CHAPTER V
The third day of the journey the party nooned by the river Jabbok,where there were a hundred or more men, mostly of Peraea, restingthemselves and their beasts. Hardly had they dismounted, before aman came to them with a pitcher of water and a bowl, and offered themdrink; as they received the attention with much courtesy, he said,looking at the camel, "I am returning from the Jordan, where justnow there are many people from distant parts, travelling as youare, illustrious friend; but they had none of them the equal ofyour servant here. A very noble animal. May I ask of what breedhe is sprung?"
Balthasar answered, and sought his rest; but Ben-Hur, more curious,took up the remark.
"At what place on the river are the people?" he asked.
"At Bethabara."
"It used to be a lonesome ford," said Ben-Hur. "I cannot understandhow it can have become of such interest."
"I see," the stranger replied; "you, too, are from abroad, and havenot heard the good tidings."
"What tidings?"
"Well, a man has appeared out of the wilderness--a very holyman--with his mouth full of strange words, which take hold ofall who hear them. He calls himself John the Nazarite, son ofZacharias, and says he is the messenger sent before the Messiah."
Even Iras listened closely while the man continued:
"They say of this John that he has spent his life from childhoodin a cave down by En-Gedi, praying and living more strictly thanthe Essenes. Crowds go to hear him preach. I went to hear him withthe rest."
"Have all these, your friends, been there?"
"Most of them are going; a few are coming away."
"What does he preach?"
"A new doctrine--one never before taught in Israel, as all say.He calls it repentance and baptism. The rabbis do not know what tomake of him; nor do we. Some have asked him if he is the Christ,others if he is Elias; but to them all he has the answer, 'I amthe voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the wayof the Lord!'"
At this point the man was called away by his friends; as he wasgoing, Balthasar spoke.
"Good stranger!" he said, tremulously, "tell us if we shall findthe preacher at the place you left him."
"Yes, at Bethabara."
"Who should this Nazarite be?" said Ben-Hur to Iras, "if not theherald of our King?"
In so short a time he had come to regard the daughter as moreinterested in the mysterious personage he was looking for thanthe aged father! Nevertheless, the latter with a positive glowin his sunken eyes half arose, and said,
"Let us make haste. I am not tired."
They turned away to help the slave.
There was little conversation between the three at the stopping-placefor the night west of Ramoth-Gilead.
"Let us arise early, son of Hur," said the old man. "The Saviourmay come, and we not there."
"The King cannot be far behind his herald," Iras whispered, as sheprepared to take her place on the camel.
"To-morrow we will see!" Ben-Hur replied, kissing her hand.
Next day about the third hour, out of the pass through which,skirting the base of Mount Gilead, they had journeyed sinceleaving Ramoth, the party came upon the barren steppe east ofthe sacred river. Opposite them they saw the upper limit of theold palm lands of Jericho, stretching off to the hill-countryof Judea. Ben-Hur's blood ran quickly, for he knew the ford wasclose at hand.
"Content you, good Balthasar," he said; "we are almost there."
The driver quickened the camel's pace. Soon they caught sightof booths and tents and tethered animals; and then of the river,and a multitude collected down close by the bank, and yet anothermultitude on the western shore. Knowing that the preacher waspreaching, they made greater haste; yet, as they were drawingnear, suddenly there was a commotion in the mass, and it beganto break up and disperse.
They were too late!
"Let us stay here," said Ben-Hur to Balthasar, who was wringinghis hands. "The Nazarite may come this way."
The people were too intent upon what they had heard, and too busyin discussion, to notice the new-comers. When some hundreds weregone by, and it seemed the opportunity to so much as see theNazarite was lost to the latter, up the river not far away theybeheld a person coming towards them of such singular appearancethey forgot all else.
Outwardly the man was rude and uncouth, even savage. Over a thin,gaunt visage of the hue of brown parchment, over his shoulders anddown his back below the middle, in witch-like locks, fell a coveringof sun-scorched hair. His eyes were burning-bright. All his right sidewas naked, and of the color of his face, and quite as meagre; a shirtof the coarsest camel's-hair--coarse as Bedouin tent-cloth--clothedthe rest of his person to the knees, being gathered at the waist bya broad girdle of untanned leather. His feet were bare. A scrip,also of untanned leather, was fastened to the girdle. He used aknotted staff to help him forward. His movement was quick, decided,and strangely watchful. Every little while he tossed the unrulyhair from his eyes, and peered round as if searching for somebody.
The fair Egyptian surveyed the son of the Desert with surprise,not to say disgust. Presently, raising the curtain of the houdah,she spoke to Ben-Hur, who sat his horse near by.
"Is that the herald of thy King?"
"It is the Nazarite," he replied, without looking up.
