by Wallace, Lew
“A quick voyage, O Egypt!” he cried.
“And a briefer stay!” she replied, as, with a strong push, the black sent them shooting into the open water again.
“You will give me the rudder now.”
“Oh, no,” said she, laughing. “To you, the chariot; to me, the boat. We are merely at the lake’s end, and the lesson is that I must not sing any more. Having been to Egypt, let us now to the Grove of Daphne.”
“Without a song on the way?” he said, in deprecation.
“Tell me something of the Roman from whom you saved us to-day,” she asked.
The request struck Ben-Hur unpleasantly.
“I wish this were the Nile,” he said, evasively. “The kings and queens, having slept so long, might come down from their tombs, and ride with us.”
“They were of the colossi, and would sink our boat. The pygmies would be preferable. But tell me of the Roman. He is very wicked, is he not?”
“I cannot say.”
“Is he of noble family, and rich?”
“I cannot speak of his riches.”
“How beautiful his horses were! and the bed of his chariot was gold, and the wheels ivory. And his audacity! The bystanders laughed as he rode away; they, who were so nearly under his wheels!”
She laughed at the recollection.
“They were rabble,” said Ben-Hur, bitterly.
“He must be one of the monsters who are said to be growing up in Rome—Apollos ravenous as Cerberus. Does he reside in Antioch?”
“He is of the East somewhere.”
“Egypt would suit him better than Syria.”
“Hardly,” Ben-Hur replied. “Cleopatra is dead.”
That instant the lamps burning before the door of the tent came into view.
“The dowar!” she cried.
“Ah, then, we have not been to Egypt. I have not seen Karnak or Philae or Abydos. This is not the Nile. I have but heard a song of India, and been boating in a dream.”
“Philae—Karnak. Mourn rather that you have not seen the Rameses at Aboo Simbel, looking at which makes it so easy to think of God, the maker of the heavens and earth. Or why should you mourn at all? Let us go on to the river; and if I cannot sing”—she laughed—“because I have said I would not, yet I can tell you stories of Egypt.”
“Go on! Ay, till morning comes, and the evening, and the next morning!” he said, vehemently.
“Of what shall my stories be? Of the mathematicians?”
“Oh, no.”
“Of the philosophers?”
“No, no.”
“Of the magicians and genii?”
“If you will.”
“Of war?”
“Yes.”
“Of love?”
“Yes.”
“I will tell you a cure for love. It is the story of a queen. Listen reverently. The papyrus from which it was taken by the priests of Philae was wrested from the hand of the heroine herself. It is correct in form, and must be true:
NE-NE-HOFRA.
I.
“There is no parallelism in human lives.
“No life runs a straight line.
“The most perfect life develops as a circle, and terminates
in its beginning, making it impossible to say,
This is the commencement, that the end.
“Perfect lives are the treasures of God; of great days he wears them on the ring-finger of his heart hand.”
II.
“Ne-ne-hofra dwelt in a house close by Essouan, yet closer to the first cataract—so close, indeed, that the sound of the eternal battle waged there between river and rocks was of the place a part.
“She grew in beauty day by day, so that it was said of her, as of the poppies in her father’s garden, What will she not be in the time of blooming?
“Each year of her life was the beginning of a new song more delightful than any of those which went before.
“Child was she of a marriage between the North, bounded by the sea, and the South, bounded by the desert beyond the Luna mountains; and one gave her its passion, the other its genius; so when they beheld her, both laughed, saying, not meanly, ‘She is mine,’ but generously, ‘Ha, ha! she is ours.’
“All excellences in nature contributed to her perfection and rejoiced in her presence. Did she come or go, the birds ruffled their wings in greeting; the unruly winds sank to cooling zephyrs; the white lotus rose from the water’s depth to look at her; the solemn river loitered on its way; the palm-trees, nodding, shook all their plumes; and they seemed to say, this one, I gave her of my grace; that, I gave her of my brightness; the other, I gave her of my purity: and so each as it had a virtue to give.
