Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
face has been under my eyes all day. I had but to look at it to see you
bore some weight in mind; and to find the weight, what had I to do more
than recall your debates with my father? Son of Hur!”—she lowered her
voice with singular dexterity, and, going nearer, spoke so her breath
was warm upon his cheek—“son of Hur! he thou art going to find is to be
King of the Jews, is he not?”
His heart beat fast and hard.
“A King of the Jews like Herod, only greater,” she continued.
He looked away—into the night, up to the stars; then his eyes met hers,
and lingered there; and her breath was on his lips, so near was she.
“Since morning,” she said, further, “we have been having visions. Now
if I tell you mine, will you serve me as well? What! silent still?”
She pushed his hand away, and turned as if to go; but he caught her,
and said, eagerly, “Stay—stay and speak!”
She went back, and with her hand upon his shoulder, leaned against him;
and he put his arm around her, and drew her close, very close; and in
the caress was the promise she asked.
“Speak, and tell me thy visions, O Egypt, dear Egypt! A prophet—nay,
not the Tishbite, not even the Lawgiver—could have refused an asking of
thine. I am at thy will. Be merciful—merciful, I pray.”
The entreaty passed apparently unheard, for looking up and nestling in
his embrace, she said, slowly, “The vision which followed me was of
magnificent war—war on land and sea—with clashing of arms and rush of
armies, as if Cæsar and Pompey were come again, and Octavius and
Antony. A cloud of dust and ashes arose and covered the world, and Rome
was not any more; all dominion returned to the East; out of the cloud
issued another race of heroes; and there were vaster satrapies and
brighter crowns for giving away than were ever known. And, son of Hur,
while the vision was passing, and after it was gone, I kept asking
myself, ‘What shall he not have who served the King earliest and
best?’”
Again Ben-Hur recoiled. The question was the very question which had
been with him all day. Presently he fancied he had the clew he wanted.
“So,” he said, “I have you now. The satrapies and crowns are the things
to which you would help me. I see, I see! And there never was such
queen as you would be, so shrewd, so beautiful, so royal—never! But,
alas, dear Egypt! by the vision as you show it me the prizes are all of
war, and you are but a woman, though Isis did kiss you on the heart.
And crowns are starry gifts beyond your power of help, unless, indeed,
you have a way to them more certain than that of the sword. If so, O
Egypt, Egypt, show it me, and I will walk in it, if only for your
sake.”
She removed his arm, and said, “Spread your cloak upon the sand—here,
so I can rest against the camel. I will sit, and tell you a story which
came down the Nile to Alexandria, where I had it.”
He did as she said, first planting the spear in the ground near by.
“And what shall I do?” he said, ruefully, when she was seated. “In
Alexandria is it customary for the listeners to sit or stand?”
From the comfortable place against the old domestic she answered,
laughing, “The audiences of story-tellers are wilful, and sometimes
they do as they please.”
Without more ado he stretched himself upon the sand, and put her arm
about his neck.
“I am ready,” he said.
And directly she began:
HOW THE BEAUTIFUL CAME TO THE EARTH.
“You must know, in the first place, that Isis was—and, for that matter,
she may yet be—the most beautiful of deities; and Osiris, her husband,
though wise and powerful, was sometimes stung with jealousy of her, for
only in their loves are the gods like mortals.
“The palace of the Divine Wife was of silver, crowning the tallest
mountain in the moon, and thence she passed often to the sun, in the
heart of which, a source of eternal light, Osiris kept his palace of
gold too shining for men to look at.
“One time—there are no days with the gods—while she was full pleasantly
with him on the roof of the golden palace, she chanced to look, and
afar, just on the line of the universe, saw Indra passing with an army
of simians, all borne upon the backs of flying eagles. He, the Friend
of Living Things—so with much love is Indra called—was returning from
his final war with the hideous Rakshakas—returning victorious; and in
his suite were Rama, the hero, and Sita, his bride, who, next to Isis
herself, was the very most beautiful. And Isis arose, and took off her
girdle of stars, and waved it to Sita—to Sita, mind you—waved it in
glad salute. And instantly, between the marching host and the two on
the golden roof, a something as of night fell, and shut out the view;
but it was not night—only the frown of Osiris.
“It happened the subject of his speech that moment was such as none
else than they could think of; and he arose, and said, majestically,
‘Get thee home. I will do the work myself. To make a perfectly happy
being I do not need thy help. Get thee gone.’
“Now Isis had eyes large as those of the white cow which in the temple
eats sweet grasses from the hands of the faithful even while they say
their prayers; and her eyes were the color of the cows, and quite as
tender. And she too arose and said, smiling as she spoke, so her look
was little more than the glow of the moon in the hazy harvest-month,
‘Farewell, good my lord. You will call me presently, I know; for
without me you cannot make the perfectly happy creature of which you
were thinking, any more’—and she stopped to laugh, knowing well the
truth of the saying—‘any more, my lord, than you yourself can be
perfectly happy without me.’
“‘We will see,’ he said.
“And she went her way, and took her needles and her chair, and on the
roof of the silver palace sat watching and knitting.