In truth, he was himself more than disappointed. Despite hisfamiliarity with the ascetic colonists in En-Gedi--their dress,their indifference to all worldly opinion, their constancy tovows which gave them over to every imaginable suffering of body,and separated them from others of their kind as absolutely as ifthey had not been born like them--and notwithstanding he had beennotified on the way to look for a Nazarite whose simple descriptionof himself was a Voice from the Wilderness--still Ben-Hur's dream ofthe King who was to be so great and do so much had colored all histhought of him, so that he never doubted to find in the forerunnersome sign or token of the goodliness and royalty he was announcing.Gazing at the savage figure before him, the long trains of courtierswhom he had been used to see in the thermae and imperial corridorsat Rome arose before him, forcing a comparison. Shocked, shamed,bewildered, he could only answer,
"It is the Nazarite."
With Balthasar it was very different. The ways of God, he knew,were not as men would have them. He had seen the Saviour a childin a manger, and was prepared by his faith for the rude and simplein connection with the Divine reappearance. So he kept his seat,his hands crossed upon his breast, his lips moving in prayer.He was not expecting a king.
In this time of such interest to the new-comers, and in which theywere so differently moved, another man had been sitting by himselfon a stone at the edge of the river, thinking yet, probably, of thesermon he had been hearing. Now, however, he arose, and walked slowlyup from the shore, in a course to take him across the line the Nazaritewas pursuing and bring him near the camel.
And the two--the preacher and the stranger--kept on until theycame, the former within twenty yards of the animal, the latterwithin ten feet. Then the preacher stopped, and flung the hairfrom his eyes, looked at the stranger, threw his hands up as asignal to all the people in sight; and they also stopped, each inthe pose of a listener; and when the hush was perfect, slowly thestaff in the Nazarite's right hand came down and pointed to thestranger.
All those who before were but listeners became watchers also.
At the same instant, under the same impulse, Balthasar and Ben-Hurfixed their gaze upon the man pointed out, and both took the sameimpression, only in different degree. He was moving slowly towardsthem in a clear space a little to their front, a form slightly abovethe average in stature, and slender, even delicate. His actionwas calm and deliberate, like that habitual to men much given toserious thought upon grave subjects; and it well became his costume,which was an undergarment full-sleeved and reaching to the ankles,and an outer robe called the talith; on his left arm he carried theusual handkerchief for the head, the red fillet swinging loose downhis side. Except the fillet and a na
rrow border of blue at thelower edge of the talith, his attire was of linen yellowed withdust and road stains. Possibly the exception should be extendedto the tassels, which were blue and white, as prescribed by lawfor rabbis. His sandals were of the simplest kind. He was withoutscrip or girdle or staff.
These points of appearance, however, the three beholders observedbriefly, and rather as accessories to the head and face of the man,which--especially the latter--were the real sources of the spell theycaught in common with all who stood looking at him.
The head was open to the cloudless light, except as it was drapedwith hair long and slightly waved, and parted in the middle,and auburn in tint, with a tendency to reddish golden wheremost strongly touched by the sun. Under a broad, low forehead,under black well arched brows, beamed eyes dark-blue and large,and softened to exceeding tenderness by lashes of the great lengthsometimes seen on children, but seldom, if ever, on men. As to theother features, it would have been difficult to decide whether theywere Greek or Jewish. The delicacy of the nostrils and mouth wasunusual to the latter type; and when it was taken into accountwith the gentleness of the eyes, the pallor of the complexion,the fine texture of the hair, and the softness of the beard,which fell in waves over his throat to his breast, never asoldier but would have laughed at him in encounter, never awoman who would not have confided in him at sight, never achild that would not, with quick instinct, have given him itshand and whole artless trust; nor might any one have said hewas not beautiful.
The features, it should be further said, were ruled by a certainexpression which, as the viewer chose, might with equal correctnesshave been called the effect of intelligence, love, pity, or sorrow;though, in better speech, it was a blending of them all--a lookeasy to fancy as the mark of a sinless soul doomed to the sightand understanding of the utter sinfulness of those among whom itwas passing; yet withal no one could have observed the face witha thought of weakness in the man; so, at least, would not theywho know that the qualities mentioned--love, sorrow, pity--are theresults of a consciousness of strength to bear suffering oftenerthan strength to do; such has been the might of martyrs and devoteesand the myriads written down in saintly calendars. And such, indeed,was the air of this one.
Slowly he drew near--nearer the three.
Now Ben-Hur, mounted and spear in hand, was an object to claim theglance of a king; yet the eyes of the man approaching were all thetime raised above him--and not to Iras, whose loveliness has beenso often remarked, but to Balthasar, the old and unserviceable.
The hush was profound.
Presently the Nazarite, still pointing with his staff, cried, in aloud voice,
"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!"
