Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
soldier but would have laughed at him in encounter, never a woman who
would not have confided in him at sight, never a child that would not,
with quick instinct, have given him its hand and whole artless trust;
nor might any one have said he was not beautiful.
The features, it should be further said, were ruled by a certain
expression which, as the viewer chose, might with equal correctness
have been called the effect of intelligence, love, pity, or sorrow;
though, in better speech, it was a blending of them all—a look easy to
fancy as the mark of a sinless soul doomed to the sight and
understanding of the utter sinfulness of those among whom it was
passing; yet withal no one could have observed the face with a thought
of weakness in the man; so, at least, would not they who know that the
qualities mentioned—love, sorrow, pity—are the results of a
consciousness of strength to bear suffering oftener than strength to
do; such has been the might of martyrs and devotees and the myriads
written down in saintly calendars. And such, indeed, was the air of
this one.
Slowly he drew near—nearer the three.
Now Ben-Hur, mounted and spear in hand, was an object to claim the
glance of a king; yet the eyes of the man approaching were all the time
raised above him—and not to Iras, whose loveliness has been so often
remarked, but to Balthasar, the old and unserviceable.
The hush was profound.
Presently the Nazarite, still pointing with his staff, cried, in a loud
voice,
“Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!”
The many standing still, arrested by the action of the speaker, and
listening for what might follow, were struck with awe by words so
strange and past their understanding; upon Balthasar they were
overpowering. He was there to see once more the Redeemer of men. The
faith which had brought him the singular privileges of the time long
gone abode yet in his heart; and if now it gave him a power of vision
above that of his fellows—a power to see and know him for whom he was
looking—better than calling the power a miracle, let it be thought of
as the faculty of a soul not yet entirely released from the divine
relations to which it had been formerly admitted, or as the fitting
reward of a life in that age so without examples of holiness—a life
itself a miracle. The ideal of his faith was before him, perfect in
face, form, dress, action, age; and he was in its view, and the view
was recognition. Ah, now if something should happen to identify the
stranger beyond all doubt!
And that was what did happen.
Exactly at the fitting moment, as if to assure the trembling Egyptian,
the Nazarite repeated the outcry,
“Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!”
Balthasar fell upon his knees. For him there was no need of
explanation; and as if the Nazarite knew it, he turned to those more
immediately about him staring in wonder, and continued:
“This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred
before me, for he was before me. And I knew him not: but that he should
be manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water. I saw
the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him.
And I knew him not: but he that sent me to baptize with water, the same
said unto me, Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending and
remaining on him, the same is he which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost.
And I saw and bare record, that this”—he paused, his staff still
pointing at the stranger in the white garments, as if to give a more
absolute certainty to both his words and the conclusions intended—“I
bare record, THAT THIS IS THE SON OF GOD!”
“It is he, it is he!” Balthasar cried, with upraised tearful eyes. Next
moment he sank down insensible.
In this time, it should be remembered, Ben-Hur was studying the face of
the stranger, though with an interest entirely different. He was not
insensible to its purity of feature, and its thoughtfulness,
tenderness, humility, and holiness; but just then there was room in his
mind for but one thought—Who is this man? And what? Messiah or king?
Never was apparition more unroyal. Nay, looking at that calm, benignant
countenance, the very idea of war and conquest, and lust of dominion,
smote him like a profanation. He said, as if speaking to his own heart,
Balthasar must be right and Simonides wrong. This man has not come to
rebuild the throne of Solomon; he has neither the nature nor the genius
of Herod; king he may be, but not of another and greater than Rome.
It should be understood now that this was not a conclusion with
Ben-Hur, but an impression merely; and while it was forming, while yet
he gazed at the wonderful countenance, his memory began to throe and
struggle. “Surely,” he said to himself, “I have seen the man; but where
and when?” That the look, so calm, so pitiful, so loving, had somewhere
in a past time beamed upon him as that moment it was beaming upon
Balthasar became an assurance. Faintly at first, at last a clear light,
a burst of sunshine, the scene by the well at Nazareth what time the
Roman guard was dragging him to the galleys returned, and all his being
thrilled. Those hands had helped him when he was perishing. The face
was one of the pictures he had carried in mind ever since. In the
effusion of feeling excited, the explanation of the preacher was lost
by him, all but the last words—words so marvellous that the world yet
rings with them:
“—this is the SON OF GOD!”
Ben-Hur leaped from his horse to render homage to his benefactor; but
Iras cried to him, “Help, son of Hur, help, or my father will die!”
He stopped, looked back, then hurried to her assistance. She gave him a
cup; and leaving the slave to bring the camel to its knees, he ran to
the river for water. The stranger was gone when he came back.
At last Balthasar was restored to consciousness. Stretching forth his
hands, he asked, feebly, “Where is he?”
“Who?” asked Iras.
An intense instant interest shone upon the good man’s face, as if a
last wish had been gratified, and he answered,
“He—the Redeemer—the Son of God, whom I have seen again.”
