CHAPTER III
"Iras, the
daughter of Balthasar, sends me with salutation and a message," said a
servant to Ben-Hur, who was taking his ease in the tent.
"Give me the
message."
"Would it
please you to accompany her upon the lake?"
"I will
carry the answer myself. Tell her so."
His shoes were
brought him, and in a few minutes Ben-Hur sallied out to find the fair
Egyptian. The shadow of the mountains was creeping over the Orchard of Palms in
advance of night. Afar through the trees came the tinkling of sheep bells, the
lowing of cattle, and the voices of the herdsmen bringing their charges home.
Life at the Orchard, it should be remembered, was in all respects as pastoral
as life on the scantier meadows of the desert.
Sheik Ilderim had
witnessed the exercises of the afternoon, being a repetition of those of the
morning; after which he had gone to the city in answer to the invitation of
Simonides; he might return in the night; but, considering the immensity of the
field to be talked over with his friend, it was hardly possible. Ben-Hur, thus
left alone, had seen his horses cared for; cooled and purified himself in the
lake; exchanged the field garb for his customary vestments, all white, as
became a Sadducean of the pure blood; supped early; and, thanks to the strength
of youth, was well recovered from the violent exertion he had undergone.
It is neither
wise nor honest to detract from beauty as a quality. There cannot be a refined
soul insensible to its influence. The story of Pygmalion and his statue is as
natural as it is poetical. Beauty is of itself a power; and it was now drawing
Ben-Hur.
The Egyptian was
to him a wonderfully beautiful woman - beautiful of face, beautiful of form. In
his thought she always appeared to him as he saw her at the fountain; and he
felt the influence of her voice, sweeter because in tearful expression of
gratitude to him, and of her eyes - the large, soft, black, almond-shaped eyes
declarative of her race - eyes which looked more than lies in the supremest
wealth of words to utter; and recurrences of the thought of her were returns
just so frequent of a figure tall, slender, graceful, refined, wrapped in rich
and floating drapery, wanting nothing but a fitting mind to make her, like the
Shulamite, and in the same sense, terrible as an army with banners. In other
words, as she returned to his fancy, the whole passionate Song of Solomon came
with her, inspired by her presence. With this sentiment and that feeling, he
was going to see if she actually justified them. It was not love that was
taking him, but admiration and curiosity, which might be the heralds of love.
The landing was a
simple affair, consisting of a short stairway, and a platform garnished by some
lamp-posts; yet at the top of the steps he paused, arrested by what he beheld.
There was a
shallop resting upon the clear water lightly as an egg-shell. An Ethiop - the
camel-driver at the Castalian fount - occupied the rower's place, his blackness
intensified by a livery of shining white. All the boat aft was cushioned and
carpeted with stuffs brilliant with Tyrian red. On the rudder seat sat the
Egyptian herself, sunk in Indian shawls and a very vapor of most delicate veils
and scarfs. Her arms were bare to the shoulders; and, not merely faultless in
shape, they had the effect of compelling attention to them - their pose, their
action, their expression; the hands, the fingers even, seemed endowed with
graces and meaning; each was an object of beauty. The shoulders and neck were
protected from the evening air by an ample scarf, which yet did not hide them.
In the glance he
gave her, Ben-Hur paid no attention to these details. There was simply an
impression made upon him; and, like strong light, it was a sensation, not a
thing of sight or enumeration. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet; thy
temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks. Rise up, my love, my
fair one, and come away; for, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and
gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is
come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land - such was the
impression she made upon him translated into words.
"Come,"
she said, observing him stop, "come, or I shall think you a poor
sailor."
The red of his
cheek deepened. Did she know anything of his life upon the sea? He descended to
the platform at once.
"I was
afraid," he said, as he took the vacant seat before her.
"Of
what?"
"Of sinking
the boat," he replied, smiling.
"Wait until
we are in deeper water," she said, giving a signal to the black, who
dipped the oars, and they were off.
If love and
Ben-Hur were enemies, the latter was never more at mercy. The Egyptian sat
where he could not but see her; she, whom he had already engrossed in memory as
his ideal of the Shulamite. With her eyes giving light to his, the stars might
come out, and he not see them; and so they did. The night might fall with
unrelieved darkness everywhere else; her look would make illumination for him.
And then, as everybody knows, given youth and such companionship, there is no
situation in which the fancy takes such complete control as upon tranquil
waters under a calm night sky, warm with summer. It is so easy at such time to
glide imperceptibly out of the commonplace into the ideal.
"Give me the
rudder," he said.
