by Wallace, Lew
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’s 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, Sheik.”
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 Caesars.
1 The Roman government, it will be remembered, had two harbors in which great fleets were constantly kept—Ravenna and Misenum.
2 Called hortator.
3 Called rector.
