CHAPTER XI
Evening was
hardly come upon Antioch, when the Omphalus, nearly in the centre of the city,
became a troubled fountain from which in every direction, but chiefly down to
the Nymphaeum and east and west along the Colonnade of Herod, flowed currents
of people, for the time given up to Bacchus and Apollo.
For such
indulgence anything more fitting cannot be imagined than the great roofed
streets, which were literally miles on miles of porticos wrought of marble,
polished to the last degree of finish, and all gifts to the voluptuous city by
princes careless of expenditure where, as in this instance, they thought they
were eternizing themselves. Darkness was not permitted anywhere; and the singing,
the laughter, the shouting, were incessant, and in compound like the roar of
waters dashing through hollow grots, confused by a multitude of echoes.
The many
nationalities represented, though they might have amazed a stranger, were not
peculiar to Antioch. Of the various missions of the great empire, one seems to
have been the fusion of men and the introduction of strangers to each other;
accordingly, whole peoples rose up and went at pleasure, taking with them their
costumes, customs, speech, and gods; and where they chose, they stopped,
engaged in business, built houses, erected altars, and were what they had been
at home.
There was a
peculiarity, however, which could not have failed the notice of a looker-on
this night in Antioch. Nearly everybody wore the colors of one or other of the
charioteers announced for the morrow's race. Sometimes it was in form of a
scarf, sometimes a badge; often a ribbon or a feather. Whatever the form, it
signified merely the wearer's partiality; thus, green published a friend of
Cleanthes the Athenian, and black an adherent of the Byzantine. This was
according to a custom, old probably as the day of the race of Orestes - a
custom, by the way, worthy of study as a marvel of history, illustrative of the
absurd yet appalling extremities to which men frequently suffer their follies
to drag them.
The observer
abroad on this occasion, once attracted to the wearing of colors, would have
very shortly decided that there were three in predominance - green, white, and
the mixed scarlet and gold.
But let us from
the streets to the palace on the island.
The five great
chandeliers in the saloon are freshly lighted. The assemblage is much the same
as that already noticed in connection with the place. The divan has its corps
of sleepers and burden of garments, and the tables yet resound with the rattle
and clash of dice. Yet the greater part of the company are not doing anything.
They walk about, or yawn tremendously, or pause as they pass each other to
exchange idle nothings. Will the weather be fair to-morrow? Are the
preparations for the games complete? Do the laws of the Circus in Antioch
differ from the laws of the Circus in Rome? Truth is, the young fellows are
suffering from ennui. Their heavy work is done; that is, we would find their
tablets, could we look at them, covered with memoranda of wagers - wagers on
every contest; on the running, the wrestling, the boxing; on everything but the
chariot-race.
And why not on
that?
Good reader, they
cannot find anybody who will hazard so much as a denarius with them against
Messala.
There are no
colors in the saloon but his.
No one thinks of
his defeat.
Why, they say, is
he not perfect in his training? Did he not graduate from an imperial lanista?
Were not his horses winners at the Circensian in the Circus Maximus? And then -
ah, yes! he is a Roman!
In a corner, at
ease on the divan, Messala himself may be seen. Around him, sitting or
standing, are his courtierly admirers, plying him with questions. There is, of
course, but one topic.
Enter Drusus and
Cecilius.
"Ah!"
cries the young prince, throwing himself on the divan at Messala's feet,
"Ah, by Bacchus, I am tired!"
"Whither
away?" asks Messala.
"Up the
street; up to the Omphalus, and beyond - who shall say how far? Rivers of people;
never so many in the city before. They say we will see the whole world at the
Circus to-morrow."
Messala laughed
scornfully.
"The idiots!
Perpol! They never beheld a Circensian with Caesar for editor. But, my Drusus,
what found you?"
"Nothing."
"O - ah! You
forget," said Cecilius.
"What?"
asked Drusus.
"The
procession of whites."
"Mirabile!"
cried Drusus, half rising. "We met a faction of whites, and they had a
banner. But - ha, ha, ha!"
He fell back
indolently.
"Cruel
Drusus - not to go on," said Messala.
"Scum of the
desert were they, my Messala, and garbage-eaters from the Jacob's Temple in
Jerusalem. What had I to do with them!"
"Nay,"
said Cecilius, "Drusus is afraid of a laugh, but I am not, my
Messala."
"Speak thou,
then."
