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CHAPTER III



From the entrance to the Holy City, equivalent to what is now
called St. Stephen's Gate, a street extended westwardly, on a
line parallel with the northern front of the Tower of Antonia,
though a square from that famous castle. Keeping the course as
far as the Tyropoeon Valley, which it followed a little way south,
it turned and again ran west until a short distance beyond what
tradition tells us was the Judgment Gate, from whence it broke
abruptly south. The traveller or the student familiar with the
sacred locality will recognize the thoroughfare described as part
of the Via Dolorosa--with Christians of more interest, though of
a melancholy kind, than any street in the world. As the purpose
in view does not at present require dealing with the whole street,
it will be sufficient to point out a house standing in the angle last
mentioned as marking the change of direction south, and which, as an
important centre of interest, needs somewhat particular description.

The building fronted north and west, probably four hundred feet
each way, and, like most pretentious Eastern structures, was two
stories in height, and perfectly quadrangular. The street on the
west side was about twelve feet wide, that on the north not more
than ten; so that one walking close to the walls, and looking up
at them, would have been struck by the rude, unfinished, uninviting,
but strong and imposing, appearance they presented; for they were of
stone laid in large blocks, undressed--on the outer side, in fact,
just as they were taken from the quarry. A critic of this age would
have pronounced the house fortelesque in style, except for the
windows, with which it was unusually garnished, and the ornate
finish of the doorways or gates. The western windows were four
in number, the northern only two, all set on the line of the
second story in such manner as to overhang the thoroughfares below.
The gates were the only breaks of wall externally visible in the
first story; and, besides being so thickly riven with iron bolts
as to suggest resistance to battering-rams, they were protected
by cornices of marble, handsomely executed, and of such bold
projection as to assure visitors well informed of the people
that the rich man who resided there was a Sadducee in politics
and creed.

Not long after the young Jew parted from the Roman at the palace
up on the Market-place, he stopped before the western gate of the
house described, and knocked. The wicket (a door hung in one of
the valves of the gate) was opened to admit him. He stepped in
hastily, and failed to acknowledge the low salaam of the porter.

To get an idea of the interior arrangement of the structure,
as well as to see what more befell the youth, we will follow him.

The passage into which he was admitted appeared not unlike a narrow
tunnel with panelled walls and pitted ceiling. There were benches
of stone on both sides, stained and polished by long use. Twelve or
fifteen steps carried him into a court-yard, oblong north and south,
and in every quarter, except the east, bounded by what seemed the
fronts of two-story houses; of which the lower floor was divided
into lewens, while the upper was terraced and defended by strong
balustrading. The servants coming and going along the terraces;
the noise of millstones grinding; the garments fluttering from
ropes stretched from point to point; the chickens and pigeons in
full enjoyment of the place; the goats, cows, donkeys, and horses
stabled in the lewens; a massive trough of water, apparently for
the common use, declared this court appurtenant to the domestic
management of the owner. Eastwardly there was a division wall
broken by another passage-way in all respects like the first one.

Clearing the second passage, the young man entered a second court,
spacious, square, and set with shrubbery and vines, kept fresh and
beautiful by water from a basin erected near a porch on the north
side. The lewens here were high, airy, and shaded by curtains
striped alternate white and red. The arches of the lewens rested
on clustered columns. A flight of steps on the south ascended to
the terraces of the upper story, over which great awnings were
stretched as a defence against the sun. Another stairway reached
from the terraces to the roof, the edge of which, all around the
square, was defined by a sculptured cornice, and a parapet of
burned-clay tiling, sexangular and bright red. In this quarter,
moreover, there was everywhere observable a scrupulous neatness,
which, allowing no dust in the angles, not even a yellow leaf
upon a shrub, contributed quite as much as anything else to the
delightful general effect; insomuch that a visitor, breathing the
sweet air, knew, in advance of introduction, the refinement of the
family he was about calling upon.

A few steps within the second court, the lad turned to the right,
and, choosing a walk through the shrubbery, part of which was in
flower, passed to the stairway, and ascended to the terrace--a
broad pavement of white and brown flags closely laid, and much
worn. Making way under the awning to a doorway on the north side,
he entered an apartment which the dropping of the screen behind
him returned to darkness. Nevertheless, he proceeded, moving over a
tiled floor to a divan, upon which he flung himself, face downwards,
and lay at rest, his forehead upon his crossed arms.

About nightfall a woman came to the door and called; he answered,
and she went in.

