Ben-Hur; a tale of the Christ , livre ebook

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386 pages

English

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The Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more in length, and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it a likeness to a caterpillar crawling from the south to the north. Standing on its red-and-white cliffs, and looking off under the path of the rising sun, one sees only the Desert of Arabia, where the east winds, so hateful to vinegrowers of Jericho, have kept their playgrounds since the beginning. Its feet are well covered by sands tossed from the Euphrates, there to lie, for the mountain is a wall to the pasture-lands of Moab and Ammon on the west-lands which else had been of the desert a part

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819921318
Langue	English

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Dedication

to THE WIFE OF MY YOUTH who still abides with me
BOOK FIRST
CHAPTER I
The Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more inlength, and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it alikeness to a caterpillar crawling from the south to the north.Standing on its red–and–white cliffs, and looking off under thepath of the rising sun, one sees only the Desert of Arabia, wherethe east winds, so hateful to vinegrowers of Jericho, have kepttheir playgrounds since the beginning. Its feet are well covered bysands tossed from the Euphrates, there to lie, for the mountain isa wall to the pasture–lands of Moab and Ammon on the west—landswhich else had been of the desert a part.
The Arab has impressed his language upon everything south andeast of Judea, so, in his tongue, the old Jebel is the parent ofnumberless wadies which, intersecting the Roman road—now a dimsuggestion of what once it was, a dusty path for Syrian pilgrims toand from Mecca—run their furrows, deepening as they go, to pass thetorrents of the rainy season into the Jordan, or their lastreceptacle, the Dead Sea. Out of one of these wadies—or, moreparticularly, out of that one which rises at the extreme end of theJebel, and, extending east of north, becomes at length the bed ofthe Jabbok River—a traveller passed, going to the table–lands ofthe desert. To this person the attention of the reader is firstbesought.
Judged by his appearance, he was quite forty–five years old. Hisbeard, once of the deepest black, flowing broadly over his breast,was streaked with white. His face was brown as a parchedcoffee–berry, and so hidden by a red kufiyeh (as the kerchief ofthe head is at this day called by the children of the desert) as tobe but in part visible. Now and then he raised his eyes, and theywere large and dark. He was clad in the flowing garments souniversal in the East; but their style may not be described moreparticularly, for he sat under a miniature tent, and rode a greatwhite dromedary.
It may be doubted if the people of the West ever overcome theimpression made upon them by the first view of a camel equipped andloaded for the desert. Custom, so fatal to other novelties, affectsthis feeling but little. At the end of long journeys with caravans,after years of residence with the Bedawin, the Western–born,wherever they may be, will stop and wait the passing of the statelybrute. The charm is not in the figure, which not even love can makebeautiful; nor in the movement, the noiseless stepping, or thebroad careen. As is the kindness of the sea to a ship, so that ofthe desert to its creature. It clothes him with all its mysteries;in such manner, too, that while we are looking at him we arethinking of them: therein is the wonder. The animal which now cameout of the wady might well have claimed the customary homage. Itscolor and height; its breadth of foot; its bulk of body, not fat,but overlaid with muscle; its long, slender neck, of swanlikecurvature; the head, wide between the eyes, and tapering to amuzzle which a lady's bracelet might have almost clasped; itsmotion, step long and elastic, tread sure and soundless—allcertified its Syrian blood, old as the days of Cyrus, andabsolutely priceless. There was the usual bridle, covering theforehead with scarlet fringe, and garnishing the throat withpendent brazen chains, each ending with a tinkling silver bell; butto the bridle there was neither rein for the rider nor strap for adriver. The furniture perched on the back was an invention whichwith any other people than of the East would have made the inventorrenowned. It consisted of two wooden boxes, scarce four feet inlength, balanced so that one hung at each side; the inner space,softly lined and carpeted, was arranged to allow the master to sitor lie half reclined; over it all was stretched a green awning.Broad back and breast straps, and girths, secured with countlessknots and ties, held the device in place. In such manner theingenious sons of Cush had contrived to make comfortable thesunburnt ways of the wilderness, along which lay their duty asoften as their pleasure.
When the dromedary lifted itself out of the last break of thewady, the traveller had passed the boundary of El Belka, theancient Ammon. It was morning–time. Before him was the sun, halfcurtained in fleecy mist; before him also spread the desert; notthe realm of drifting sands, which was farther on, but the regionwhere the herbage began to dwarf; where the surface is strewn withboulders of granite, and gray and brown stones, interspersed withlanguishing acacias and tufts of camel–grass. The oak, bramble, andarbutus lay behind, as if they had come to a line, looked over intothe well–less waste and crouched with fear.