"Well, we
stopped the faction, and -”
"Offered
them a wager," said Drusus, relenting, and taking the word from the
shadow's mouth. "And - ha, ha, ha! - one fellow with not enough skin on
his face to make a worm for a carp stepped forth, and - ha, ha, ha! - said yes.
I drew my tablets. 'Who is your man?' I asked. 'Ben-Hur, the Jew,' said he.
Then I: 'What shall it be? How much?' He answered, 'A - a - ' Excuse me,
Messala. By Jove's thunder, I cannot go on for laughter! Ha, ha, ha!"
The listeners
leaned forward.
Messala looked to
Cecilius.
"A
shekel," said the latter.
"A shekel! A
shekel!"
A burst of
scornful laughter ran fast upon the repetition.
"And what
did Drusus?" asked Messala.
An outcry over
about the door just then occasioned a rush to that quarter; and, as the noise
there continued, and grew louder, even Cecilius betook himself off, pausing
only to say, "The noble Drusus, my Messala, put up his tablets and - lost
the shekel."
"A white! A
white!"
"Let him
come!"
"This way,
this way!"
These and like
exclamations filled the saloon, to the stoppage of other speech. The
dice-players quit their games; the sleepers awoke, rubbed their eyes, drew
their tablets, and hurried to the common centre.
"I offer you
-”
"And I -”
"I -”
The person so
warmly received was the respectable Jew, Ben-Hur's fellow-voyager from Cyprus.
He entered grave, quiet, observant. His robe was spotlessly white; so was the
cloth of his turban. Bowing and smiling at the welcome, he moved slowly towards
the central table. Arrived there, he drew his robe about him in a stately
manner, took seat, and waved his hand. The gleam of a jewel on a finger helped
him not a little to the silence which ensued.
"Romans -
most noble Romans - I salute you!" he said.
"Easy, by
Jupiter! Who is he?" asked Drusus.
"A dog of
Israel - Sanballat by name - purveyor for the army; residence, Rome; vastly
rich; grown so as a contractor of furnishments which he never furnishes. He
spins mischiefs, nevertheless, finer than spiders spin their webs. Come - by
the girdle of Venus! let us catch him!"
Messala arose as
he spoke, and, with Drusus, joined the mass crowded about the purveyor.
"It came to
me on the street," said that person, producing his tablets, and opening
them on the table with an impressive air of business, "that there was
great discomfort in the palace because offers on Messala were going without
takers. The gods, you know, must have sacrifices; and here am I. You see my
color; let us to the matter. Odds first, amounts next. What will you give
me?"
The audacity
seemed to stun his hearers.
"Haste!"
he said. "I have an engagement with the consul."
The spur was
effective.
"Two to
one," cried half a dozen in a voice.
"What!"
exclaimed the purveyor, astonished. "Only two to one, and yours a
Roman!"
"Take three,
then."
"Three say
you - only three - and mine but a dog of a Jew! Give me four."
"Four it
is," said a boy, stung by the taunt.
"Five - give
me five," cried the purveyor, instantly.
A profound
stillness fell upon the assemblage.
"The consul
- your master and mine - is waiting for me."
The inaction
became awkward to the many.
"Give me
five - for the honor of Rome, five."
"Five let it
be," said one in answer.
There was a sharp
cheer - a commotion - and Messala himself appeared.
"Five let it
be," he said.
And Sanballat
smiled, and made ready to write.
"If Caesar
die to-morrow," he said, "Rome will not be all bereft. There is at
least one other with spirit to take his place. Give me six."
"Six be
it," answered Messala.
There was another
shout louder than the first.
"Six be
it," repeated Messala. "Six to one - the difference between a Roman
and a Jew. And, having found it, now, O redemptor of the flesh of swine, let us
on. The amount - and quickly. The consul may send for thee, and I will then be
bereft."
Sanballat took
the laugh against him coolly, and wrote, and offered the writing to Messala.
"Read,
read!" everybody demanded.
And Messala read:
"Mem. - Chariot-race. Messala of Rome, in
wager with Sanballat, also of Rome, says he will beat Ben-Hur, the Jew. Amount
of wager, twenty talents. Odds to Sanballat, six to one.
"Witnesses:
SANBALLAT."
