Ben Hur (73 page)

Elsewhere in this volume the reader may have observed a term of
somewhat indefinite meaning used reverently in a sacred connection;
we repeat it now with a general application. There are few persons
who have not a double nature, the real and the acquired; the latter
a kind of addendum resulting from education, which in time often
perfects it into a part of the being as unquestionable as the first.
Leaving the thought to the thoughtful, we proceed to say that now
the real nature of the Egyptian made itself manifest.

It was not possible for her to have received a stranger with
repulsion more incisive; yet she was apparently as passionless as
a statue, only the small head was a little tilted, the nostrils
a little drawn, and the sensuous lower lip pushed the upper the
least bit out of its natural curvature.

She was the first to speak.

"Your coming is timely, O son of Hur," she said, in a voice sharply
distinct. "I wish to thank you for hospitality; after to-morrow I
may not have the opportunity to do so."

Ben-Hur bowed slightly without taking his eyes from her.

"I have heard of a custom which the dice-players observe with good
result among themselves," she continued. "When the game is over,
they refer to their tablets and cast up their accounts; then they
libate the gods and put a crown upon the happy winner. We have had
a game—it has lasted through many days and nights. Why, now that
it is at an end, shall not we see to which the chaplet belongs?"

Yet very watchful, Ben-Hur answered, lightly, "A man may not balk
a woman bent on having her way."

"Tell me," she continued, inclining her head, and permitting the
sneer to become positive—"tell me, O prince of Jerusalem, where is
he, that son of the carpenter of Nazareth, and son not less of God,
from whom so lately such mighty things were expected?"

He waved his hand impatiently, and replied, "I am not his keeper."

The beautiful head sank forward yet lower.

"Has he broken Rome to pieces?"

Again, but with anger, Ben-Hur raised his hand in deprecation.

"Where has he seated his capital?" she proceeded. "Cannot I go
see his throne and its lions of bronze? And his palace—he raised
the dead; and to such a one, what is it to raise a golden house?
He has but to stamp his foot and say the word, and the house is,
pillared like Karnak, and wanting nothing."

There was by this time slight ground left to believe her playing;
the questions were offensive, and her manner pointed with unfriendliness;
seeing which, he on his side became more wary, and said, with good humor,
"O Egypt, let us wait another day, even another week, for him, the lions,
and the palace."

She went on without noticing the suggestion.

"And how is it I see you in that garb? Such is not the habit of
governors in India or vice-kings elsewhere. I saw the satrap of
Teheran once, and he wore a turban of silk and a cloak of cloth
of gold, and the hilt and scabbard of his sword made me dizzy
with their splendor of precious stones. I thought Osiris had
lent him a glory from the sun. I fear you have not entered upon
your kingdom—the kingdom I was to share with you."

"The daughter of my wise guest is kinder than she imagines herself;
she is teaching me that Isis may kiss a heart without making it
better."

Ben-Hur spoke with cold courtesy, and Iras, after playing with the
pendent solitaire of her necklace of coins, rejoined, "For a Jew,
the son of Hur is clever. I saw your dreaming Caesar make his entry
into Jerusalem. You told us he would that day proclaim himself King
of the Jews from the steps of the Temple. I beheld the procession
descend the mountain bringing him. I heard their singing. They were
beautiful with palms in motion. I looked everywhere among them for
a figure with a promise of royalty—a horseman in purple, a chariot
with a driver in shining brass, a stately warrior behind an orbed
shield, rivalling his spear in stature. I looked for his guard.
It would have been pleasant to have seen a prince of Jerusalem
and a cohort of the legions of Galilee."

She flung her listener a glance of provoking disdain, then laughed
heartily, as if the ludicrousness of the picture in her mind were
too strong for contempt.

"Instead of a Sesostris returning in triumph or a Caesar helmed
and sworded—ha, ha, ha!—I saw a man with a woman's face and
hair, riding an ass's colt, and in tears. The King! the Son of
God! the Redeemer of the world! Ha, ha, ha!"

In spite of himself, Ben-Hur winced.