“Believest thou so?” Iras asked in a low voice of Ben-Hur.
“The time is full of wonders; let us wait,” was all he said.
And next day while the three were listening to him, the Nazarite broke
off in mid-speech, saying reverently, “Behold the Lamb of God!”
Looking to where he pointed, they beheld the stranger again. As Ben-Hur
surveyed the slender figure, and holy beautiful countenance
compassionate to sadness, a new idea broke upon him.
“Balthasar is right—so is Simonides. May not the Redeemer be a king
also?”
And he asked one at his side, “Who is the man walking yonder?”
The other laughed mockingly, and replied,
“He is the son of a carpenter over in Nazareth.”
BOOK EIGHTH
“Who could resist? Who in this universe?
She did so breathe ambrosia, so immerse
My fine existence in a golden clime.
She took me like a child of suckling-time,
And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn’d,
The current of my former life was stemm’d,
And to this arbitrary queen of sense
I bow’d a tranced vassal.”—KEATS, Endymion.
“I am the resurrection and the life.”
CHAPTER I
“Esther—Esther! Speak to the servant below that he may bring me a cup
of water.”
“Would you not rather have wine, father?”
“Let him bring both.”
This was in the summer-house upon the roof of the old palace of the
Hurs in Jerusalem. From the parapet overlooking the court-yard Esther
called to a man in waiting there; at the same moment another
man-servant came up the steps and saluted respectfully.
“A package for the master,” he said, giving her a letter enclosed in
linen cloth, tied and sealed.
For the satisfaction of the reader, we stop to say that it is the
twenty-first day of March, nearly three years after the annunciation of
the Christ at Bethabara.
In the meanwhile, Malluch, acting for Ben-Hur, who could not longer
endure the emptiness and decay of his father’s house, had bought it
from Pontius Pilate; and, in process of repair, gates, courts, lewens,
stairways, terraces, rooms, and roof had been cleansed and thoroughly
restored; not only was there no reminder left of the tragic
circumstances so ruinous to the family, but the refurnishment was in a
style richer than before. At every point, indeed, a visitor was met by
evidences of the higher tastes acquired by the young proprietor during
his years of residence in the villa by Misenum and in the Roman
capital.
Now it should not be inferred from this explanation that Ben-Hur had
publicly assumed ownership of the property. In his opinion, the hour
for that was not yet come. Neither had he yet taken his proper name.
Passing the time in the labors of preparation in Galilee, he waited
patiently the action of the Nazarene, who became daily more and more a
mystery to him, and by prodigies done, often before his eyes, kept him
in a state of anxious doubt both as to his character and mission.
Occasionally he came up to the Holy City, stopping at the paternal
house; always, however, as a stranger and a guest.
These visits of Ben-Hur, it should also be observed, were for more than
mere rest from labor. Balthasar and Iras made their home in the palace;
and the charm of the daughter was still upon him with all its original
freshness, while the father, though feebler in body, held him an
unflagging listener to speeches of astonishing power, urging the
divinity of the wandering miracle-worker of whom they were all so
expectant.
As to Simonides and Esther, they had arrived from Antioch only a few
days before this their reappearance—a wearisome journey to the
merchant, borne, as he had been, in a palanquin swung between two
camels, which, in their careening, did not always keep the same step.
But now that he was come, the good man, it seemed, could not see enough
of his native land. He delighted in the perch upon the roof, and spent
most of his day hours there seated in an arm-chair, the duplicate of
that one kept for him in the cabinet over the store-house by the
Orontes. In the shade of the summer-house he could drink fully of the
inspiring air lying lightly upon the familiar hills; he could better
watch the sun rise, run its course, and set as it used to in the
far-gone, not a habit lost; and with Esther by him it was so much
easier up there close to the sky, to bring back the other Esther, his
love in youth, his wife, dearer growing with the passage of years. And
yet he was not unmindful of business. Every day a messenger brought him
a despatch from Sanballat, in charge of the big commerce behind; and
every day a despatch left him for Sanballat with directions of such
minuteness of detail as to exclude all judgment save his own, and all
chances except those the Almighty has refused to submit to the most
mindful of men.
As Esther started in return to the summer-house, the sunlight fell
softly upon the dustless roof, showing her a woman now—small, graceful
in form, of regular features, rosy with youth and health, bright with
intelligence, beautiful with the outshining of a devoted nature—a woman
to be loved because loving was a habit of life irrepressible with her.
She looked at the package as she turned, paused, looked at it a second
time more closely than at first; and the blood rose reddening her
cheeks—the seal was Ben-Hur’s. With quickened steps she hastened on.
Simonides held the package a moment while he also inspected the seal.
Breaking it open, he gave her the roll it contained.
“Read,” he said.
His eyes were upon her as he spoke, and instantly a troubled expression
fell upon his own face.
“You know who it is from, I see, Esther.”
“Yes—from—our master.”