"No,"
she replied, "that were to reverse the relation. Did I not ask you to ride
with me? I am indebted to you, and would begin payment. You may talk and I will
listen, or I will talk and you will listen: that choice is yours; but it shall
be mine to choose where we go, and the way thither."
"And where
may that be?"
"You are
alarmed again."
"O fair
Egyptian, I but asked you the first question of every captive."
"Call me
Egypt."
"I would
rather call you Iras."
"You may
think of me by that name, but call me Egypt."
"Egypt is a
country, and means many people."
"Yes, yes!
And such a country!"
"I see; it
is to Egypt we are going."
"Would we
were! I would be so glad."
She sighed as she
spoke.
"You have no
care for me, then," he said.
"Ah, by that
I know you were never there."
"I never
was."
"Oh, it is
the land where there are no unhappy people, the desired of all the rest of the
earth, the mother of all the gods, and therefore supremely blest. There, O son
of Arrius, there the happy find increase of happiness, and the wretched, going,
drink once of the sweet water of the sacred river, and laugh and sing,
rejoicing like children."
"Are not the
very poor with you there as elsewhere?"
"The very
poor in Egypt are the very simple in wants and ways," she replied.
"They have no wish beyond enough, and how little that is, a Greek or a
Roman cannot know."
"But I am
neither Greek nor Roman."
She laughed.
"I have a
garden of roses, and in the midst of it is a tree, and its bloom is the richest
of all. Whence came it, think you?"
"From
Persia, the home of the rose."
"No."
"From India,
then."
"No."
"Ah! one of
the isles of Greece."
"I will tell
you," she said: "a traveller found it perishing by the roadside on
the plain of Rephaim."
"Oh, in
Judea!"
"I put it in
the earth left bare by the receding Nile, and the soft south wind blew over the
desert and nursed it, and the sun kissed it in pity; after which it could not
else than grow and flourish. I stand in its shade now, and it thanks me with
much perfume. As with the roses, so with the men of Israel. Where shall they
reach perfection but in Egypt?"
"Moses was
but one of millions."
"Nay, there
was a reader of dreams. Will you forget him?"
"The
friendly Pharaohs are dead."
"Ah, yes!
The river by which they dwelt sings to them in their tombs; yet the same sun
tempers the same air to the same people."
"Alexandria
is but a Roman town."
"She has but
exchanged sceptres. Caesar took from her that of the sword, and in its place
left that of learning. Go with me to the Brucheium, and I will show you the
college of nations; to the Serapeion, and see the perfection of architecture;
to the Library, and read the immortals; to the theatre, and hear the heroics of
the Greeks and Hindoos; to the quay, and count the triumphs of commerce;
descend with me into the streets, O son of Arrius, and, when the philosophers
have dispersed, and taken with them the masters of all the arts, and all the
gods have home their votaries, and nothing remains of the day but its
pleasures, you shall hear the stories that have amused men from the beginning,
and the songs which will never, never die."
As he listened,
Ben-Hur was carried back to the night when, in the summer-house in Jerusalem,
his mother, in much the same poetry of patriotism, declaimed the departed
glories of Israel.
"I see now
why you wish to be called Egypt. Will you sing me a song if I call you by that
name? I heard you last night."
"That was a
hymn of the Nile," she answered, "a lament which I sing when I would
fancy I smell the breath of the desert, and hear the surge of the dear old
river; let me rather give you a piece of the Indian mind. When we get to
Alexandria, I will take you to the corner of the street where you can hear it from
the daughter of the Ganga, who taught it to me. Kapila, you should know, was
one of the most revered of the Hindoo sages."
Then, as if it
were a natural mode of expression, she began the song.
KAPILA.
I.
"Kapila,
Kapila, so young and true,
I yearn for a glory like thine,
And hail thee from
battle to ask anew,
Can ever thy Valor be mine?
"Kapila sat
on his charger dun,
A hero never so grave:
'Who loveth all
things hath fear of none,
'Tis love that maketh me brave.
A woman gave me her
soul one day,
The soul of my
soul to be alway;
Thence came my Valor to me,
Go try it - try it - and see.'
II.
"Kapila,
Kapila, so old and gray,
The queen is calling for me;
But ere I go
hence, I wish thou wouldst say,
How Wisdom first came to thee.
"Kapila stood
in his temple door,
A priest in eremite guise:
'It did not come
as men get their lore,
'Tis faith that maketh me wise.
A woman gave me
her heart one day,
The heart of my
heart to be alway;
Thence came my Wisdom to me,
Go try it - try it - and see.'"
Ben-Hur had not time to express his thanks for the
song before the keel of the boat grated upon the underlying sand, and, next
moment, the bow ran upon the shore.
"A quick
voyage, O Egypt!" he cried.
