Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
His eyes met hers—an instant only; but both were better of the look. He
recognized her gratitude, she his generosity and forbearance.
Simonides bowed his acknowledgment.
“Esther, child, bring me the paper,” he said, with a breath of relief.
She went to a panel in the wall, opened it, took out a roll of papyri,
and brought and gave it to him.
“Thou saidst well, son of Hur,” Simonides began, while unrolling the
sheets. “Let us understand each other. In anticipation of the
demand—which I would have made hadst thou waived it—I have here a
statement covering everything necessary to the understanding required.
I could see but two points involved—the property first, and then our
relation. The statement is explicit as to both. Will it please thee to
read it now?”
Ben-Hur received the papers, but glanced at Ilderim.
“Nay,” said Simonides, “the sheik shall not deter thee from reading.
The account—such thou wilt find it—is of a nature requiring a witness.
In the attesting place at the end thou wilt find, when thou comest to
it, the name—Ilderim, Sheik. He knows all. He is thy friend. All he has
been to me, that will he be to thee also.”
Simonides looked at the Arab, nodding pleasantly, and the latter
gravely returned the nod, saying, “Thou hast said.”
Ben-Hur replied, “I know already the excellence of his friendship, and
have yet to prove myself worthy of it.” Immediately he continued,
“Later, O Simonides, I will read the papers carefully; for the present,
do thou take them, and if thou be not too weary, give me their
substance.”
Simonides took back the roll.
“Here, Esther, stand by me and receive the sheets, lest they fall into
confusion.”
She took place by his chair, letting her right arm fall lightly across
his shoulder, so, when he spoke, the account seemed to have rendition
from both of them jointly.
“This,” said Simonides, drawing out the first leaf, “shows the money I
had of thy father’s, being the amount saved from the Romans; there was
no property saved, only money, and that the robbers would have secured
but for our Jewish custom of bills of exchange. The amount saved, being
sums I drew from Rome, Alexandria, Damascus, Carthage, Valentia, and
elsewhere within the circle of trade, was one hundred and twenty
talents Jewish money.”
He gave the sheet to Esther, and took the next one.
“With that amount—one hundred and twenty talents—I charged myself. Hear
now my credits. I use the word, as thou wilt see, with reference rather
to the proceeds gained from the use of the money.”
From separate sheets he then read footings, which, fractions omitted,
were as follows:
By ships 60 talents ” goods in store 110 ” ” cargoes in
transit 75 ” ” camels, horses, etc. 20 ” ” warehouses 10
” ” bills due 54 ” ” money on hand and subject to draft 224 ”
—— Total 553 ”
“To these now, to the five hundred and fifty-three talents gained, add
the original capital I had from thy father, and thou hast SIX HUNDRED
AND SEVENTY THREE TALENTS!—and all thine—making thee, O son of Hur, the
richest subject in the world.”
He took the papyri from Esther, and, reserving one, rolled them and
offered them to Ben-Hur. The pride perceptible in his manner was not
offensive; it might have been from a sense of duty well done; it might
have been for Ben-Hur without reference to himself.
“And there is nothing,” he added, dropping his voice, but not his
eyes—“there is nothing now thou mayst not do.”
The moment was one of absorbing interest to all present. Simonides
crossed his hands upon his breast again; Esther was anxious; Ilderim
nervous. A man is never so on trial as in the moment of excessive
good-fortune.
Taking the roll, Ben-Hur arose, struggling with emotion.
“All this is to me as a light from heaven, sent to drive away a night
which has been so long I feared it would never end, and so dark I had
lost the hope of seeing,” he said, with a husky voice. “I give first
thanks to the Lord, who has not abandoned me, and my next to thee, O
Simonides. Thy faithfulness outweighs the cruelty of others, and
redeems our human nature. ‘There is nothing I cannot do:’ be it so.
Shall any man in this my hour of such mighty privilege be more generous
than I? Serve me as a witness now, Sheik Ilderim. Hear thou my words as
I shall speak them—hear and remember. And thou, Esther, good angel of
this good man! hear thou also.”
He stretched his hand with the roll to Simonides.
“The things these papers take into account—all of them: ships, houses,
goods, camels, horses, money; the least as well as the greatest—give I
back to thee, O Simonides, making them all thine, and sealing them to
thee and thine forever.”
Esther smiled through her tears; Ilderim pulled his beard with rapid
motion, his eyes glistening like beads of jet. Simonides alone was
calm.
“Sealing them to thee and thine forever,” Ben-Hur continued, with
better control of himself, “with one exception, and upon one
condition.”
The breath of the listeners waited upon his words.
“The hundred and twenty talents which were my father’s thou shalt
return to me.”
Ilderim’s countenance brightened.
“And thou shalt join me in search of my mother and sister, holding all
thine subject to the expense of discovery, even as I will hold mine.”
Simonides was much affected. Stretching out his hand, he said, “I see
thy spirit, son of Hur, and I am grateful to the Lord that he hath sent
thee to me such as thou art. If I served well thy father in life, and
his memory afterwards, be not afraid of default to thee; yet must I say
the exception cannot stand.”
Exhibiting, then, the reserved sheet, he continued,
“Thou hast not all the account. Take this and read—read aloud.”
Ben-Hur took the supplement, and read it.
“Statement of the servants of Hur, rendered by Simonides, steward of
the estate.