The many standing still, arrested by the action of the speaker,and listening for what might follow, were struck with awe by wordsso strange and past their understanding; upon Balthasar they wereoverpowering. He was there to see once more the Redeemer of men.The faith which had brought him the singular privileges of thetime long gone abode yet in his heart; and if now it gave hima power of vision above that of his fellows--a power to see andknow him for whom he was looking--better than calling the powera miracle, let it be thought of as the faculty of a soul not yetentirely released from the divine relations to which it had beenformerly admitted, or as the fitting reward of a life in that ageso without examples of holiness--a life itself a miracle. The idealof his faith was before him, perfect in face, form, dress, action,age; and he was in its view, and the view was recognition. Ah,now if something should happen to identify the stranger beyondall doubt!
And that was what did happen.
Exactly at the fitting moment, as if to assure the tremblingEgyptian, the Nazarite repeated the outcry,
"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!"
Balthasar fell upon his knees. For him there was no need of explanation;and as if the Nazarite knew it, he turned to those more immediately abouthim staring in wonder, and continued:
"This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferredbefore me, for he was before me. And I knew him not: but thathe should be manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizingwith water. I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove,and it abode upon him. And I knew him not: but he that sent me tobaptize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom thou shaltsee the Spirit descending and remaining on him, the same is hewhich baptizeth with the Holy Ghost. And I saw and bare record,that this"--he paused, his staff still pointing at the strangerin the white garments, as if to give a more absolute certaintyto both his words and the conclusions intended--"I bare record,THAT THIS IS THE SON OF GOD!"
"It is he, it is he!" Balthasar cried, with upraised tearful eyes.Next moment he sank down insensible.
In this time, it should be remembered, Ben-Hur was studying the faceof the stranger, though with an interest entirely different. He wasnot insensible to its purity of feature, and its thoughtfulness,tenderness, humility, and holiness; but just then there was room inhis mind for but one thought--Who is this man? And what? Messiah orking? Never was apparition more unroyal. Nay, looking at that calm,benignant countenance, the very idea of war and conquest, and lustof dominion, smote him like a profanation. He said, as if speakingto his own heart, Balthasar must be right and Simonides wrong.This man has not come to rebuild the throne of Solomon; he hasneither the nature nor the genius of Herod; king he may be,but not of another and greater than Rome.
It should be understood now that this was not a conclusion withBen-Hur, but an impression merely; and while it was forming,while yet he gazed at the wonderful countenance, his memory beganto throe and struggle. "Surely," he said to himself, "I have seenthe man; but where and when?" That the look, so calm, so pitiful,so loving, had somewhere in a past time beamed upon him as thatmoment it was beaming upon Balthasar became an assurance. Faintlyat first, at last a clear light, a burst of sunshine, the sceneby the well at Nazareth what time the Roman guard was dragginghim to the galleys returned, and all his being thrilled. Thosehands had helped him when he was perishing. The face was one ofthe pictures he had carried in mind ever since. In the effusionof feeling excited, the explanation of the preacher was lost byhim, all but the last words--words so marvellous that the worldyet rings with them:
"--this is the SON OF GOD!"
Ben-Hur leaped from his horse to render homage to his benefactor;but Iras cried to him, "Help, son of Hur, help, or my father willdie!"
He stopped, looked back, then hurried to her assistance. She gavehim a cup; and leaving the slave to bring the camel to its knees,he ran to the river for water. The stranger was gone when he cameback.
At last Balthasar was restored to consciousness. Stretching forthhis hands, he asked, feebly, "Where is he?"
"Who?" asked Iras.
An intense instant interest shone upon the good man's face, as ifa last wish had been gratified, and he answered,
"He--the Redeemer--the Son of God, whom I have seen again."
"Believest thou so?" Iras asked in a low voice of Ben-Hur.
"The time is full of wonders; let us wait," was all he said.
And next day while the three were listening to him, the Nazaritebroke off in mid-speech, saying reverently, "Behold the Lamb ofGod!"
Looking to where he pointed, they beheld the stranger again. AsBen-Hur surveyed the slender figure, and holy beautiful countenancecompassionate to sadness, a new idea broke upon him.
"Balthasar is right--so is Simonides. May not the Redeemer be aking also?"
And he asked one at his side, "Who is the man walking yonder?"
The other laughed mockingly, and replied,
"He is the son of a carpenter over in Nazareth."
BOOK EIGHTH
"Who could resist? Who in this universe? She did so breathe ambrosia, so immerse My fine existence in a golden clime. She took me like a child of suckling-time, And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn'd, The current of my former life was stemm'd, And to this
arbitrary queen of sense I bow'd a tranced vassal."--KEATS, Endymion.
"I am the resurrection and the life."