"And a
briefer stay!" she replied, as, with a strong push, the black sent them
shooting into the open water again.
"You will
give me the rudder now."
"Oh
no," said she, laughing. "To you, the chariot; to me, the boat. We
are merely at the lake's end, and the lesson is that I must not sing any more.
Having been to Egypt, let us now to the Grove of Daphne."
"Without a
song on the way?" he said, in deprecation.
"Tell me
something of the Roman from whom you saved us to-day," she asked.
The request
struck Ben-Hur unpleasantly.
"I wish this
were the Nile," he said, evasively. "The kings and queens, having
slept so long, might come down from their tombs, and ride with us."
"They were
of the colossi, and would sink our boat. The pygmies would be preferable. But
tell me of the Roman. He is very wicked, is he not?"
"I cannot
say."
"Is he of
noble family, and rich?"
"I cannot
speak of his riches."
"How
beautiful his horses were! and the bed of his chariot was gold, and the wheels
ivory. And his audacity! The bystanders laughed as he rode away; they, who were
so nearly under his wheels!"
She laughed at
the recollection.
"They were
rabble," said Ben-Hur, bitterly.
"He must be
one of the monsters who are said to be growing up in Rome - Apollos ravenous as
Cerberus. Does he reside in Antioch?"
"He is of
the East somewhere."
"Egypt would
suit him better than Syria."
"Hardly,"
Ben-Hur replied. "Cleopatra is dead."
That instant the
lamps burning before the door of the tent came into view.
"The
dowar!" she cried.
"Ah, then,
we have not been to Egypt. I have not seen Karnak or Philae or Abydos. This is
not the Nile. I have but heard a song of India, and been boating in a
dream."
"Philae -
Karnak. Mourn rather that you have not seen the Rameses at Aboo Simbel, looking
at which makes it so easy to think of God, the maker of the heavens and earth.
Or why should you mourn at all? Let us go on to the river; and if I cannot
sing" - she laughed -”because I have said I would not, yet I can tell you
stories of Egypt."
"Go on! Ay,
till morning comes, and the evening, and the next morning!" he said,
vehemently.
"Of what
shall my stories be? Of the mathematicians?"
"Oh
no."
"Of the
philosophers?"
"No,
no."
"Of the
magicians and genii?"
"If you
will."
"Of
war?"
"Yes."
"Of
love?"
"Yes."
"I will tell
you a cure for love. It is the story of a queen. Listen reverently. The papyrus
from which it was taken by the priests of Philae was wrested from the hand of
the heroine herself. It is correct in form, and must be true:
NE-NE-HOFRA.
I.
"There is no
parallelism in human lives.
"No life runs
a straight line.
"The most
perfect life develops as a circle, and terminates in its beginning, making it
impossible to say, This is the commencement, that the end.
"Perfect
lives are the treasures of God; of great days he wears them on the ring-finger
of his heart hand."
II.
"Ne-ne-hofra
dwelt in a house close by Essouan, yet closer to the first cataract - so close,
indeed, that the sound of the eternal battle waged there between river and
rocks was of the place a part.
"She grew in
beauty day by day, so that it was said of her, as of the poppies in her
father's garden, What will she not be in the time of blooming?
"Each year of
her life was the beginning of a new song more delightful than any of those
which went before.
"Child was
she of a marriage between the North, bounded by the sea, and the South, bounded
by the desert beyond the Luna mountains; and one gave her its passion, the
other its genius; so when they beheld her, both laughed, saying, not meanly,
'She is mine,' but generously, 'Ha, ha! she is ours.'
"All
excellences in nature contributed to her perfection and rejoiced in her
presence. Did she come or go, the birds ruffled their wings in greeting; the
unruly winds sank to cooling zephyrs; the white lotus rose from the water's
depth to look at her; the solemn river loitered on its way; the palm-trees,
nodding, shook all their plumes; and they seemed to say, this one, I gave her
of my grace; that, I gave her of my brightness; the other, I gave her of my
purity: and so each as it had a virtue to give.
"At twelve,
Ne-ne-hofra was the delight of Essouan; at sixteen, the fame of her beauty was
universal; at twenty, there was never a day which did not bring to her door
princes of the desert on swift camels, and lords of Egypt in gilded barges;
and, going away disconsolate, they reported everywhere, 'I have seen her, and
she is not a woman, but Athor herself.'"
III.
"Now of the
three hundred and thirty successors of good King Menes, eighteen were
Ethiopians, of whom Oraetes was one hundred and ten years old. He had reigned
seventy-six years. Under him the people thrived, and the land groaned with
fatness of plenty. He practised wisdom because, having seen so much, he knew what
it was. He dwelt in Memphis, having there his principal palace, his arsenals,
and his treasure-house. Frequently he went down to Butos to talk with Latona.
