is a disease of the heart which climbs up,
up to the brain, and feeds itself on both alike."
In this question, Simonides for the first time showed signs of
feeling; he spoke with rapid utterance, and with clenched hands and
the eagerness of a man illustrating the disease he described.
"Good, my master," Malluch replied, "one of my reasons for believing
the young man a Jew is the intensity of his hate. It was plain to me
that he had himself under watch, as was natural, seeing how long he
has lived in an atmosphere of Roman jealousy; yet I saw it blaze- once
when he wanted to know Ilderim's feeling towards Rome, and again
when I told him the story of the sheik and the wise man, and spoke
of the question, 'Where is he that is born King of the Jews?'"
Simonides leaned forward quickly.
"Ah, Malluch, his words- give me his words; let me judge the
impression the mystery made upon him."
"He wanted to know the exact words. Were they to be or born to be?
It appeared he was struck by a seeming difference in the effect of the
two phrases."
Simonides settled back into his pose of listening judge.
"Then," said Malluch, "I told him Ilderim's view of the mystery-
that the king would come with the doom of Rome. The young man's
blood rose over his cheeks and forehead, and he said earnestly, 'Who
but a Herod can be king while Rome endures?'"
"Meaning what?"
"That the empire must be destroyed before there could be another
rule."
Simonides gazed for a time at the ships and their shadows slowly
swinging together in the river; when he looked up, it was to end the
interview.
"Enough, Malluch," he said. "Get you to eat, and make ready to
return to the Orchard of Palms; you must help the young man in his
coming trial. Come to me in the morning. I will send a letter to
Ilderim." Then in an undertone, as if to himself, he added, "I may
attend the Circus myself."
When Malluch, after the customary benediction given and received,
was gone, Simonides took a deep draught of milk, and seemed
refreshed and easy of mind.
"Put the meal down, Esther," he said; "it is over."
She obeyed.
"Here now."
She resumed her place upon the arm of the chair close to him.
"God is good to me, very good," he said, fervently. "His habit is to
move in mystery, yet sometimes he permits us to think we see and
understand him. I am old, dear, and must go; but now, in this eleventh
hour, when my hope was beginning to die, he sends me this one with a
promise, and I am lifted up. I see the way to a great part in a
circumstance itself so great that it shall be as a new birth to the
whole world. And I see a reason for the gift of my great riches, and
the end for which they were designed. Verily, my child, I take hold on
life anew."
Esther nestled closer to him, as if to bring his thoughts from their
far-flying.
"The king has been born," he continued, imagining he was still
speaking to her, "and he must be near the half of common life.
Balthasar says he was a child on his mother's lap when he saw him, and
gave him presents and worship; and Ilderim holds it was twenty-seven
years ago last December when Balthasar and his companions came to
his tent asking a hiding-place from Herod. Wherefore the coming cannot
now be long delayed. To-night- to-morrow it may be. Holy fathers of
Israel, what happiness in the thought! I seem to hear the crash of the
falling of old walls and the clamour of a universal change- aye, and
for the uttermost joy of men, the earth opens to take Rome in, and
they look up and laugh and sing that she is not, while we are;" then
he laughed at himself. "Why, Esther, heard you ever the like?
Surely, I have on me the passion of a singer, the heat of blood and
the thrill of Miriam and David. In my thoughts, which should be
those of a plain worker in figures and facts, there is a confusion
of cymbals clashing and harp-strings loud beaten, and the voices of
a multitude standing around a new-risen throne. I will put the
thinking by for the present; only, dear, when the king comes he will
need money and men, for as he was a child born of woman he will be but
a man after all, bound to human ways as you and I are. And for the
money he will have need of getters and keepers, and for the men
leaders. There, there! See you not a broad road for my walking, and
the running of the youth, our master?- and at the end of it glory
and revenge for us both?- and- and"- he paused, struck with the
selfishness of a scheme in which she had no part or good result;
then added, kissing her, "And happiness for thy mother's child."
She sat still, saying nothing. Then he remembered the difference
in natures, and the law by which we are not permitted always to take
delight in the same cause or be equally afraid of the same thing. He
remembered she was but a girl.
"Of what are you thinking, Esther?" he said, in his common,
home-like way. "If the thought have the form of a wish, give it me,
little one, while the power remains mine. For power, you know, is a
fretful thing, and hath its wings always spread for flight."
She answered with a simplicity almost childish-
"Send for him, father. Send for him to-night, and do not let him
go into the Circus."
"Ah!" he said, prolonging the exclamation; and again his eyes fell
upon the river, where the shadows were more shadowy than ever, since
the moon had sunk far down behind Sulpius, leaving the city to the
ineffectual stars. Shall we say it, reader? He was touched by a twinge
of jealousy. If she should really love the young master! Oh no! That
could not be; she was too young. But the idea had fast grip, and
directly held him still and cold. She was sixteen. He knew it well. On
the last natal day he had gone with her to the shipyard where there
was a launch, and the yellow flag which the galley bore to its
bridal with the waves had on it "Esther;" so they celebrated the day
together. Yet the fact struck him now with the force of a surprise.
There are realizations which come to us all painfully; mostly,
however, such as pertain to ourselves; that we are growing old, for
instance, and, more terrible, that we must die. Such a one crept
into his heart, shadowy as the shadows, yet substantial enough to
wring from him a sigh which was almost a groan. It was not
sufficient that she should enter upon her young womanhood a servant,
but she must carry to her master her affections, the truth and
tenderness and delicacy of which he the father so well knew, because
to this time they had all been his own undividedly. The fiend whose
task it is to torture us with fears and bitter thoughts seldom does
his work by halves. In the pang of the moment, the brave old man
lost sight of his new scheme, and of the miraculous king its
subject. By a mighty effort, however, he controlled himself, and
asked, calmly, "Not go into the Circus, Esther? Why, child?"
"It is not a place for a son of Israel, father."
"Rabbinical, rabbinical, Esther! Is that all?"
The tone of the inquiry was searching, and went to her heart,
which began to beat loudly- so loudly she could not answer. A
confusion new and strangely pleasant fell upon her.
"The young man is to have the fortune," he said, taking her hand,
and speaking more tenderly; "he is to have the ships and the
shekels- all, Esther, all. Yet I did not feel poor, for thou wert left
me, and thy love so like the dead Rachel's. Tell me, is he to have
that too?"
She bent over him, and laid her cheek against his head.
"Speak, Esther. I will be the stronger of the knowledge. In
warning there is strength."
She sat up then, and spoke as if she were Truth's holy self.
"Comfort thee, father. I will never leave thee; though he take my
love, I will be thy handmaid ever as now."
And, stooping, she kissed him.
"And more," she said, continuing; "he is comely in my sight, and the
pleading of his voice drew me to him, and I shudder to think of him in
danger. Yes, father, I would be more than glad to see him again.
Still, the love that is unrequited cannot be perfect love, wherefore I
will wait a time, remembering I am thy daughter and my mother's."
"A very blessing of the Lord art thou, Esther! A blessing to keep me
rich, though all else be lost. And by his holy name and everlasting
life, I swear thou shalt not suffer."
At his request, a little later, the servant came and rolled the
chair into the room, where he sat for a time thinking of the coming of
the king, while she went off and slept the sleep of the innocent.
CHAPTER XII.
A ROMAN ORGIE.