"And the will of Osiris, at labor in his mighty breast, was as the
sound of the mills of all the other gods grinding at once, so loud
that the near stars rattled like seeds in a parched pod; and some
dropped out and were lost. And while the sound kept on she waited
and knit; nor lost she ever a stitch the while.
"Soon a spot appeared in the space over towards the sun; and it
grew until it was great as the moon, and then she knew a world
was intended; but when, growing and growing, at last it cast
her planet in the shade, all save the little point lighted by
her presence, she knew how very angry he was; yet she knit away,
assured that the end would be as she had said.
"And so came the earth, at first but a cold gray mass hanging listless
in the hollow void. Later she saw it separate into divisions; here a
plain, there a mountain, yonder a sea, all as yet without a sparkle.
And then, by a river-bank, something moved; and she stopped her
knitting for wonder. The something arose, and lifted its hands
to the sun in sign of knowledge whence it had its being. And this
First Man was beautiful to see. And about him were the creations
we call nature—the grass, the trees, birds, beasts, even the
insects and reptiles.
"And for a time the man went about happy in his life: it was
easy to see how happy he was. And in the lull of the sound of
the laboring will Isis heard a scornful laugh, and presently
the words, blown across from the sun,
"'Thy help, indeed! Behold a creature perfectly happy!'
"And Isis fell to knitting again, for she was patient as Osiris
was strong; and if he could work, she could wait; and wait she
did, knowing that mere life is not enough to keep anything content.
"And sure enough. Not long until the Divine Wife could see
a change in the man. He grew listless, and kept to one place
prone by the river, and looked up but seldom, and then always
with a moody face. Interest was dying in him. And when she made
sure of it, even while she was saying to herself, 'The creature
is sick of his being,' there was a roar of the creative will at
work again, and in a twinkling the earth, theretofore all a thing
of coldest gray, flamed with colors; the mountains swam in purple,
the plains bearing grass and trees turned green, the sea blue,
and the clouds varied infinitely.
"And the man sprang up and clapped his hands, for he was cured and
happy again.
"And Isis smiled, and knit away, saying to herself, 'It was well
thought, and will do a little while; but mere beauty in a world is
not enough for such a being. My lord must try again.'
"With the last word, the thunder of the will at work shook
the moon, and, looking, Isis dropped her knitting and clapped
her hands; for theretofore everything on the earth but the man
had been fixed to a given place; now all living, and much that
was not living, received the gift of Motion. The birds took to
wing joyously; beasts great and small went about, each in its
way; the trees shook their verdurous branches, nodding to the
enamoured winds; the rivers ran to the seas, and the seas tossed
in their beds and rolled in crested waves, and with surging and
ebbing painted the shores with glistening foam; and over all the
clouds floated like sailed ships unanchored.
"And the man rose up happy as a child; whereat Osiris was pleased,
so that he shouted, 'Ha, ha! See how well I am doing without thee!'
"The good wife took up her work, and answered ever so quietly,
'It was well thought, my lord—ever so well thought—and will
serve awhile.'
"And as before, so again. The sight of things in motion became to
the man as of course. The birds in flight, the rivers running,
the seas in tumult of action, ceased to amuse him, and he pined
again even worse.
"And Isis waited, saying to herself, 'Poor creature! He is more
wretched than ever.'
"And, as if he heard the thought, Osiris stirred, and the noise
of his will shook the universe; the sun in its central seat alone
stood firm. And Isis looked, but saw no change; then while she was
smiling, assured that her lord's last invention was sped, suddenly the
creature arose, and seemed to listen; and his face brightened, and he
clapped his hands for joy, for Sounds were heard the first time on
earth—sounds dissonant, sounds harmonious. The winds murmured in
the trees; the birds sang, each kind a song of its own, or chattered
in speech; the rivulets running to the rivers became so many harpers
with harps of silver strings all tinkling together; and the rivers
running to the seas surged on in solemn accord, while the seas beat
the land to a tune of thunder. There was music, music everywhere,
and all the time; so the man could not but be happy.
"Then Isis mused, thinking how well, how wondrous well, her lord
was doing; but presently she shook her head: Color, Motion,
Sound—and she repeated them slowly—there was no element else
of beauty except Form and Light, and to them the earth had been
born. Now, indeed, Osiris was done; and if the creature should
again fall off into wretchedness, her help must be asked; and her
fingers flew—two, three, five, even ten stitches she took at once.
"And the man was happy a long time—longer than ever before; it
seemed, indeed, he would never tire again. But Isis knew better;
and she waited and waited, nor minded the many laughs flung at
her from the sun; she waited and waited, and at last saw signs
of the end. Sounds became familiar to him, and in their range,
from the chirruping of the cricket under the roses to the roar
of the seas and the bellow of the clouds in storm, there was not
anything unusual. And he pined and sickened, and sought his place of
moping by the river, and at last fell down motionless.
"Then Isis in pity spoke.
"'My lord,' she said, 'the creature is dying.'
"But Osiris, though seeing it all, held his peace; he could do
no more.
"'Shall I help him?' she asked.
"Osiris was too proud to speak.
"Then Isis took the last stitch in her knitting, and gathering
her work in a roll of brilliance flung it off—flung it so it
fell close to the man. And he, hearing the sound of the fall so
near by, looked up, and lo! a Woman—the First Woman—was stooping
to help him! She reached a hand to him; he caught it and arose;
and nevermore was miserable, but evermore happy."
"Such, O son of Hur! is the genesis of the beautiful, as they tell
it on the Nile."