“At twelve, Ne-ne-hofra was the delight of Essouan; at sixteen, the fame of her beauty was universal; at twenty, there was never a day which did not bring to her door princes of the desert on swift camels, and lords of Egypt in gilded barges; and, going away disconsolate, they reported everywhere, ‘I have seen her, and she is not a woman, but Athor herself.’ ”
III.
“Now of the three hundred and thirty successors of good King Menes, eighteen were Ethiopians, of whom Oraetes was one hundred and ten years old. He had reigned seventy-six years. Under him the people thrived, and the land groaned with fatness of plenty. He practised wisdom because, having seen so much, he knew what it was. He dwelt in Memphis, having there his principal palace, his arsenals, and his treasure-house. Frequently he went down to Butos to talk with Latona.
“The wife of the good king died. Too old was she for perfect embalmment; yet he loved her, and mourned as the inconsolable; seeing which, a colchyte presumed one day to speak to him.
“ ‘O Oraetes, I am astonished that one so wise and great should not know how to cure a sorrow like this.’
“ ‘Tell me a cure,’ said the king.
“Three times the colchyte kissed the floor, and then he replied, knowing the dead could not hear him, ‘At Essouan lives Ne-ne-hofra, beautiful as Athor the beautiful. Send for her. She has refused all the lords and princes, and I know not how many kings; but who can say no to Oraetes?’ ”
IV.
“Ne-ne-hofra descended the Nile in a barge richer than any ever before seen, attended by an army in barges each but a little less fine. All Nubia and Egypt, and a myriad from Libya, and a host of Troglodytes, and not a few Macrobii from beyond the Mountains of the Moon, lined the tented shores to see the cortége pass, wafted by perfumed winds and golden oars.
“Through a dromos of sphinxes and couchant double-winged lions she was borne, and set down before Oraetes sitting on a throne specially erected at the sculptured pylon of the palace. He raised her up, gave her place by his side, clasped the uraeus upon her arm, kissed her, and Ne-ne-hofra was queen of all queens.
“That was not enough for the wise Oraetes; he wanted love, and a queen happy in his love. So he dealt with her tenderly, showing her his possessions, cities, palaces, people; his armies, his ships: and with his own hand he led her through his treasure-house, saying, ‘O Ne-ne-hofra! but kiss me in love, and they are all thine.’
“And, thinking she could be happy, if she was not then, she kissed him once, twice, thrice—kissed him thrice, his hundred and ten years notwithstanding.
“The first year she was happy, and it was very short; the third year she was wretched, and it was very long; then she was enlightened: that which she thought love of Oraetes was only daze of his power. Well for her had the daze endured! Her spirits deserted her; she had long spells of tears, and her women could not remember when they heard her laugh; of the roses on her cheeks only ashes remained; she languished and faded gradually, but certainly. Some said she was haunted by the Erinnyes for cruelty to a lover; others, that she was stricken by some god envious of Oraetes. Whatever the cause of her decline, the charms of the magicians availed not to restore her, and the prescript of the doctor was equally without virtue. Ne-ne-hofra was given over to die.
“Oraetes chose a c
rypt for her up in the tombs of the queens; and, calling the master sculptors and painters to Memphis, he set them to work upon designs more elaborate than any even in the great galleries of the dead kings.
“ ‘O thou beautiful as Athor herself, my queen!’ said the king, whose hundred and thirteen years did not lessen his ardor as a lover, ‘Tell me, I pray, the ailment of which, alas! thou art so certainly perishing before my eyes.’
“ ‘You will not love me any more if I tell you,’ she said, in doubt and fear.
“ ‘Not love you! I will love you the more. I swear it, by the genii of Amente! by the eye of Osiris, I swear it! Speak!’ he cried, passionate as a lover, authoritative as a king.