There was no noise, no motion. Each person seemed held in the pose the
reading found him. Messala stared at the memorandum, while the eyes which had
him in view opened wide, and stared at him. He felt the gaze, and thought
rapidly. So lately he stood in the same place, and in the same way hectored the
countrymen around him. They would remember it. If he refused to sign, his
hero-ship was lost. And sign he could not; he was not worth one hundred
talents, nor the fifth part of the sum. Suddenly his mind became a blank; he
stood speechless; the color fled his face. An idea at last came to his relief.
"Thou
Jew!" he said, "where hast thou twenty talents? Show me."
Sanballat's
provoking smile deepened.
"There,"
he replied, offering Messala a paper.
"Read,
read!" arose all around.
Again Messala
read:
"AT ANTIOCH, Tammuz 16th day.
"The bearer,
Sanballat of Rome, hath now to his order with me fifty talents, coin of Caesar.
SIMONIDES."
"Fifty talents, fifty talents!" echoed
the throng, in amazement.
Then Drusus came
to the rescue.
"By
Hercules!" he shouted, "the paper lies, and the Jew is a liar. Who
but Caesar hath fifty talents at order? Down with the insolent white!"
The cry was
angry, and it was angrily repeated; yet Sanballat kept his seat, and his smile
grew more exasperating the longer he waited. At length Messala spoke.
"Hush! One
to one, my countrymen - one to one, for love of our ancient Roman name."
The timely action
recovered him his ascendancy.
"O thou
circumcised dog!" he continued, to Sanballat, "I gave thee six to
one, did I not?"
"Yes,"
said the Jew, quietly.
"Well, give
me now the fixing of the amount."
"With reserve,
if the amount be trifling, have thy will," answered Sanballat.
"Write,
then, five in place of twenty."
"Hast thou
so much?"
"By the
mother of the gods, I will show you receipts."
"Nay, the
word of so brave a Roman must pass. Only make the sum even - six make it, and I
will write."
"Write it
so."
And forthwith
they exchanged writings.
Sanballat
immediately arose and looked around him, a sneer in place of his smile. No man
better than he knew those with whom he was dealing.
"Romans,"
he said, "another wager, if you dare! Five talents against five talents
that the white will win. I challenge you collectively."
They were again
surprised.
"What!"
he cried, louder. "Shall it be said in the Circus to-morrow that a dog of
Israel went into the saloon of the palace full of Roman nobles - among them the
scion of a Caesar - and laid five talents before them in challenge, and they
had not the courage to take it up?"
The sting was
unendurable.
"Have done,
O insolent!" said Drusus, "write the challenge, and leave it on the
table; and to-morrow, if we find thou hast indeed so much money to put at such
hopeless hazard, I, Drusus, promise it shall be taken."
Sanballat wrote
again, and, rising, said, unmoved as ever, "See, Drusus, I leave the offer
with you. When it is signed, send it to me any time before the race begins. I
will be found with the consul in a seat over the Porta Pompae. Peace to you;
peace to all."
He bowed, and
departed, careless of the shout of derision with which they pursued him out of
the door.
In the night the
story of the prodigious wager flew along the streets and over the city; and
Ben-Hur, lying with his four, was told of it, and also that Messala's whole
fortune was on the hazard.
And he slept
never so soundly.
CHAPTER XII
The Circus at
Antioch stood on the south bank of the river, nearly opposite the island,
differing in no respect from the plan of such buildings in general.
In the purest
sense, the games were a gift to the public; consequently, everybody was free to
attend; and, vast as the holding capacity of the structure was, so fearful were
the people, on this occasion, lest there should not be room for them, that,
early the day before the opening of the exhibition, they took up all the vacant
spaces in the vicinity, where their temporary shelter suggested an army in
waiting.
At midnight the
entrances were thrown wide, and the rabble, surging in, occupied the quarters
assigned to them, from which nothing less than an earthquake or an army with
spears could have dislodged them. They dozed the night away on the benches, and
breakfasted there; and there the close of the exercises found them, patient and
sight-hungry as in the beginning.
The better
people, their seats secured, began moving towards the Circus about the first hour
of the morning, the noble and very rich among them distinguished by litters and
retinues of liveried servants.
By the second
hour, the efflux from the city was a stream unbroken and innumerable.
Exactly as the
gnomon of the official dial up in the citadel pointed the second hour half
gone, the legion, in full panoply, and with all its standards on exhibit,
descended from Mount Sulpius; and when the rear of the last cohort disappeared
in the bridge, Antioch was literally abandoned - not that the Circus could hold
the multitude, but that the multitude was gone out to it, nevertheless.
