Ben Hur, Lew Wallace [top 10 novels txt] 📗

Simonides gave a great start. “When thou comest into thy kingdom!” It was the very point of doubt in his mind; the point he had so often debated with Balthasar.

“Didst thou hear?” said Ben-Hur to him. “The kingdom cannot be of this world. Yon witness saith the King is but going to his kingdom; and, in effect, I heard the same in my dream.”

“Hush!” said Simonides, more imperiously than ever before in speech to Ben-Hur. “Hush, I pray thee! If the Nazarene should answer⁠—”

And as he spoke the Nazarene did answer, in a clear voice, full of confidence:

“Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise!”

Simonides waited to hear if that were all; then he folded his hands and said, “No more, no more, Lord! The darkness is gone; I see with other eyes⁠—even as Balthasar, I see with eyes of perfect faith.”

The faithful servant had at last his fitting reward. His broken body might never be restored; nor was there riddance of the recollection of his sufferings, or recall of the years embittered by them; but suddenly a new life was shown him, with assurance that it was for him⁠—a new life lying just beyond this one⁠—and its name was Paradise. There he would find the Kingdom of which he had been dreaming, and the King. A perfect peace fell upon him.

Over the way, in front of the cross, however, there were surprise and consternation. The cunning casuists there put the assumption underlying the question and the admission underlying the answer together. For saying through the land that he was the Messiah, they had brought the Nazarene to the cross; and, lo! on the cross, more confidently than ever, he had not only reasserted himself, but promised enjoyment of his Paradise to a malefactor. They trembled at what they were doing. The pontiff, with all his pride, was afraid. Where got the man his confidence except from Truth? And what should the Truth be but God? A very little now would put them all to flight.

The breathing of the Nazarene grew harder, his sighs became great gasps. Only three hours upon the cross, and he was dying!

The intelligence was carried from man to man, until everyone knew it; and then everything hushed; the breeze faltered and died; a stifling vapor loaded the air; heat was superadded to darkness; nor might anyone unknowing the fact have thought that off the hill, out under the overhanging pall, there were three millions of people waiting awestruck what should happen next⁠—they were so still!

Then there went out through the gloom, over the heads of such as were on the hill within hearing of the dying man, a cry of despair, if not reproach:

“My God! my God! why hast thou forsaken me?”

The voice startled all who heard it. One it touched uncontrollably.

The soldiers in coming had brought with them a vessel of wine and water, and set it down a little way from Ben-Hur. With a sponge dipped into the liquor, and put on the end of a stick, they could moisten the tongue of a sufferer at their pleasure. Ben-Hur thought of the draught he had had at the well near Nazareth; an impulse seized him; catching up the sponge, he dipped it into the vessel, and started for the cross.

“Let him be!” the people in the way shouted, angrily. “Let him be!”

Without minding them, he ran on, and put the sponge to the Nazarene’s lips.

Too late, too late!

The face then plainly seen by Ben-Hur, bruised and black with blood and dust as it was, lighted nevertheless with a sudden glow; the eyes opened wide, and fixed upon someone visible to them alone in the far heavens; and there were content and relief, even triumph, in the shout the victim gave.

“It is finished! It is finished!”

So a hero, dying in the doing a great deed, celebrates his success with a last cheer.

The light in the eyes went out; slowly the crowned head sank upon the laboring breast. Ben-Hur thought the struggle over; but the fainting soul recollected itself, so that he and those around him caught the other and last words, spoken in a low voice, as if to one listening close by:

“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”

A tremor shook the tortured body; there was a scream of fiercest anguish, and the mission and the earthly life were over at once. The heart, with all its love, was broken; for of that, O reader, the man died!

Ben-Hur went back to his friends, saying, simply, “It is over; he is dead.”

In a space incredibly short the multitude was informed of the circumstance. No one repeated it aloud; there was a murmur which spread from the knoll in every direction; a murmur that was little more than a whispering, “He is dead! he is dead!” and that was all. The people had their wish; the Nazarene was dead; yet they stared at each other aghast. His blood was upon them! And while they stood staring at each other, the ground commenced to shake; each man took hold of his neighbor to support himself; in a twinkling the darkness disappeared, and the sun came out; and everybody, as with the same glance, beheld the crosses upon the hill all reeling drunken-like in the earthquake. They beheld all three of them; but the one in the centre was arbitrary; it alone would be seen; and for that it seemed to extend itself upwards, and lift its burden, and swing it to and fro higher and higher in the blue of the sky. And every man among them who had jeered at the Nazarene; everyone who had struck him; everyone who had voted to crucify him; everyone who had marched in the procession from the city; everyone who had in his heart wished him dead, and they were as ten to one, felt that he was in some way individually singled out from the many,