"Supper is over, and it is night. Is not my son hungry?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

"Are you sick?"

"I am sleepy."

"Your mother has asked for you."

"Where is she?"

"In the summer-house on the roof."

He stirred himself, and sat up.

"Very well. Bring me something to eat."

"What do you want?"

"What you please, Amrah. I am not sick, but indifferent. Life does
not seem as pleasant as it did this morning. A new ailment, O my
Amrah; and you who know me so well, who never failed me, may think
of the things now that answer for food and medicine. Bring me what
you choose."

Amrah's questions, and the voice in which she put them--low,
sympathetic, and solicitous--were significant of an endeared
relation between the two. She laid her hand upon his forehead;
then, as satisfied, went out, saying, "I will see."

After a while she returned, bearing on a wooden platter a bowl of
milk, some thin cakes of white bread broken, a delicate paste of
brayed wheat, a bird broiled, and honey and salt. On one end of
the platter there was a silver goblet full of wine, on the other
a brazen hand-lamp lighted.

The room was then revealed: its walls smoothly plastered; the ceiling
broken by great oaken rafters, brown with rain stains and time; the
floor of small diamond-shaped white and blue tiles, very firm and
enduring; a few stools with legs carved in imitation of the legs
of lions; a divan raised a little above the floor, trimmed with
blue cloth, and partially covered by an immense striped woollen
blanket or shawl--in brief, a Hebrew bedroom.

The same light also gave the woman to view. Drawing a stool to
the divan, she placed the platter upon it, then knelt close
by ready to serve him. Her face was that of a woman of fifty,
dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and at the moment softened by a look
of tenderness almost maternal. A white turban covered her head,
leaving the lobes of the ear exposed, and in them the sign that
settled her condition--an orifice bored by a thick awl. She was
a slave, of Egyptian origin, to whom not even the sacred fiftieth
year could have brought freedom; nor would she have accepted it,
for the boy she was attending was her life. She had nursed him
through babyhood, tended him as a child, and could not break
the service. To her love he could never be a man.

He spoke but once during the meal.

"You remember, O my Amrah," he said, "the Messala who used to
visit me here days at a time."

"I remember him."

"He went to Rome some years ago, and is now back. I called upon
him to-day."

A shudder of disgust seized the lad.

"I knew something had happened," she said, deeply interested.
"I never liked the Messala. Tell me all."

But he fell into musing, and to her repeated inquiries only said,
"He is much changed, and I shall have nothing more to do with him."

When Amrah took the platter away, he also went out, and up from
the terrace to the roof.

The reader is presumed to know somewhat of the uses of the
house-top in the East. In the matter of customs, climate is a
lawgiver everywhere. The Syrian summer day drives the seeker of
comfort into the darkened lewen; night, however, calls him forth
early, and the shadows deepening over the mountain-sides seem veils
dimly covering Circean singers; but they are far off, while the
roof is close by, and raised above the level of the shimmering
plain enough for the visitation of cool airs, and sufficiently
above the trees to allure the stars down closer, down at least into
brighter shining. So the roof became a resort--became playground,
sleeping-chamber, boudoir, rendezvous for the family, place of
music, dance, conversation, reverie, and prayer.

The motive that prompts the decoration, at whatever cost,
of interiors in colder climes suggested to the Oriental the
embellishment of his house-top. The parapet ordered by Moses
became a potter's triumph; above that, later, arose towers,
plain and fantastic; still later, kings and princes crowned
their roofs with summer-houses of marble and gold. When the
Babylonian hung gardens in the air, extravagance could push
the idea no further.

The lad whom we are following walked slowly across the house-top
to a tower built over the northwest corner of the palace. Had he
been a stranger, he might have bestowed a glance upon the structure
as he drew nigh it, and seen all the dimness permitted--a darkened
mass, low, latticed, pillared, and domed. He entered, passing under
a half-raised curtain. The interior was all darkness, except that on
four sides there were arched openings like doorways, through which
the sky, lighted with stars, was visible. In one of the openings,
reclining against a cushion from a divan, he saw the figure of a
woman, indistinct even in white floating drapery. At the sound of
his steps upon the floor, the fan in her hand stopped, glistening
where the starlight struck the jewels with which it was sprinkled,
and she sat up, and called his name.

"Judah, my son!"

"It is I, mother," he answered, quickening his approach.

Going to her, he knelt, and she put her arms around him, and with
kisses pressed him to her bosom.





Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ by Lew Wallace
Category:
General Fiction
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