“And the will of Osiris, at labor in his mighty breast, was as the
sound of the mills of all the other gods grinding at once, so loud that
the near stars rattled like seeds in a parched pod; and some dropped
out and were lost. And while the sound kept on she waited and knit; nor
lost she ever a stitch the while.
“Soon a spot appeared in the space over towards the sun; and it grew
until it was great as the moon, and then she knew a world was intended;
but when, growing and growing, at last it cast her planet in the shade,
all save the little point lighted by her presence, she knew how very
angry he was; yet she knit away, assured that the end would be as she
had said.
“And so came the earth, at first but a cold gray mass hanging listless
in the hollow void. Later she saw it separate into divisions; here a
plain, there a mountain, yonder a sea, all as yet without a sparkle.
And then, by a river-bank, something moved; and she stopped her
knitting for wonder. The something arose, and lifted its hands to the
sun in sign of knowledge whence it had its being. And this First Man
was beautiful to see. And about him were the creations we call
nature—the grass, the trees, birds, beasts, even the insects and
reptiles.
“And for a time the man went about happy in his life: it was easy to
see how happy he was. And in the lull of the sound of the laboring will
Isis heard a scornful laugh, and presently the words, blown across from
the sun,
“‘Thy help, indeed! Behold a creature perfectly happy!’
“And Isis fell to knitting again, for she was patient as Osiris was
strong; and if he could work, she could wait; and wait she did, knowing
that mere life is not enough to keep anything content.
“And sure enough. Not long until the Divine Wife could see a change in
the man. He grew listless, and kept to one place prone by the river,
and looked up but seldom, and then always with a moody face. Interest
was dying in him. And when she made sure of it, even while she was
saying to herself, ‘The creature is sick of his being,’ there was a
roar of the creative will at work again, and in a twinkling the earth,
theretofore all a thing of coldest gray, flamed with colors; the
mountains swam in purple, the plains bearing grass and trees turned
green, the sea blue, and the clouds varied infinitely.”
And the man sprang up and clapped his hands, for he was cured and happy
again.
“And Isis smiled, and knit away, saying to herself, ‘It was well
thought, and will do a little while; but mere beauty in a world is not
enough for such a being. My lord must try again.’
“With the last word, the thunder of the will at work shook the moon,
and, looking, Isis dropped her knitting and clapped her hands; for
theretofore everything on the earth but the man had been fixed to a
given place; now all living, and much that was not living, received the
gift of Motion. The birds took to wing joyously; beasts great and small
went about, each in its way; the trees shook their verdurous branches,
nodding to the enamoured winds; the rivers ran to the seas, and the
seas tossed in their beds and rolled in crested waves, and with surging
and ebbing painted the shores with glistening foam; and over all the
clouds floated like sailed ships unanchored.
“And the man rose up happy as a child; whereat Osiris was pleased, so
that he shouted, ‘Ha, ha! See how well I am doing without thee!’
“The good wife took up her work, and answered ever so quietly, ‘It was
well thought, my lord—ever so well thought—and will serve awhile.’
“And as before, so again. The sight of things in motion became to the
man as of course. The birds in flight, the rivers running, the seas in
tumult of action, ceased to amuse him, and he pined again even worse.
“And Isis waited, saying to herself, ‘Poor creature! He is more
wretched than ever.’
“And, as if he heard the thought, Osiris stirred, and the noise of his
will shook the universe; the sun in its central seat alone stood firm.
And Isis looked, but saw no change; then while she was smiling, assured
that her lord’s last invention was sped, suddenly the creature arose,
and seemed to listen; and his face brightened, and he clapped his hands
for joy, for Sounds were heard the first time on earth—sounds
dissonant, sounds harmonious. The winds murmured in the trees; the
birds sang, each kind a song of its own, or chattered in speech; the
rivulets running to the rivers became so many harpers with harps of
silver strings all tinkling together; and the rivers running to the
seas surged on in solemn accord, while the seas beat the land to a tune
of thunder. There was music, music everywhere, and all the time; so the
man could not but be happy.
“Then Isis mused, thinking how well, how wondrous well, her lord was
doing; but presently she shook her head: Color, Motion, Sound—and she
repeated them slowly—there was no element else of beauty except Form
and Light, and to them the earth had been born. Now, indeed, Osiris was
done; and if the creature should again fall off into wretchedness, her
help must be asked; and her fingers flew—two, three, five, even ten
stitches she took at once.
“And the man was happy a long time—longer than ever before; it seemed,
indeed, he would never tire again. But Isis knew better; and she waited
and waited, nor minded the many laughs flung at her from the sun; she
waited and waited, and at last saw signs of the end. Sounds became
familiar to him, and in their range, from the chirruping of the cricket
under the roses to the roar of the seas and the bellow of the clouds in
storm, there was not anything unusual. And he pined and sickened, and
sought his place of moping by the river, and at last fell down
motionless.
“Then Isis in pity spoke.
“‘My lord,’ she said, ‘the creature is dying.’
“But Osiris, though seeing it all, held his peace; he could do no more.
“‘Shall I help him?’ she asked.
“Osiris was too proud to speak.
“Then Isis took the last stitch in her knitting, and gathering her work