"I did not quit my place, O prince of Jerusalem," she said, before he
could recover. "I did not laugh. I said to myself, 'Wait. In the
Temple he will glorify himself as becomes a hero about to take
possession of the world.' I saw him enter the Gate of Shushan
and the Court of the Women. I saw him stop and stand before the
Gate Beautiful. There were people with me on the porch and in the
courts, and on the cloisters and on the steps of the three sides of
the Temple there were other people—I will say a million of people,
all waiting breathlessly to hear his proclamation. The pillars were
not more still than we. Ha, ha, ha! I fancied I heard the axles of
the mighty Roman machine begin to crack. Ha, ha, ha! O prince, by the
soul of Solomon, your King of the World drew his gown about him and
walked away, and out by the farthest gate, nor opened his mouth to
say a word; and—the Roman machine is running yet!"

In simple homage to a hope that instant lost—a hope which, as it
began to fall and while it was falling, he unconsciously followed
with a parting look down to its disappearance—Ben-Hur lowered
his eyes.

At no previous time, whether when Balthasar was plying him with
arguments, or when miracles were being done before his face,
had the disputed nature of the Nazarene been so plainly set
before him. The best way, after all, to reach an understanding
of the divine is by study of the human. In the things superior to
men we may always look to find God. So with the picture given by
the Egyptian of the scene when the Nazarene turned from the Gate
Beautiful; its central theme was an act utterly beyond performance
by a man under control of merely human inspirations. A parable to
a parable-loving people, it taught what the Christ had so often
asserted—that his mission was not political. There was not much
more time for thought of all this than that allowed for a common
respiration; yet the idea took fast hold of Ben-Hur, and in the same
instant he followed his hope of vengeance out of sight, and the man
with the woman's face and hair, and in tears, came near to him—near
enough to leave something of his spirit behind.

"Daughter of Balthasar," he said, with dignity, "if this be the
game of which you spoke to me, take the chaplet—I accord it
yours. Only let us make an end of words. That you have a purpose
I am sure. To it, I pray, and I will answer you; then let us go
our several ways, and forget we ever met. Say on; I will listen,
but not to more of that which you have given me."

She regarded him intently a moment, as if determining what to
do—possibly she might have been measuring his will—then she
said, coldly, "You have my leave—go."

"Peace to you," he responded, and walked away.

As he was about passing out of the door, she called to him.

"A word."

He stopped where he was, and looked back.

"Consider all I know about you."

"O most fair Egyptian," he said, returning, "what all do you know
about me?"

She looked at him absently.

"You are more of a Roman, son of Hur, then any of your Hebrew
brethren."

"Am I so unlike my countrymen?" he asked, indifferently.

"The demi-gods are all Roman now," she rejoined.

"And therefore you will tell me what more you know about me?"

"The likeness is not lost upon me. It might induce me to save you."

"Save me!"

The pink-stained fingers toyed daintily with the lustrous pendant
at the throat, and her voice was exceeding low and soft; only a
tapping on the floor with her silken sandal admonished him to
have a care.

"There was a Jew, an escaped galley-slave, who killed a man in
the Palace of Idernee," she began, slowly.

Ben-Hur was startled.

"The same Jew slew a Roman soldier before the Market-place here
in Jerusalem; the same Jew has three trained legions from Galilee
to seize the Roman governor to-night; the same Jew has alliances
perfected for war upon Rome, and Ilderim the Sheik is one of his
partners."

Drawing nearer him, she almost whispered,

"You have lived in Rome. Suppose these things repeated in ears we
know of. Ah! you change color."

He drew back from her with somewhat of the look which may be
imagined upon the face of a man who, thinking to play with a
kitten, has run upon a tiger; and she proceeded:

"You are acquainted in the antechamber, and know the Lord Sejanus.
Suppose it were told him with the proofs in hand—or without the
proofs—that the same Jew is the richest man in the East—nay,
in all the empire. The fishes of the Tiber would have fattening
other than that they dig out of its ooze, would they not? And
while they were feeding—ha! son of Hur!—what splendor there
would be on exhibition in the Circus! Amusing the Roman people
is a fine art; getting the money to keep them amused is another
art even finer; and was there ever an artist the equal of the
Lord Sejanus?"

