CHAPTER IV
It was dark when, parting with the drover inside the gate,Ben-Hur turned into a narrow lane leading to the south. A few ofthe people whom he met saluted him. The bouldering of the pavementwas rough. The houses on both sides were low, dark, and cheerless;the doors all closed: from the roofs, occasionally, he heard womencrooning to children. The loneliness of his situation, the night,the uncertainty cloaking the object of his coming, all affectedhim cheerlessly. With feelings sinking lower and lower, he camedirectly to the deep reservoir now known as the Pool of Bethesda,in which the water reflected the over-pending sky. Looking up,he beheld the northern wall of the Tower of Antonia, a blackfrowning heap reared into the dim steel-gray sky. He halted asif challenged by a threatening sentinel.
The Tower stood up so high, and seemed so vast, resting apparentlyupon foundations so sure, that he was constrained to acknowledge itsstrength. If his mother were there in living burial, what could he dofor her? By the strong hand, nothing. An army might beat the stonyface with ballista and ram, and be laughed at. Against him alone,the gigantic southeast turret looked down in the self-containmentof a hill. And he thought, cunning is so easily baffled; and God,always the last resort of the helpless--God is sometimes so slowto act!
In doubt and misgiving, he turned into the street in front of theTower, and followed it slowly on to the west.
Over in Bezetha he knew there was a khan, where it was his intentionto seek lodging while in the city; but just now he could not resistthe impulse to go home. His heart drew him that way.
The old formal salutation which he received from the few peoplewho passed him had never sounded so pleasantly. Presently, all theeastern sky began to silver and shine, and objects before invisiblein the west--chiefly the tall towers on Mount Zion--emerged as froma shadowy depth, and put on spectral distinctness, floating, as itwere, above the yawning blackness of the valley below, very castlesin the air.
He came, at length, to his father's house.
Of those who read this page, some there will be to divine hisfeelings without prompting. They are such as had happy homes intheir youth, no matter how far that may have been back in time--homeswhich are now the starting-points of all recollection; paradises fromwhich they went forth in tears, and which they would now return to,if they could, as little children; places of laughter and singing,and associations dearer than any or all the triumphs of after-life.
At the gate on the north side of the old house Ben-Hur stopped.In the corners the wax used in the sealing-up was still plainlyseen, and across the valves was the board with the inscription--
"THIS IS THE PROPERTY OF THE EMPEROR."
Nobody had gone in or out the gate since the dreadful day of theseparation. Should he knock as of old? It was useless, he knew;yet he could not resist the temptation. Amrah might hear, and lookout of one of the windows on that side. Taking a stone, he mountedthe broad stone step, and tapped three times. A dull echo replied.He tried again, louder than before; and again, pausing each time tolisten. The silence was mocking. Retiring into the street, he watchedthe windows; but they, too, were lifeless. The parapet on the roofwas defined sharply against the brightening sky; nothing could havestirred upon it unseen by him, and nothing did stir.
From the north side he passed to the west, where there were fourwindows which he watched long and anxiously, but with as littleeffect. At times his heart swelled with impotent wishes; at others,he trembled at the deceptions of his own fancy. Amrah made nosign--not even a ghost stirred.
Silently, then, he stole round to the south. There, too, the gatewas sealed and inscribed. The mellow splendor of the August moon,pouring over the crest of Olivet, since termed the Mount of Offence,brought the lettering boldly out; and he read, and was filled withrage. All he could do was to wrench the board from its nailing, andhurl it into the ditch. Then he sat upon the step, and prayed forthe New King, and that his coming might be hastened. As his bloodcooled, insensibly he yielded to the fatigue of long travel in thesummer heat, and sank down lower, and, at last, slept.
About that time two women came down the street from the directionof the Tower of Antonia, approaching the palace of the Hurs. Theyadvanced stealthily, with timid steps, pausing often to listen.At the corner of the rugged pile, one said to the other, in alow voice,
"This is it, Tirzah!"