She paused.
"A pretty invention, and cunning," he said, directly; "but it is
imperfect. What did Osiris afterwards?"
"Oh yes," she replied. "He called the Divine Wife back to the sun,
and they went on all pleasantly together, each helping the other."
"And shall I not do as the first man?"
He carried the hand resting upon his neck to his lips. "In love—in
love!" he said.
His head dropped softly into her lap.
"You will find the King," she said, placing her other hand
caressingly upon his head. "You will go on and find the King
and serve him. With your sword you will earn his richest gifts;
and his best soldier will be my hero."
He turned his face, and saw hers close above. In all the sky
there was that moment nothing so bright to him as her eyes,
enshadowed though they were. Presently he sat up, and put his
arms about her, and kissed her passionately, saying, "O Egypt,
Egypt! If the King has crowns in gift, one shall be mine; and I
will bring it and put it here over the place my lips have marked.
You shall be a queen—my queen—no one more beautiful! And we will
be ever, ever so happy!"
"And you will tell me everything, and let me help you in all?"
she said, kissing him in return.
The question chilled his fervor.
"Is it not enough that I love you?" he asked.
"Perfect love means perfect faith," she replied. "But never
mind—you will know me better."
She took her hand from him and arose.
"You are cruel," he said.
Moving away, she stopped by the camel, and touched its front face
with her lips.
"O thou noblest of thy kind!—that, because there is no suspicion
in thy love."
An instant, and she was gone.
The third day of the journey the party nooned by the river Jabbok,
where there were a hundred or more men, mostly of Peraea, resting
themselves and their beasts. Hardly had they dismounted, before a
man came to them with a pitcher of water and a bowl, and offered them
drink; as they received the attention with much courtesy, he said,
looking at the camel, "I am returning from the Jordan, where just
now there are many people from distant parts, travelling as you
are, illustrious friend; but they had none of them the equal of
your servant here. A very noble animal. May I ask of what breed
he 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 understand
how it can have become of such interest."
"I see," the stranger replied; "you, too, are from abroad, and have
not heard the good tidings."
"What tidings?"
"Well, a man has appeared out of the wilderness—a very holy
man—with his mouth full of strange words, which take hold of
all who hear them. He calls himself John the Nazarite, son of
Zacharias, 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 childhood
in a cave down by En-Gedi, praying and living more strictly than
the Essenes. Crowds go to hear him preach. I went to hear him with
the 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 to
make 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 am
the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way
of the Lord!'"
At this point the man was called away by his friends; as he was
going, Balthasar spoke.
"Good stranger!" he said, tremulously, "tell us if we shall find
the preacher at the place you left him."
"Yes, at Bethabara."
"Who should this Nazarite be?" said Ben-Hur to Iras, "if not the
herald of our King?"
In so short a time he had come to regard the daughter as more
interested in the mysterious personage he was looking for than
the aged father! Nevertheless, the latter with a positive glow
in 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-place
for the night west of Ramoth-Gilead.
"Let us arise early, son of Hur," said the old man. "The Saviour
may come, and we not there."
"The King cannot be far behind his herald," Iras whispered, as she
prepared 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 since
leaving Ramoth, the party came upon the barren steppe east of
the sacred river. Opposite them they saw the upper limit of the
old palm lands of Jericho, stretching off to the hill-country
of Judea. Ben-Hur's blood ran quickly, for he knew the ford was
close at hand.
"Content you, good Balthasar," he said; "we are almost there."
The driver quickened the camel's pace. Soon they caught sight
of booths and tents and tethered animals; and then of the river,
and a multitude collected down close by the bank, and yet another
multitude on the western shore. Knowing that the preacher was
preaching, they made greater haste; yet, as they were drawing
near, suddenly there was a commotion in the mass, and it began
to break up and disperse.
They were too late!
"Let us stay here," said Ben-Hur to Balthasar, who was wringing
his hands. "The Nazarite may come this way."
The people were too intent upon what they had heard, and too busy
in discussion, to notice the new-comers. When some hundreds were
gone by, and it seemed the opportunity to so much as see the
Nazarite was lost to the latter, up the river not far away they
beheld a person coming towards them of such singular appearance
they 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 and
down his back below the middle, in witch-like locks, fell a covering
of sun-scorched hair. His eyes were burning-bright. All his right side
was naked, and of the color of his face, and quite as meagre; a shirt
of the coarsest camel's-hair—coarse as Bedouin tent-cloth—clothed
the rest of his person to the knees, being gathered at the waist by
a broad girdle of untanned leather. His feet were bare. A scrip,
also of untanned leather, was fastened to the girdle. He used a
knotted staff to help him forward. His movement was quick, decided,
and strangely watchful. Every little while he tossed the unruly
hair 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 his
familiarity with the ascetic colonists in En-Gedi—their dress,
their indifference to all worldly opinion, their constancy to
vows which gave them over to every imaginable suffering of body,
and separated them from others of their kind as absolutely as if
they had not been born like them—and notwithstanding he had been
notified on the way to look for a Nazarite whose simple description
of himself was a Voice from the Wilderness—still Ben-Hur's dream of
the King who was to be so great and do so much had colored all his
thought of him, so that he never doubted to find in the forerunner
some sign or token of the goodliness and royalty he was announcing.
Gazing at the savage figure before him, the long trains of courtiers
whom he had been used to see in the thermae and imperial corridors
at Rome arose before him, forcing a comparison. Shocked, shamed,
bewildered, he could only answer,