"The wife of
the good king died. Too old was she for perfect embalmment; yet he loved her,
and mourned as the inconsolable; seeing which, a colchyte presumed one day to
speak to him.
"'O Oraetes,
I am astonished that one so wise and great should not know how to cure a sorrow
like this.'
"'Tell me a
cure,' said the king.
"Three times
the colchyte kissed the floor, and then he replied, knowing the dead could not
hear him, 'At Essouan lives Ne-ne-hofra, beautiful as Athor the beautiful. Send
for her. She has refused all the lords and princes, and I know not how many
kings; but who can say no to Oraetes?'"
IV.
"Ne-ne-hofra
descended the Nile in a barge richer than any ever before seen, attended by an
army in barges each but a little less fine. All Nubia and Egypt, and a myriad
from Libya, and a host of Troglodytes, and not a few Macrobii from beyond the Mountains
of the Moon, lined the tented shores to see the cortege pass, wafted by
perfumed winds and golden oars.
"Through a
dromos of sphinxes and couchant double-winged lions she was borne, and set down
before Oraetes sitting on a throne specially erected at the sculptured pylon of
the palace. He raised her up, gave her place by his side, clasped the uraeus
upon her arm, kissed her, and Ne-ne-hofra was queen of all queens.
"That was not
enough for the wise Oraetes; he wanted love, and a queen happy in his love. So
he dealt with her tenderly, showing her his possessions, cities, palaces,
people; his armies, his ships: and with his own hand he led her through his
treasure-house, saying, 'O. Ne-ne-hofra! but kiss me in love, and they are all
thine.'
"And, thinking
she could be happy, if she was not then, she kissed him once, twice, thrice -
kissed him thrice, his hundred and ten years notwithstanding.
"The first
year she was happy, and it was very short; the third year she was wretched, and
it was very long; then she was enlightened: that which she thought love of
Oraetes was only daze of his power. Well for her had the daze endured! Her
spirits deserted her; she had long spells of tears, and her women could not
remember when they heard her laugh; of the roses on her cheeks only ashes
remained; she languished and faded gradually, but certainly. Some said she was
haunted by the Erinnyes for cruelty to a lover; others, that she was stricken
by some god envious of Oraetes. Whatever the cause of her decline, the charms
of the magicians availed not to restore her, and the prescript of the doctor
was equally without virtue. Ne-ne-hofra was given over to die.
"Oraetes
chose a crypt for her up in the tombs of the queens; and, calling the master
sculptors and painters to Memphis, he set them to work upon designs more
elaborate than any even in the great galleries of the dead kings.
"'O thou
beautiful as Athor herself, my queen!' said the king, whose hundred and
thirteen years did not lessen his ardor as a lover, 'Tell me, I pray, the
ailment of which, alas! thou art so certainly perishing before my eyes.'
"'You will
not love me any more if I tell you,' she said, in doubt and fear.
"'Not love
you! I will love you the more. I swear it, by the genii of Amente! by the eye
of Osiris, I swear it! Speak!' he cried, passionate as a lover, authoritative
as a king.
"'Hear,
then,' she said. 'There is an anchorite, the oldest and holiest of his class,
in a cave near Essouan. His name is Menopha. He was my teacher and guardian.
Send for him, O Oraetes, and he will tell you that you seek to know; he will
also help you find the cure for my affliction.'
"Oraetes
arose rejoicing. He went away in spirit a hundred years younger than when he
came."
V.
"'Speak!'
said Oraetes to Menopha, in the palace at Memphis.
"And Menopha
replied, 'Most mighty king, if you were young, I should not answer, because I
am yet pleased with life; as it is, I will say the queen, like any other
mortal, is paying the penalty of a crime.'
"'A crime!' exclaimed Oraetes, angrily.
"Menopha
bowed very low.
"'Yes; to
herself.'
"'I am not in
mood for riddles,' said the king.
"'What I say
is not a riddle, as you shall hear. Ne-ne-hofra grew up under my eyes, and
confided every incident of her life to me; among others, that she loved the son
of her father's gardener, Barbec by name.'
"Oraetes's
frown, strangely enough, began to dissipate.
"'With that
love in her heart, O king, she came to you; of that love she is dying.'
"'Where is
the gardener's son now?' asked Oraetes.
"'In Essouan.'