1. Amrah, Egyptian, keeping the palace in Jerusalem.
2. Simonides, the steward, in Antioch.
3. Esther, daughter of Simonides.”
Now, in all his thoughts of Simonides, not once had it entered
Ben-Hur’s mind that, by the law, a daughter followed the parent’s
condition. In all his visions of her, the sweet-faced Esther had
figured as the rival of the Egyptian, and an object of possible love.
He shrank from the revelation so suddenly brought him, and looked at
her blushing; and, blushing, she dropped her eyes before him. Then he
said, while the papyrus rolled itself together,
“A man with six hundred talents is indeed rich, and may do what he
pleases; but, rarer than the money, more priceless than the property,
is the mind which amassed the wealth, and the heart it could not
corrupt when amassed. O Simonides—and thou, fair Esther—fear not. Sheik
Ilderim here shall be witness that in the same moment ye were declared
my servants, that moment I declared ye free; and what I declare, that
will I put in writing. Is it not enough? Can I do more?”
“Son of Hur,” said Simonides, “verily thou dost make servitude
lightsome. I was wrong; there are some things thou canst not do; thou
canst not make us free in law. I am thy servant forever, because I went
to the door with thy father one day, and in my ear the awl-marks yet
abide.”
“Did my father that?”
“Judge him not,” cried Simonides, quickly. “He accepted me a servant of
that class because I prayed him to do so. I never repented the step. It
was the price I paid for Rachel, the mother of my child here; for
Rachel, who would not be my wife unless I became what she was.”
“Was she a servant forever?”
“Even so.”
Ben-Hur walked the floor in pain of impotent wish.
“I was rich before,” he said, stopping suddenly. “I was rich with the
gifts of the generous Arrius; now comes this greater fortune, and the
mind which achieved it. Is there not a purpose of God in it all?
Counsel me, O Simonides! Help me to see the right and do it. Help me to
be worthy my name, and what thou art in law to me, that will I be to
thee in fact and deed. I will be thy servant forever.”
Simonides’ face actually glowed.
“O son of my dead master! I will do better than help; I will serve thee
with all my might of mind and heart. Body, I have not; it perished in
thy cause; but with mind and heart I will serve thee. I swear it, by
the altar of our God, and the gifts upon the altar! Only make me
formally what I have assumed to be.”
“Name it,” said Ben-Hur, eagerly.
“As steward the care of the property will be mine.”
“Count thyself steward now; or wilt thou have it in writing?”
“Thy word simply is enough; it was so with the father, and I will not
more from the son. And now, if the understanding be perfect”—Simonides
paused.
“It is with me,” said Ben-Hur.
“And thou, daughter of Rachel, speak!” said Simonides, lifting her arm
from his shoulder.
Esther, left thus alone, stood a moment abashed, her color coming and
going; then she went to Ben-Hur, and said, with a womanliness
singularly sweet, “I am not better than my mother was; and, as she is
gone, I pray you, O my master, let me care for my father.”
Ben-Hur took her hand, and led her back to the chair, saying, “Thou art
a good child. Have thy will.”
Simonides replaced her arm upon his neck, and there was silence for a
time in the room.
CHAPTER VIII
Simonides looked up, none the less a master.
“Esther,” he said, quietly, “the night is going fast; and, lest we
become too weary for that which is before us, let the refreshments be
brought.”
She rang a bell. A servant answered with wine and bread, which she bore
round.
“The understanding, good my master,” continued Simonides, when all were
served, “is not perfect in my sight. Henceforth our lives will run on
together like rivers which have met and joined their waters. I think
their flowing will be better if every cloud is blown from the sky above
them. You left my door the other day with what seemed a denial of the
claims which I have just allowed in the broadest terms; but it was not
so, indeed it was not. Esther is witness that I recognized you; and
that I did not abandon you, let Malluch say.”
“Malluch!” exclaimed Ben-Hur.
“One bound to a chair, like me, must have many hands far-reaching, if
he would move the world from which he is so cruelly barred. I have many
such, and Malluch is one of the best of them. And, sometimes”—he cast a
grateful glance at the sheik—“sometimes I borrow from others good of
heart, like Ilderim the Generous—good and brave. Let him say if I
either denied or forgot you.”
Ben-Hur looked at the Arab.
“This is he, good Ilderim, this is he who told you of me?”
Ilderim’s eyes twinkled as he nodded his answer.
“How, O my master,” said Simonides, “may we without trial tell what a
man is? I knew you; I saw your father in you; but the kind of man you
were I did not know. There are people to whom fortune is a curse in
disguise. Were you of them? I sent Malluch to find out for me, and in
the service he was my eyes and ears. Do not blame him. He brought me
report of you which was all good.”
“I do not,” said Ben-Hur, heartily. “There was wisdom in your
goodness.”
“The words are very pleasant to me,” said the merchant, with feeling,
“very pleasant. My fear of misunderstanding is laid. Let the rivers run
on now as God may give them direction.”
After an interval he continued:
“I am compelled now by truth. The weaver sits weaving, and, as the
shuttle flies, the cloth increases, and the figures grow, and he dreams
dreams meanwhile; so to my hands the fortune grew, and I wondered at
the increase, and asked myself about it many times. I could see a care
not my own went with the enterprises I set going. The simooms which
smote others on the desert jumped over the things which were mine. The