And Tirzah, after a look, caught her mother's hand, and leanedupon her heavily, sobbing, but silent.
"Let us go on, my child, because"--the mother hesitated and trembled;then, with an effort to be calm, continued--"because when morningcomes they will put us out of the gate of the city to--return nomore."
Tirzah sank almost to the stones.
"Ah, yes!" she said, between sobs; "I forgot. I had the feelingof going home. But we are lepers, and have no homes; we belongto the dead!"
The mother stooped and raised her tenderly, saying, "We havenothing to fear. Let us go on."
Indeed, lifting their empty hands, they could have run upon alegion and put it to flight.
And, creeping in close to the rough wall, they glided on, like twoghosts, till they came to the gate, before which they also paused.Seeing the board, they stepped upon the stone in the scarce coldtracks of Ben-Hur, and read the inscription--"This is the Propertyof the Emperor."
Then the mother clasped her hands, and, with upraised eyes,moaned in unutterable anguish.
"What now, mother? You scare me!"
And the answer was, presently, "Oh, Tirzah, the poor are dead! Heis dead!"
"Who, mother?"
"Your brother! They took everything from him--everything--eventhis house!"
"Poor!" said Tirzah, vacantly.
"He will never be able to help us."
"And then, mother?"
"To-morrow--to-morrow, my child, we must find a seat by the wayside,and beg alms as the lepers do; beg, or--"
Tirzah leaned upon her again, and said, whispering, "Let us--letus die!"
"No!" the mother said, firmly. "The Lord has appointed our times,and we are believers in the Lord. We will wait on him even in this.Come away!"
She caught Tirzah's hand as she spoke, and hastened to the westcorner of the house, keeping close to the wall. No one being insight there, they kept on to the next corner, and shrank fromthe moonlight, which lay exceedingly bright over the whole southfront, and along a part of the street. The mother's will wasstrong. Casting one look back and up to the windows on the westside, she stepped out into the light, drawing Tirzah after her;and the extent of their affliction was then to be seen--on theirlips and cheeks, in their bleared eyes, in their cracked hands;especially in the long, snaky locks, stiff with loathsome ichor,and, like their eyebrows, ghastly white. Nor was it possible tohave told which was mother, which daughter; both alike seemedwitch-like old.
"Hist!" said the mother. "There is some one lying upon the step--aman. Let us go round him."
They crossed to the opposite side of the street quickly, and,in the shade there, moved on till before the gate, where theystopped.
"He is asleep, Tirzah!"
The man was very still.
"Stay here, and I will try the gate."
So saying, the mother stole noiselessly across, and ventured totouch the wicket; she never knew if it yielded, for that momentthe man sighed, and, turning restlessly, shifted the handkerchiefon his head in such manner that the face was left upturned andfair in the broad moonlight. She looked down at it and started;then looked again, stooping a little, and arose and clasped herhands and raised her eyes to heaven in mute appeal. An instant so,and she ran back to Tirzah.
"As the Lord liveth, the man is my son--thy brother!" she said,in an awe-inspiring whisper.
"My brother?--Judah?"
The mother caught her hand eagerly.
"Come!" she said, in the same enforced whisper, "let us look athim together--once more--only once--then help thou thy servants,Lord!"
They crossed the street hand in hand ghostly-quick, ghostly-stil
l.When their shadows fell upon him, they stopped. One of his hands waslying out upon the step palm up. Tirzah fell upon her knees, and wouldhave kissed it; but the mother drew her back.
"Not for thy life; not for thy life! Unclean, unclean!" she whispered.
Tirzah shrank from him, as if he were the leprous one.