A great concourse
on the river shore witnessed the consul come over from the island in a barge of
state. As the great man landed, and was received by the legion, the martial
show for one brief moment transcended the attraction of the Circus.
At the third
hour, the audience, if such it may be termed, was assembled; at last, a
flourish of trumpets called for silence, and instantly the gaze of over a
hundred thousand persons was directed towards a pile forming the eastern
section of the building.
There was a
basement first, broken in the middle by a broad arched passage, called the
Porta Pompae, over which, on an elevated tribunal magnificently decorated with
insignia and legionary standards, the consul sat in the place of honor. On both
sides of the passage the basement was divided into stalls termed carceres, each
protected in front by massive gates swung to statuesque pilasters. Over the
stalls next was a cornice crowned by a low balustrade; back of which the seats
arose in theatre arrangement, all occupied by a throng of dignitaries superbly
attired. The pile extended the width of the Circus, and was flanked on both
sides by towers which, besides helping the architects give grace to their work,
served the velaria, or purple awnings, stretched between them so as to throw
the whole quarter in a shade that became exceedingly grateful as the day
advanced.
This structure,
it is now thought, can be made useful in helping the reader to a sufficient
understanding of the arrangement of the rest of the interior of the Circus. He
has only to fancy himself seated on the tribunal with the consul, facing to the
west, where everything is under his eye.
On the right and
left, if he will look, he will see the main entrances, very ample, and guarded
by gates hinged to the towers.
Directly below
him is the arena - a level plane of considerable extent, covered with fine
white sand. There all the trials will take place except the running.
Looking across
this sanded arena westwardly still, there is a pedestal of marble supporting
three low conical pillars of gray stone, much carven. Many an eye will hunt for
those pillars before the day is done, for they are the first goal, and mark the
beginning and end of the race-course. Behind the pedestal, leaving a
passage-way and space for an altar, commences a wall ten or twelve feet in
breadth and five or six in height, extending thence exactly two hundred yards,
or one Olympic stadium. At the farther, or westward, extremity of the wall
there is another pedestal, surmounted with pillars which mark the second goal.
The racers will
enter the course on the right of the first goal, and keep the wall all the time
to their left. The beginning and ending points of the contest lie,
consequently, directly in front of the consul across the arena; and for that
reason his seat was admittedly the most desirable in the Circus.
Now if the
reader, who is still supposed to be seated on the consular tribunal over the
Porta Pompae, will look up from the ground arrangement of the interior, the
first point to attract his notice will be the marking of the outer
boundary-line of the course - that is, a plain-faced, solid wall, fifteen or
twenty feet in height, with a balustrade on its cope, like that over the
carceres, or stalls, in the east. This balcony, if followed round the course,
will be found broken in three places to allow passages of exit and entrance,
two in the north and one in the west; the latter very ornate, and called the
Gate of Triumph, because, when all is over, the victors will pass out that way,
crowned, and with triumphal escort and ceremonies.
At the west end
the balcony encloses the course in the form of a half circle, and is made to
uphold two great galleries.
Directly behind
the balustrade on the coping of the balcony is the first seat, from which
ascend the succeeding benches, each higher than the one in front of it; giving
to view a spectacle of surpassing interest - the spectacle of a vast space
ruddy and glistening with human faces, and rich with varicolored costumes.
The commonalty
occupy quarters over in the west, beginning at the point of termination of an
awning, stretched, it would seem, for the accommodation of the better classes
exclusively.
Having thus the
whole interior of the Circus under view at the moment of the sounding of the
trumpets, let the reader next imagine the multitude seated and sunk to sudden
silence, and motionless in its intensity of interest.
Out of the Porta
Pompae over in the east rises a sound mixed of voices and instruments
harmonized. Presently, forth issues the chorus of the procession with which the
celebration begins; the editor and civic authorities of the city, givers of the
games, follow in robes and garlands; then the gods, some on platforms borne by
men, others in great four-wheel carriages gorgeously decorated; next them,
again, the contestants of the day, each in costume exactly as he will run,
wrestle, leap, box, or drive.