And now there was an end of path or road. More than ever thecamel seemed insensibly driven; it lengthened and quickened itspace, its head pointed straight towards the horizon; through thewide nostrils it drank the wind in great draughts. The litterswayed, and rose and fell like a boat in the waves. Dried leaves inoccasional beds rustled underfoot. Sometimes a perfume likeabsinthe sweetened all the air. Lark and chat and rock–swallowleaped to wing, and white partridges ran whistling and clucking outof the way. More rarely a fox or a hyena quickened his gallop, tostudy the intruders at a safe distance. Off to the right rose thehills of the Jebel, the pearl–gray veil resting upon them changingmomentarily into a purple which the sun would make matchless alittle later. Over their highest peaks a vulture sailed on broadwings into widening circles. But of all these things the tenantunder the green tent saw nothing, or, at least, made no sign ofrecognition. His eyes were fixed and dreamy. The going of the man,like that of the animal, was as one being led.
For two hours the dromedary swung forward, keeping the trotsteadily and the line due east. In that time the traveller neverchanged his position, nor looked to the right or left. On thedesert, distance is not measured by miles or leagues, but by thesaat, or hour, and the manzil, or halt: three and a half leaguesfill the former, fifteen or twenty–five the latter; but they arethe rates for the common camel. A carrier of the genuine Syrianstock can make three leagues easily. At full speed he overtakes theordinary winds. As one of the results of the rapid advance, theface of the landscape underwent a change. The Jebel stretched alongthe western horizon, like a pale–blue ribbon. A tell, or hummock ofclay and cemented sand, arose here and there. Now and then basalticstones lifted their round crowns, outposts of the mountain againstthe forces of the plain; all else, however, was sand, sometimessmooth as the beaten beach, then heaped in rolling ridges; herechopped waves, there long swells. So, too, the condition of theatmosphere changed. The sun, high risen, had drunk his fill of dewand mist, and warmed the breeze that kissed the wanderer under theawning; far and near he was tinting the earth with faintmilk–whiteness, and shimmering all the sky.
Two hours more passed without rest or deviation from the course.Vegetation entirely ceased. The sand, so crusted on the surfacethat it broke into rattling flakes at every step, held undisputedsway. The Jebel was out of view, and there was no landmark visible.The shadow that before followed had now shifted to the north, andwas keeping even race with the objects which cast it; and as therewas no sign of halting, the conduct of the traveller became eachmoment more strange.
No one, be it remembered, seeks the desert for apleasure–ground. Life and business traverse it by paths along whichthe bones of things dead are strewn as so many blazons. Such arethe roads from well to well, from pasture to pasture. The heart ofthe most veteran sheik beats quicker when he finds himself alone inthe pathless tracts. So the man with whom we are dealing could nothave been in search of pleasure; neither was his manner that of afugitive; not once did he look behind him. In such situations fearand curiosity are the most common sensations; he was not moved bythem. When men are lonely, they stoop to any companionship; the dogbecomes a comrade, the horse a friend, and it is no shame to showerthem with caresses and speeches of love. The camel received no suchtoken, not a touch, not a word.
Exactly at noon the dromedary, of its own will, stopped, anduttered the cry or moan, peculiarly piteous, by which its kindalways protest against an overload, and sometimes crave attentionand rest. The master thereupon bestirred himself, waking, as itwere, from sleep. He threw the curtains of the houdah up, looked atthe sun, surveyed the country on every side long and carefully, asif to identify an appointed place. Satisfied with the inspection,he drew a deep breath and nodded, much as to say, "At last, atlast!" A moment after, he crossed his hands upon his breast, bowedhis head, and prayed silently. The pious duty done, he prepared todismount. From his throat proceeded the sound heard doubtless bythe favorite camels of Job—Ikh! ikh!—the signal to kneel. Slowlythe animal obeyed, grunting the while. The rider then put his footupon the slender neck, and stepped upon the sand.
CHAPTER II
The man as now revealed was of admirable proportions, not sotall as powerful. Loosening the silken rope which held the kufiyehon his head, he brushed the fringed folds back until his face wasbare—a strong face, almost negro in color; yet the low, broadforehead, aquiline nose, the outer corners of the eyes turnedslightly upward, the hair profuse, straight, harsh, of metalliclustre, and falling to the shoulder in many plaits, were signs oforigin impossible to disguise. So looked the Pharaohs and the laterPtolemies; so looked Mizraim, father of the Egyptian race. He worethe kamis, a white cotton shirt tight–sleeved, open in front,extending to the ankles and embroidered down the collar and breast,over which was thrown a brown woollen cloak, now, as in a