Ben Hur (8 page)

Joseph reflected, then replied, "My wife and a friend with his
family, from Beth-Dagon, a little town over by Joppa; in all,
six of us."

"Very well. You shall not lie out on the ridge. Bring your people,
and hasten; for, when the sun goes down behind the mountain, you know
the night comes quickly, and it is nearly there now."

"I give you the blessing of the houseless traveller; that of the
sojourner will follow."

So saying, the Nazarene went back joyfully to Mary and the
Beth-Dagonite. In a little while the latter brought up his
family, the women mounted on donkeys. The wife was matronly,
the daughters were images of what she must have been in youth;
and as they drew nigh the door, the keeper knew them to be of
the humble class.

"This is she of whom I spoke," said the Nazarene; "and these are
our friends."

Mary's veil was raised.

"Blue eyes and hair of gold," muttered the steward to himself,
seeing but her. "So looked the young king when he went to sing
before Saul."

Then he took the leading-strap from Joseph, and said to Mary,
"Peace to you, O daughter of David!" Then to the others, "Peace to
you all!" Then to Joseph, "Rabbi, follow me."

The party were conducted into a wide passage paved with stone,
from which they entered the court of the khan. To a stranger the
scene would have been curious; but they noticed the lewens that
yawned darkly upon them from all sides, and the court itself,
only to remark how crowded they were. By a lane reserved in the
stowage of the cargoes, and thence by a passage similar to the
one at the entrance, they emerged into the enclosure adjoining
the house, and came upon camels, horses, and donkeys, tethered
and dozing in close groups; among them were the keepers, men of
many lands; and they, too, slept or kept silent watch. They went
down the slope of the crowded yard slowly, for the dull carriers
of the women had wills of their own. At length they turned into
a path running towards the gray limestone bluff overlooking the
khan on the west.

"We are going to the cave," said Joseph, laconically.

The guide lingered till Mary came to his side.

"The cave to which we are going," he said to her, "must have been
a resort of your ancestor David. From the field below us, and from
the well down in the valley, he used to drive his flocks to it for
safety; and afterwards, when he was king, he came back to the old
house here for rest and health, bringing great trains of animals.
The mangers yet remain as they were in his day. Better a bed on
the floor where he has slept than one in the court-yard or out by
the roadside. Ah, here is the house before the cave!"

This speech must not be taken as an apology for the lodging offered.
There was no need of apology. The place was the best then at disposal.
The guests were simple folks, by habits of life easily satisfied.
To the Jew of that period, moreover, abode in caverns was a familiar
idea, made so by every-day occurrences, and by what he heard of
Sabbaths in the synagogues. How much of Jewish history, how many
of the many exciting incidents in that history, had transpired in
caves! Yet further, these people were Jews of Bethlehem, with whom
the idea was especially commonplace; for their locality abounded
with caves great and small, some of which had been dwelling-places
from the time of the Emim and Horites. No more was there offence
to them in the fact that the cavern to which they were being taken
had been, or was, a stable. They were the descendants of a race of
herdsmen, whose flocks habitually shared both their habitations and
wanderings. In keeping with a custom derived from Abraham, the tent
of the Bedawin yet shelters his horses and children alike. So they
obeyed the keeper cheerfully, and gazed at the house, feeling only
a natural curiosity. Everything associated with the history of David
was interesting to them.

The building was low and narrow, projecting but a little from
the rock to which it was joined at the rear, and wholly without
a window. In its blank front there was a door, swung on enormous
hinges, and thickly daubed with ochreous clay. While the wooden
bolt of the lock was being pushed back, the women were assisted
from their pillions. Upon the opening of the door, the keeper
called out,

"Come in!"