"The king
went out and gave two orders. To one oeris he said, 'Go to Essouan and bring
hither a youth named Barbec. You will find him in the garden of the queen's
father;' to another, 'Assemble workmen and cattle and tools, and construct for
me in Lake Chemmis an island, which, though laden with a temple, a palace, and
a garden, and all manner of trees bearing fruit, and all manner of vines, shall
nevertheless float about as the winds may blow it. Make the island, and let it
be fully furnished by the time the moon begins to wane.'
"Then to the
queen he said,
"'Be of
cheer. I know all, and have sent for Barbec.'
"Ne-ne-hofra
kissed his hands.
"'You shall
have him to yourself, and he you to himself; nor shall any disturb your loves
for a year.'
"She kissed
his feet; he raised her, and kissed her in return; and the rose came back to
her cheek, the scarlet to her lips, and the laughter to her heart."
VI.
"For one year
Ne-ne-hofra and Barbec the gardener floated as the winds blew on the island of
Chemmis, which became one of the wonders of the world; never a home of love
more beautiful; one year, seeing no one and existing for no one but themselves.
Then she returned in state to the palace in Memphis.
"'Now whom
lovest thou best?' asked the king.
"She kissed
his cheek and said, 'Take me back, O good king, for I am cured.'
"Oraetes
laughed, none the worse, that moment, of his hundred and fourteen years.
"'Then it is
true, as Menopha said: ha, ha, ha! it is true, the cure of love is love.'
"'Even so,'
she replied.
"Suddenly his
manner changed, and his look became terrible.
"'I did not
find it so,' he said.
"She shrank
affrighted.
"'Thou
guilty!' he continued. 'Thy offense to Oraetes the man he forgives; but thy
offence to Oraetes the king remains to be punished.'
"She cast
herself at his feet.
"'Hush!' he
cried. 'Thou art dead!'
"He clapped
his hands, and a terrible procession came in - a procession of parachistes, or
embalmers, each with some implement or material of his loathsome art.
"The King
pointed to Ne-ne-hofra.
"'She is
dead. Do thy work well.'"
VII.
"Ne-ne-hofra
the beautiful, after seventy-two days, was carried to the crypt chosen for her
the year before, and laid with her queenly predecessors; yet there was no
funeral procession in her honor across the sacred lake."
At the conclusion
of the story, Ben-Hur was sitting at the Egyptian's feet, and her hand upon the
tiller was covered by his hand.
"Menopha was
wrong," he said.
"How?"
"Love lives
by loving."
"Then there
is no cure for it?"
"Yes. Oraetes
found the cure."
"What was
it?"
"Death."
"You are a
good listener, O son of Arrius."
And so with
conversation and stories, they whiled the hours away. As they stepped ashore,
she said,
"To-morrow we
go to the city."
"But you will
be at the games?" he asked.
"Oh
yes."
"I will send
you my colors."
With that they
separated.
CHAPTER IV
Ilderim returned
to the dowar next day about the third hour. As he dismounted, a man whom he
recognized as of his own tribe came to him and said, "O sheik, I was
bidden give thee this package, with request that thou read it at once. If there
be answer, I was to wait thy pleasure."
Ilderim gave the package immediate attention. The seal was already
broken. The address ran, TO VALERIUS GRATUS AT CAESAREA.
"Abaddon take him!" growled the sheik, at
discovering a letter in Latin.
Had the missive been in Greek or Arabic, he could
have read it; as it was, the utmost he could make out was the signature in bold
Roman letters - MESSALA - whereat his eyes twinkled.
"Where is
the young Jew?" he asked.
"In the
field with the horses," a servant replied.
The sheik
replaced the papyrus in its envelopes, and, tucking the package under his
girdle, remounted the horse. That moment a stranger made his appearance,
coming, apparently, from the city.
"I am looking for Sheik Ilderim, surnamed the
Generous," the stranger said.
His language and attire bespoke him a Roman.
What he could not read, he yet could speak; so the
old Arab answered, with dignity, "I am Sheik Ilderim."
The man's eyes
fell; he raised them again, and said, with forced composure, "I heard you
had need of a driver for the games."
Ilderim's lip
under the white mustache curled contemptuously.
"Go thy
way," he said. "I have a driver."
He turned to ride
away, but the man, lingering, spoke again.
"Sheik, I am
a lover of horses, and they say you have the most beautiful in the world."
The old man was
touched; he drew rein, as if on the point of yielding to the flattery, but
finally replied, "Not to-day, not to-day; some other time I will show them
to you. I am too busy just now."
He rode to the
field, while the stranger betook himself to town again with a smiling
countenance. He had accomplished his mission.
And every day
thereafter, down to the great day of the games, a man - sometimes two or three
men - came to the sheik at the Orchard, pretending to seek an engagement as
driver.
In such manner
Messala kept watch over Ben-Hur.
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