“ ‘Hear, then,’ she said. ‘There is an anchorite, the oldest and holiest of his class, in a cave near Essouan. His name is Menopha. He was my teacher and guardian. Send for him, O Oraetes, and he will tell you that you seek to know; he will also help you find the cure for my affliction.’
“Oraetes arose rejoicing. He went away in spirit a hundred years younger than when he came.”
V.
“ ‘Speak!’ said Oraetes to Menopha, in the palace at Memphis.
“And Menopha replied, ‘Most mighty king, if you were young, I should not answer, because I am yet pleased with life; as it is, I will say the queen, like any other mortal, is paying the penalty of a crime.’
“ ‘A crime!’ exclaimed Oraetes, angrily.
“Menopha bowed very low.
“ ‘Yes; to herself.’
“ ‘I am not in mood for riddles,’ said the king.
“ ‘What I say is not a riddle, as you shall hear. Ne-ne-hofra grew up under my eyes, and confided every incident of her life to me; among others, that she loved the son of her father’s gardener, Barbee by name.’
“Oraetes’s frown, strangely enough, began to dissipate.
“ ‘With that love in her heart, O king, she came to you; of that love she is dying.’
“ ‘Where is the gardener’s son now?’ asked Oraetes.
“ ‘In Essouan.’
“The king went out and gave two orders. To one oeris he said, ‘Go to Essouan and bring hither a youth named Barbee. You will find him in the garden of the queen’s father;’ to another, ‘Assemble workmen and cattle and tools, and construct for me in Lake Chemmis an island, which, though laden with a temple, a palace, and a garden, and all manner of trees bearing fruit, and all manner of vines, shall nevertheless float about as the winds may blow it. Make the island, and let it be fully furnished by the time the moon begins to wane.’
“Then to the queen he said,
“ ‘Be of cheer. I know all, and have sent for Barbee.’
“Ne-ne-hofra kissed his hands.
“ ‘You shall have him to yourself, and he you to himself; nor shall any disturb your loves for a year.’
“She kissed his feet; he raised her, and kissed her in return; and the rose came back to her cheek, the scarlet to her lips, and the laughter to her heart.”
VI.
“For one year Ne-ne-hofra and Barbee the gardener floated as the winds blew on the island of Chemmis, which became one of the wonders of the world; never a home of love more beautiful; one year, seeing no one and existing for no one but themselves. Then she returned in state to the palace in Memphis.
“ ‘Now whom lovest thou best?’ asked the king.
“She kissed his cheek and said, ‘Take me back, O good king, for I am cured.’
“Oraetes laughed, none the worse, that moment, of his hundred and fourteen years.
“ ‘Then it is true, as Menopha said: ha, ha, ha! it is true, the cure of love is love.’
“ ‘Even so,’ she replied.
“Suddenly his manner changed, and his look became terrible.
“ ‘I did not find it so,’ he said.
“She shrank affrighted.
“ ‘Thou guilty!’ he continued. ‘Thy offence to Oraetes the man he forgives; but thy offence to Oraetes the king remains to be punished.’
“She cast herself at his feet.
“ ‘Hush!’ he cried. ‘Thou art dead!’
“He clapped his hands, and a terrible procession came in—a procession of parachistes, or embalmers, each with some implement or material of his loathsome art.
“The king pointed to Ne-ne-hofra.
“ ‘She is dead. Do thy work well.’ ”
VII.
“Ne-ne-hofra the beautiful, after seventy-two days, was carried to the crypt chosen for her the year before, and laid with her queenly predecessors; yet there was no funeral procession in her honor across the sacred lake.”
At the conclusion of the story, Ben-Hur was sitting at the Egyptian’s feet, and her hand upon the tiller was covered by his hand.
“Menopha was wrong,” he said.
“How?
“Love lives by loving.”
“Then there is no cure for it?”
“Yes. Oraetes found the cure.”
“What was it?”
“Death.”
“You are a good listener, O son of Arrius.”
And so with conversation and stories, they whiled the hours away. As they stepped ashore, she said,
“To-morrow we go to the city.”
