Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
the Nazarene in his last moment; but he had not looked to see from whom
it had proceeded; and ever after he believed the spirit of the Egyptian
accompanied that of his Master over the boundary into the kingdom of
Paradise. The idea rested not only upon the cry heard, but upon the
exceeding fitness of the distinction. If faith were worthy reward in
the person of Gaspar, and love in that of Melchior, surely he should
have some special meed who through a long life and so excellently
illustrated the three virtues in combination—Faith, Love, and Good
Works.
The servants of Balthasar had deserted their master; but when all was
over, the two Galileans bore the old man in his litter back to the
city.
It was a sorrowful procession that entered the south gate of the palace
of the Hurs about the set of sun that memorable day. About the same
hour the body of the Christ was taken down from the cross.
The remains of Balthasar were carried to the guest-chamber. All the
servants hastened weeping to see him; for he had the love of every
living thing with which he had in anywise to do; but when they beheld
his face, and the smile upon it, they dried their tears, saying, “It is
well. He is happier this evening than when he went out in the morning.”
Ben-Hur would not trust a servant to inform Iras what had befallen her
father. He went himself to see her and bring her to the body. He
imagined her grief; she would now be alone in the world; it was a time
to forgive and pity her. He remembered he had not asked why she was not
of the party in the morning, or where she was; he remembered he had not
thought of her; and, from shame, he was ready to make any amends, the
more so as he was about to plunge her into such acute grief.
He shook the curtains of her door; and though he heard the ringing of
the little bells echoing within, he had no response; he called her
name, and again he called—still no answer. He drew the curtain aside
and went into the room; she was not there. He ascended hastily to the
roof in search of her; nor was she there. He questioned the servants;
none of them had seen her during the day. After a long quest everywhere
through the house, Ben-Hur returned to the guest-chamber, and took the
place by the dead which should have been hers; and he bethought him
there how merciful the Christ had been to his aged servant. At the gate
of the kingdom of Paradise happily the afflictions of this life, even
its desertions, are left behind and forgotten by those who go in and
rest.
When the gloom of the burial was nigh gone, on the ninth day after the
healing, the law being fulfilled, Ben-Hur brought his mother and Tirzah
home; and from that day, in that house the most sacred names possible
of utterance by men were always coupled worshipfully together,
GOD THE FATHER AND CHRIST THE SON.
————
About five years after the crucifixion, Esther, the wife of Ben-Hur,
sat in her room in the beautiful villa by Misenum. It was noon, with a
warm Italian sun making summer for the roses and vines outside.
Everything in the apartment was Roman, except that Esther wore the
garments of a Jewish matron. Tirzah and two children at play upon a
lion skin on the floor were her companions; and one had only to observe
how carefully she watched them to know that the little ones were hers.
Time had treated her generously. She was more than ever beautiful, and
in becoming mistress of the villa, she had realized one of her
cherished dreams.
In the midst of this simple, home-like scene, a servant appeared in the
doorway, and spoke to her.
“A woman in the atrium to speak with the mistress.”
“Let her come. I will receive her here.”
Presently the stranger entered. At sight of her the Jewess arose, and
was about to speak; then she hesitated, changed color, and finally drew
back, saying, “I have known you, good woman. You are—”
“I was Iras, the daughter of Balthasar.”
Esther conquered her surprise, and bade the servant bring the Egyptian
a seat.
“No,” said Iras, coldly. “I will retire directly.”
The two gazed at each other. We know what Esther presented—a beautiful
woman, a happy mother, a contented wife. On the other side, it was very
plain that fortune had not dealt so gently with her former rival. The
tall figure remained with some of its grace; but an evil life had
tainted the whole person. The face was coarse; the large eyes were red
and pursed beneath the lower lids; there was no color in her cheeks.
The lips were cynical and hard, and general neglect was leading rapidly
to premature old age. Her attire was ill chosen and draggled. The mud
of the road clung to her sandals. Iras broke the painful silence.
“These are thy children?”
Esther looked at them, and smiled.
“Yes. Will you not speak to them?”
“I would scare them,” Iras replied. Then she drew closer to Esther, and
seeing her shrink, said, “Be not afraid. Give thy husband a message for
me. Tell him his enemy is dead, and that for the much misery he brought
me I slew him.”
“His enemy!”
“The Messala. Further, tell thy husband that for the harm I sought to
do him I have been punished until even he would pity me.”
Tears arose in Esther’s eyes, and she was about to speak.
“Nay,” said Iras, “I do not want pity or tears. Tell him, finally, I
have found that to be a Roman is to be a brute. Farewell.”
She moved to go. Esther followed her.
“Stay, and see my husband. He has no feeling against you. He sought for
you everywhere. He will be your friend. I will be your friend. We are
Christians.”
The other was firm.
“No; I am what I am of choice. It will be over shortly.”