Ben-Hur was handsome as the manly are. His cheeks and foreheadwere swarthy from exposure to the desert sun and air; yet underthe light mustache the lips were red, and the teeth shone white,and the soft beard did not hide the full roundness of chin andthroat. How beautiful he appeared to the mother's eyes! How mightilyshe yearned to put her arms about him, and take his head upon herbosom and kiss him, as had been her wont in his happy childhood!Where got she the strength to resist the impulse? From her love,O, reader!--her mother-love, which, if thou wilt observe well,hath this unlikeness to any other love: tender to the object,it can be infinitely tyrannical to itself, and thence all itspower of self-sacrifice. Not for restoration to health and fortune,not for any blessing of life, not for life itself, would she haveleft her leprous kiss upon his cheek! Yet touch him she must;in that instant of finding him she must renounce him forever!How bitter, bitter hard it was, let some other mother say! Sheknelt down, and, crawling to his feet, touched the sole of oneof his sandals with her lips, yellow though it was with the dustof the street--and touched it again and again; and her very soulwas in the kisses.
He stirred, and tossed his hand. They moved back, but heard himmutter in his dream,
"Mother! Amrah! Where is--"
He fell off into the deep sleep.
Tirzah stared wistfully. The mother put her face in the dust,struggling to suppress a sob so deep and strong it seemed herheart was bursting. Almost she wished he might waken.
He had asked for her; she was not forgotten; in his sleep he wasthinking of her. Was it not enough?
Presently mother beckoned to Tirzah, and they arose, and takingone more look, as if to print his image past fading, hand inhand they recrossed the street. Back in the shade of the wallthere, they retired and knelt, looking at him, waiting for himto wake--waiting some revelation, they knew not what. Nobody hasyet given us a measure for the patience of a love like theirs.
By-and-by, the sleep being yet upon him, another woman appeared atthe corner of the palace. The two in the shade saw her plainly inthe light; a small figure, much bent, dark-skinned, gray-haired,dressed neatly in servant's garb, and carrying a basket full ofvegetables.
At sight of the man upon the step the new-comer stopped; then,as if decided, she walked on--very lightly as she drew near thesleeper. Passing round him, she went to the gate, slid the wicketlatch easily to one side, and put her hand in the opening. One ofthe broad boards in the left valve swung ajar without noise.She put the basket through, and was about to follow, when,yielding to curiosity, she lingered to have one look at thestranger whose face was below her in open view.
The spectators across the street heard a low exclamation, and sawthe woman rub her eyes as if to renew their power, bend closer down,clasp her hands, gaze wildly around, look at the sleeper, stoop andraise the outlying hand, and kiss it fondly--that which they wishedso mightily to do, but dared not.
Awakened by the action, Ben-Hur instinctively withdrew the hand;as he did so, his eyes met the woman's.
"Amrah! O Amrah, is it thou?" he said.
The good heart made no answer in words, but fell upon his neck,crying for joy.
Gently he put her arms away, and lifting the dark face wet withtears, kissed it, his joy only a little less than hers. Then thoseacross the way heard him say,
"Mother--Tirzah--O Amrah, tell me of them! Speak, speak, I praythee!"
Amrah only cried afresh.
"Thou has seen them, Amrah. Thou knowest where they are; tell methey are at home."
Tirzah moved, but her mother, divining her purpose, caught herand whispered, "Do not go--not for life. Unclean, unclean!"
Her love was in tyrannical mood. Though both their hearts broke, heshould not become what they were; and she conquered.
Meantime, Amrah, so entreated, only wept the more.
"Wert thou going in?" he asked, presently, seeing the board swungback. "Come, then. I will go with thee." He arose as he spoke."The Romans--be the curse of the Lord upon them!--the Romans lied.The house is mine. Rise, Amrah, and let us go in." A moment andthey were gone, leaving the two in the shade to behold the gatestaring blankly at them--the gate which they might not ever entermore. They nestled together in the dust.
They had done their duty.
Their love was proven.
Next morning they were found, and driven out the city with stones.
"Begone! Ye are of the dead; go to the dead!"
With the doom ringing in their ears, they went forth.