“But you will be at the games?” he asked.
“Oh yes.”
“I will send you my colors.”
With that they separated.
CHAPTER IV
ILDERIM returned to the dowar next day about the third hour. As he dismounted, a man whom he recognized as of his own tribe came to him and said, “O sheik, I was bidden give thee this package, with request that thou read it at once. If there be answer, I was to wait thy pleasure.”
Ilderim gave the package immediate attention. The seal was already broken. The address ran, To Valerius Gratus at Caesarea.
“Abaddon take him!” growled the sheik, at discovering a letter in Latin.
Had the missive been in Greek or Arabic, he could have read it; as it was, the utmost he could make out was the signature in bold Roman letters—MESSALA—whereat his eyes twinkled.
“Where is the young Jew?” he asked.
“In the field with the horses,” a servant replied.
The sheik replaced the papyrus in its envelopes, and, tucking the package under his girdle, remounted the horse. That moment a stranger made his appearance, coming, apparently, from the city.
“I am looking for Sheik Ilderim, surnamed the Generous,” the stranger said.
His language and attire bespoke him a Roman.
What he could not read, he yet could speak; so the old Arab answered, with dignity, “I am Sheik Ilderim.”
The man’s eyes fell; he raised them again, and said, with forced composure, “I heard you had need of a driver for the games.”
Ilderim’s lip under the white mustache curled contemptuously.
“Go thy way,” he said. “I have a driver.”
He turned to ride away, but the man, lingering, spoke again.
“Sheik, I am a lover of horses, and they say you have the most beautiful in the world.”
The old man was touched; he drew rein, as if on the point of yielding to the flattery, but finally replied, “Not to-day, not to-day; some other time I will show them to you. I am too busy just now.”
He rode to the field, while the stranger betook himself to town again with a smiling countenance. He had accomplished his mission.
And every day thereafter, down to the great day of the games, a man—sometimes two or three men—came to the sheik at the Orchard, pretending to seek an engagement as driver.
In such manner Messala kept watch over Ben-Hur.
CHAPTER V
THE sheik waited, well satisfied, until Ben-Hur drew his horses off the field for the forenoon—well satisfied, for he had seen them, after being put through all the other paces, run full speed in such manner that it did not seem there were one the slowest and another the fastest—run, in other words, a
s if the four were one.
“This afternoon, O sheik, I will give Sirius back to you.” Ben-Hur patted the neck of the old horse as he spoke. “I will give him back, and take to the chariot.”
“So soon?” Ilderim asked.
“With such as these, good sheik, one day suffices. They are not afraid; they have a man’s intelligence, and they love the exercise. This one,” he shook a rein over the back of the youngest of the four—“you called him Aldebaran, I believe—is the swiftest; in once round a stadium he would lead the others thrice his length.”
Ilderim pulled his beard, and said, with twinkling eyes, “Aldebaran is the swiftest; but what of the slowest?”
“This is he.” Ben-Hur shook the rein over Antares. “This is he: but he will win, for, look you, sheik, he will run his utmost all day—all day; and, as the sun goes down, he will reach his swiftest.”
“Right again,” said Ilderim.
“I have but one fear, O sheik.”
The sheik became doubly serious.
“In his greed of triumph, a Roman cannot keep honor pure. In the games—all of them, mark you—their tricks are infinite; in chariot-racing their knavery extends to everything—from horse to driver, from driver to master. Wherefore, good sheik, look well to all thou hast; from this till the trial is over, let no stranger so much as see the horses. Would you be perfectly safe, do more—keep watch over them with armed hand as well as sleepless eye; then I will have no fear of the end.”
At the door of the tent they dismounted.
“What you say shall be attended to. By the splendor of God, no hand shall come near them except it belong to one of the faithful. To-night I will set watches. But, son of Arrius”—Ilderim drew forth the package, and opened it slowly, while they walked to the divan and seated themselves—“son of Arrius, see thou here, and help me with thy Latin.”