“But”—Esther hesitated—“have we nothing you would wish; nothing to—to—”
The countenance of the Egyptian softened; something like a smile played
about her lips. She looked at the children upon the floor.
“There is something,” she said.
Esther followed her eyes, and with quick perception answered, “It is
yours.”
Iras went to them, and knelt on the lion’s skin, and kissed them both.
Rising slowly, she looked at them; then passed to the door and out of
it without a parting word. She walked rapidly, and was gone before
Esther could decide what to do.
Ben-Hur, when he was told of the visit, knew certainly what he had long
surmised—that on the day of the crucifixion Iras had deserted her
father for Messala. Nevertheless, he set out immediately and hunted for
her vainly; they never saw her more, or heard of her. The blue bay,
with all its laughing under the sun, has yet its dark secrets. Had it a
tongue, it might tell us of the Egyptian.
Simonides lived to be a very old man. In the tenth year of Nero’s
reign, he gave up the business so long centred in the warehouse at
Antioch. To the last he kept a clear head and a good heart, and was
successful.
One evening, in the year named, he sat in his arm-chair on the terrace
of the warehouse. Ben-Hur and Esther, and their three children, were
with him. The last of the ships swung at mooring in the current of the
river; all the rest had been sold. In the long interval between this
and the day of the crucifixion but one sorrow had befallen them: that
was when the mother of Ben-Hur died; and then and now their grief would
have been greater but for their Christian faith.
The ship spoken of had arrived only the day before, bringing
intelligence of the persecution of Christians begun by Nero in Rome,
and the party on the terrace were talking of the news when Malluch, who
was still in their service, approached and delivered a package to
Ben-Hur.
“Who brings this?” the latter asked, after reading.
“An Arab.”
“Where is he?”
“He left immediately.”
“Listen,” said Ben-Hur to Simonides.
He read then the following letter:
“I, Ilderim, the son of Ilderim the Generous, and sheik of the tribe of
Ilderim, to Judah, son of Hur.
“Know, O friend of my father’s, how my father loved you. Read what is
herewith sent, and you will know. His will is my will; therefore what
he gave is thine.
“All the Parthians took from him in the great battle in which they slew
him I have retaken—this writing, with other things, and vengeance, and
all the brood of that Mira who in his time was mother of so many stars.
“Peace be to you and all yours.
“This voice out of the desert is the voice of
“Ilderim, Shiek.”
Ben-Hur next unrolled a scrap of papyrus yellow as a withered mulberry
leaf. It required the daintiest handling. Proceeding, he read:
“Ilderim, surnamed the Generous, sheik of the tribe of Ilderim, to the
son who succeeds me.
“All I have, O son, shall be thine in the day of thy succession, except
that property by Antioch known as the Orchard of Palms; and it shall be
to the son of Hur who brought us such glory in the Circus—to him and
his forever.
“Dishonor not thy father. ILDERIM THE GENEROUS, Sheik.”
“What say you?” asked Ben-Hur, of Simonides.
Esther took the papers pleased, and read them to herself. Simonides
remained silent. His eyes were upon the ship; but he was thinking. At
length he spoke.
“Son of Hur,” he said, gravely, “the Lord has been good to you in these
later years. You have much to be thankful for. Is it not time to decide
finally the meaning of the gift of the great fortune now all in your
hand, and growing?”
“I decided that long ago. The fortune was meant for the service of the
Giver; not a part, Simonides, but all of it. The question with me has
been, How can I make it most useful in his cause? And of that tell me,
I pray you.”
Simonides answered,
“The great sums you have given to the Church here in Antioch, I am
witness to. Now, instantly almost with this gift of the generous
sheik’s, comes the news of the persecution of the brethren in Rome. It
is the opening of a new field. The light must not go out in the
capital.”
“Tell me how I can keep it alive.”
“I will tell you. The Romans, even this Nero, hold two things sacred—I
know of no others they so hold—they are the ashes of the dead and all
places of burial. If you cannot build temples for the worship of the
Lord above ground, then build them below the ground; and to keep them
from profanation, carry to them the bodies of all who die in the
faith.”
Ben-Hur arose excitedly.
“It is a great idea,” he said. “I will not wait to begin it. Time
forbids waiting. The ship that brought the news of the suffering of our
brethren shall take me to Rome. I will sail to-morrow.”
He turned to Malluch.
“Get the ship ready, Malluch, and be thou ready to go with me.”
“It is well,” said Simonides.
“And thou, Esther, what sayest thou?” asked Ben-Hur.
Esther came to his side, and put her hand on his arm, and answered,
“So wilt thou best serve the Christ. O my husband, let me not hinder,
but go with thee and help.”
If any of my readers, visiting Rome, will make the short journey to the
Catacomb of San Calixto, which is more ancient than that of San
Sebastiano, he will see what became of the fortune of Ben-Hur, and give
him thanks. Out of that vast tomb Christianity issued to supersede the
Cæsars.