The guests entered, and stared about them. It became apparent
immediately that the house was but a mask or covering for the
mouth of a natural cave or grotto, probably forty feet long,
nine or ten high, and twelve or fifteen in width. The light
streamed through the doorway, over an uneven floor, falling
upon piles of grain and fodder, and earthenware and household
property, occupying the centre of the chamber. Along the sides
were mangers, low enough for sheep, and built of stones laid in
cement. There were no stalls or partitions of any kind. Dust and
chaff yellowed the floor, filled all the crevices and hollows,
and thickened the spider-webs, which dropped from the ceiling
like bits of dirty linen; otherwise the place was cleanly, and,
to appearance, as comfortable as any of the arched lewens of the
khan proper. In fact, a cave was the model and first suggestion
of the lewen.

"Come in!" said the guide. "These piles upon the floor are
for travellers like yourselves. Take what of them you need."

Then he spoke to Mary.

"Can you rest here?"

"The place is sanctified," she answered.

"I leave you then. Peace be with you all!"

When he was gone, they busied themselves making the cave habitable.

At a certain hour in the evening the shouting and stir of the
people in and about the khan ceased; at the same time, every
Israelite, if not already upon his feet, arose, solemnized his
face, looked towards Jerusalem, crossed his hands upon his breast,
and prayed; for it was the sacred ninth hour, when sacrifices were
offered in the temple on Moriah, and God was supposed to be there.
When the hands of the worshippers fell down, the commotion broke
forth again; everybody hastened to bread, or to make his pallet.
A little later, the lights were put out, and there was silence,
and then sleep.

About midnight some one on the roof cried out, "What light is that
in the sky? Awake, brethren, awake and see!"

The people, half asleep, sat up and looked; then they became
wide-awake, though wonder-struck. And the stir spread to the
court below, and into the lewens; soon the entire tenantry of
the house and court and enclosure were out gazing at the sky.

And this was what they saw. A ray of light, beginning at a height
immeasurably beyond the nearest stars, and dropping obliquely
to the earth; at its top, a diminishing point; at its base,
many furlongs in width; its sides blending softly with the
darkness of the night, its core a roseate electrical splendor.
The apparition seemed to rest on the nearest mountain southeast
of the town, making a pale corona along the line of the summit.
The khan was touched luminously, so that those upon the roof saw
each other's faces, all filled with wonder.

Steadily, through minutes, the ray lingered, and then the wonder
changed to awe and fear; the timid trembled; the boldest spoke
in whispers.

"Saw you ever the like?" asked one.

"It seems just over the mountain there. I cannot tell what it is,
nor did I ever see anything like it," was the answer.

"Can it be that a star has burst and fallen?" asked another,
his tongue faltering.

"When a star falls, its light goes out."

"I have it!" cried one, confidently. "The shepherds have seen a
lion, and made fires to keep him from the flocks."

The men next the speaker drew a breath of relief, and said, "Yes,
that is it! The flocks were grazing in the valley over there to-day."

A bystander dispelled the comfort.

"No, no! Though all the wood in all the valleys of Judah was brought
together in one pile and fired, the blaze would not throw a light so
strong and high."

After that there was silence on the house-top, broken but once
again while the mystery continued.

"Brethren!" exclaimed a Jew of venerable mien, "what we see is the
ladder our father Jacob saw in his dream. Blessed be the Lord God
of our fathers!"

A mile and a half, it may be two miles, southeast of Bethlehem,
there is a plain separated from the town by an intervening swell
of the mountain. Besides being well sheltered from the north winds,
the vale was covered with a growth of sycamore, dwarf-oak, and pine
trees, while in the glens and ravines adjoining there were thickets
of olive and mulberry; all at this season of the year invaluable
for the support of sheep, goats, and cattle, of which the wandering
flocks consisted.