Slowly crossing
the arena, the procession proceeds to make circuit of the course. The display
is beautiful and imposing. Approval runs before it in a shout, as the water
rises and swells in front of a boat in motion. If the dumb, figured gods make
no sign of appreciation of the welcome, the editor and his associates are not
so backward.
The reception of
the athletes is even more demonstrative, for there is not a man in the
assemblage who has not something in wager upon them, though but a mite or
farthing. And it is noticeable, as the classes move by, that the favorites
among them are speedily singled out: either their names are loudest in the
uproar, or they are more profusely showered with wreaths and garlands tossed to
them from the balcony.
If there is a
question as to the popularity with the public of the several games, it is now
put to rest. To the splendor of the chariots and the superexcellent beauty of
the horses, the charioteers add the personality necessary to perfect the charm
of their display. Their tunics, short, sleeveless, and of the finest woollen
texture, are of the assigned colors. A horseman accompanies each one of them
except Ben-Hur, who, for some reason - possibly distrust - has chosen to go
alone; so, too, they are all helmeted but him. As they approach, the spectators
stand upon the benches, and there is a sensible deepening of the clamor, in
which a sharp listener may detect the shrill piping of women and children; at
the same time, the things roseate flying from the balcony thicken into a storm,
and, striking the men, drop into the chariot-beds, which are threatened with
filling to the tops. Even the horses have a share in the ovation; nor may it be
said they are less conscious than their masters of the honors they receive.
Very soon, as
with the other contestants, it is made apparent that some of the drivers are
more in favor than others; and then the discovery follows that nearly every
individual on the benches, women and children as well as men, wears a color,
most frequently a ribbon upon the breast or in the hair: now it is green, now
yellow, now blue; but, searching the great body carefully, it is manifest that
there is a preponderance of white, and scarlet and gold.
In a modern
assemblage called together as this one is, particularly where there are sums at
hazard upon the race, a preference would be decided by the qualities or
performance of the horses; here, however, nationality was the rule. If the
Byzantine and Sidonian found small support, it was because their cities were
scarcely represented on the benches. On their side, the Greeks, though very
numerous, were divided between the Corinthian and the Athenian, leaving but a
scant showing of green and yellow. Messala's scarlet and gold would have been
but little better had not the citizens of Antioch, proverbially a race of
courtiers, joined the Romans by adopting the color of their favorite. There
were left then the country people, or Syrians, the Jews, and the Arabs; and
they, from faith in the blood of the sheik's four, blent largely with hate of
the Romans, whom they desired, above all things, to see beaten and humbled,
mounted the white, making the most noisy, and probably the most numerous,
faction of all.
As the
charioteers move on in the circuit, the excitement increases; at the second
goal, where, especially in the galleries, the white is the ruling color, the
people exhaust their flowers and rive the air with screams.
"Messala!
Messala!"
"Ben-Hur!
Ben-Hur!"
Such are the
cries.
Upon the passage
of the procession, the factionists take their seats and resume conversation.
"Ah, by
Bacchus! was he not handsome?" exclaims a woman, whose Romanism is
betrayed by the colors flying in her hair.
"And how
splendid his chariot!" replies a neighbor, of the same proclivities.
"It is all ivory and gold. Jupiter grant he wins!"
The notes on the
bench behind them were entirely different.
"A hundred
shekels on the Jew!"
The voice is high
and shrill.
"Nay, be
thou not rash," whispers a moderating friend to the speaker. "The
children of Jacob are not much given to Gentile sports, which are too often
accursed in the sight of the Lord."
"True, but
saw you ever one more cool and assured? And what an arm he has!"
"And what
horses!" says a third.
"And for
that," a fourth one adds, "they say he has all the tricks of the
Romans."
A woman completes
the eulogium:
"Yes, and he
is even handsomer than the Roman."
Thus encouraged,
the enthusiast shrieks again, "A hundred shekels on the Jew!"
"Thou
fool!" answers an Antiochian, from a bench well forward on the balcony.
"Knowest thou not there are fifty talents laid against him, six to one, on
Messala? Put up thy shekels, lest Abraham rise and smite thee."
"Ha, ha!
thou ass of Antioch! Cease thy bray. Knowest thou not it was Messala betting on
himself?"
Such the reply.
And so ran the
controversy, not always good-natured.
When at length
the march was ended and the Porta Pompae received back the procession, Ben-Hur
knew he had his prayer.
The eyes of the
East were upon his contest with Messala.