Ben-Hur was not too much stirred by the evident baseness of the
woman for recollection. Not unfrequently when all the other
faculties are numb and failing memory does its offices with
the greatest fidelity. The scene at the spring on the way to the
Jordan reproduced itself; and he remembered thinking then that
Esther had betrayed him, and thinking so now, he said calmly as
he could,

"To give you pleasure, daughter of Egypt, I acknowledge your
cunning, and that I am at your mercy. It may also please you to
hear me acknowledge I have no hope of your favor. I could kill you,
but you are a woman. The Desert is open to receive me; and though
Rome is a good hunter of men, there she would follow long and far
before she caught me, for in its heart there are wildernesses of
spears as well as wildernesses of sand, and it is not unlovely
to the unconquered Parthian. In the toils as I am—dupe that I
have been—yet there is one thing my due: who told you all you
know about me? In flight or captivity, dying even, there will
be consolation in leaving the traitor the curse of a man who has
lived knowing nothing but wretchedness. Who told you all you know
about me?"

It might have been a touch of art, or might have been sincere—that
as it may—the expression of the Egyptian's face became sympathetic.

"There are in my country, O son of Hur," she said, presently,
"workmen who make pictures by gathering vari-colored shells
here and there on the sea-shore after storms, and cutting
them up, and patching the pieces as inlaying on marble slabs.
Can you not see the hint there is in the practice to such as go
searching for secrets? Enough that from this person I gathered a
handful of little circumstances, and from that other yet another
handful, and that afterwhile I put them together, and was happy as
a woman can be who has at disposal the fortune and life of a man
whom"—she stopped, and beat the floor with her foot, and looked
away as if to hide a sudden emotion from him; with an air of even
painful resolution she presently finished the sentence—"whom she
is at loss what to do with."

"No, it is not enough," Ben-Hur said, unmoved by the play—"it
is not enough. To-morrow you will determine what to do with me.
I may die."

"True," she rejoined quickly and with emphasis, "I had something
from Sheik Ilderim as he lay with my father in a grove out in
the Desert. The night was still, very still, and the walls of the
tent, sooth to say, were poor ward against ears outside listening
to—birds and beetles flying through the air."

She smiled at the conceit, but proceeded:

"Some other things—bits of shell for the picture—I had from—"

"Whom?"

"The son of Hur himself."

"Was there no other who contributed?"

"No, not one."

Hur drew a breath of relief, and said, lightly, "Thanks. It were
not well to keep the Lord Sejanus waiting for you. The Desert is
not so sensitive. Again, O Egypt, peace!"

To this time he had been standing uncovered; now he took the
handkerchief from his arm where it had been hanging, and adjusting
it upon his head, turned to depart. But she arrested him; in her
eagerness, she even reached a hand to him.

"Stay," she said.

He looked back at her, but without taking the hand, though it
was very noticeable for its sparkling of jewels; and he knew
by her manner that the reserved point of the scene which was
so surprising to him was now to come.

"Stay, and do not distrust me, O son of Hur, if I declare I know
why the noble Arrius took you for his heir. And, by Isis! by all
the gods of Egypt! I swear I tremble to think of you, so brave and
generous, under the hand of the remorseless minister. You have left
a portion of your youth in the atria of the great capital; consider,
as I do, what the Desert will be to you in contrast of life. Oh,
I give you pity—pity! And if you but do what I say, I will save
you. That, also, I swear, by our holy Isis!"

Words of entreaty and prayer these, poured forth volubly and with
earnestness and the mighty sanction of beauty.

"Almost—almost I believe you," Ben-Hur said, yet hesitatingly,
and in a voice low and indistinct; for a doubt remained with
him grumbling against the yielding tendency of the man—a good
sturdy doubt, such a one as has saved many a life and fortune.

"The perfect life for a woman is to live in love; the greatest
happiness for a man is the conquest of himself; and that, O prince,
is what I have to ask of you."