At the side farthest from the town, close under a bluff, there was
an extensive marah, or sheepcot, ages old. In some long-forgotten
foray, the building had been unroofed and almost demolished.
The enclosure attached to it remained intact, however, and that
was of more importance to the shepherds who drove their charges
thither than the house itself. The stone wall around the lot was
high as a man's head, yet not so high but that sometimes a panther
or a lion, hungering from the wilderness, leaped boldly in. On the
inner side of the wall, and as an additional security against
the constant danger, a hedge of the rhamnus had been planted,
an invention so successful that now a sparrow could hardly
penetrate the overtopping branches, armed as they were with
great clusters of thorns hard as spikes.

The day of the occurrences which occupy the preceding chapters,
a number of shepherds, seeking fresh walks for their flocks, led
them up to this plain; and from early morning the groves had been
made ring with calls, and the blows of axes, the bleating of sheep
and goats, the tinkling of bells, the lowing of cattle, and the
barking of dogs. When the sun went down, they led the way to the
marah, and by nightfall had everything safe in the field; then they
kindled a fire down by the gate, partook of their humble supper,
and sat down to rest and talk, leaving one on watch.

There were six of these men, omitting the watchman; and afterwhile
they assembled in a group near the fire, some sitting, some lying
prone. As they went bareheaded habitually, their hair stood out in
thick, coarse, sunburnt shocks; their beard covered their throats,
and fell in mats down the breast; mantles of the skin of kids
and lambs, with the fleece on, wrapped them from neck to knee,
leaving the arms exposed; broad belts girthed the rude garments
to their waists; their sandals were of the coarsest quality;
from their right shoulders hung scrips containing food and
selected stones for slings, with which they were armed; on the
ground near each one lay his crook, a symbol of his calling and
a weapon of offence.

Such were the shepherds of Judea! In appearance, rough and savage
as the gaunt dogs sitting with them around the blaze; in fact,
simple-minded, tender-hearted; effects due, in part, to the
primitive life they led, but chiefly to their constant care
of things lovable and helpless.

They rested and talked, and their talk was all about their flocks,
a dull theme to the world, yet a theme which was all the world to
them. If in narrative they dwelt long upon affairs of trifling
moment; if one of them omitted nothing of detail in recounting
the loss of a lamb, the relation between him and the unfortunate
should be remembered: at birth it became his charge, his to keep
all its days, to help over the floods, to carry down the hollows,
to name and train; it was to be his companion, his object of thought
and interest, the subject of his will; it was to enliven and share
his wanderings; in its defense he might be called on to face the
lion or robber—to die.

The great events, such as blotted out nations and changed the
mastery of the world, were trifles to them, if perchance they came
to their knowledge. Of what Herod was doing in this city or that,
building palaces and gymnasia, and indulging forbidden practises,
they occasionally heard. As was her habit in those days, Rome did
not wait for people slow to inquire about her; she came to them.
Over the hills along which he was leading his lagging herd, or in
the fastnesses in which he was hiding them, not unfrequently the
shepherd was startled by the blare of trumpets, and, peering out,
beheld a cohort, sometimes a legion, in march; and when the
glittering crests were gone, and the excitement incident to
the intrusion over, he bent himself to evolve the meaning of
the eagles and gilded globes of the soldiery, and the charm of
a life so the opposite of his own.

Yet these men, rude and simple as they were, had a knowledge and
a wisdom of their own. On Sabbaths they were accustomed to purify
themselves, and go up into the synagogues, and sit on the benches
farthest from the ark. When the chazzan bore the Torah round,
none kissed it with greater zest; when the sheliach read the text,
none listened to the interpreter with more absolute faith; and none
took away with them more of the elder's sermon, or gave it more
thought afterwards. In a verse of the Shema they found all the
learning and all the law of their simple lives—that their Lord
was One God, and that they must love him with all their souls.
And they loved him, and such was their wisdom, surpassing that
of kings.

While they talked, and before the first watch was over, one by
one the shepherds went to sleep, each lying where he had sat.

The night, like most nights of the winter season in the hill
country, was clear, crisp, and sparkling with stars. There was
no wind. The atmosphere seemed never so pure, and the stillness
was more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven
was stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.