When the city came into view, the passengers were on deck, eager that
nothing of the scene might escape them. The respectable Jew already
introduced to the reader was the principal spokesman.
“The river here runs to the west,” he said, in the way of general
answer. “I remember when it washed the base of the walls; but as Roman
subjects we have lived in peace, and, as always happens in such times,
trade has had its will; now the whole river front is taken up with
wharves and docks. Yonder”—the speaker pointed southward—“is Mount
Casius, or, as these people love to call it, the Mountains of Orontes,
looking across to its brother Amnus in the north; and between them lies
the Plain of Antioch. Farther on are the Black Mountains, whence the
Ducts of the Kings bring the purest water to wash the thirsty streets
and people; yet they are forests in wilderness state, dense, and full
of birds and beasts.”
“Where is the lake?” one asked.
“Over north there. You can take horse, if you wish to see it—or,
better, a boat, for a tributary connects it with the river.”
“The Grove of Daphne!” he said, to a third inquirer. “Nobody can
describe it; only beware! It was begun by Apollo, and completed by him.
He prefers it to Olympus. People go there for one look—just one—and
never come away. They have a saying which tells it all—‘Better be a
worm and feed on the mulberries of Daphne than a king’s guest.’”
“Then you advise me to stay away from it?”
“Not I! Go you will. Everybody goes, cynic philosopher, virile boy,
women, and priests—all go. So sure am I of what you will do that I
assume to advise you. Do not take quarters in the city—that will be
loss of time; but go at once to the village in the edge of the grove.
The way is through a garden, under the spray of fountains. The lovers
of the god and his Penaean maid built the town; and in its porticos and
paths and thousand retreats you will find characters and habits and
sweets and kinds elsewhere impossible. But the wall of the city! there
it is, the masterpiece of Xeraeus, the master of mural architecture.”
All eyes followed his pointing finger.
“This part was raised by order of the first of the Seleucidæ. Three
hundred years have made it part of the rock it rests upon.”
The defense justified the encomium. High, solid, and with many bold
angles, it curved southwardly out of view.
“On the top there are four hundred towers, each a reservoir of water,”
the Hebrew continued. “Look now! Over the wall, tall as it is, see in
the distance two hills, which you may know as the rival crests of
Sulpius. The structure on the farthest one is the citadel, garrisoned
all the year round by a Roman legion. Opposite it this way rises the
Temple of Jupiter, and under that the front of the legate’s residence—a
palace full of offices, and yet a fortress against which a mob would
dash harmlessly as a south wind.”
At this point the sailors began taking in sail, whereupon the Hebrew
exclaimed, heartily, “See! you who hate the sea, and you who have vows,
get ready your curses and your prayers. The bridge yonder, over which
the road to Seleucia is carried, marks the limit of navigation. What
the ship unloads for further transit, the camel takes up there. Above
the bridge begins the island upon which Calinicus built his new city,
connecting it with five great viaducts so solid time has made no
impression upon them, nor floods nor earthquakes. Of the main town, my
friends, I have only to say you will be happier all your lives for
having seen it.”
As he concluded, the ship turned and made slowly for her wharf under
the wall, bringing even more fairly to view the life with which the
river at that point was possessed. Finally, the lines were thrown, the
oars shipped, and the voyage was done. Then Ben-Hur sought the
respectable Hebrew.
“Let me trouble you a moment before saying farewell.”
The man bowed assent.
“Your story of the merchant has made me curious to see him. You called
him Simonides?”
“Yes. He is a Jew with a Greek name.”
“Where is he to be found?”
The acquaintance gave a sharp look before he answered,
“I may save you mortification. He is not a money-lender.”
“Nor am I a money-borrower,” said Ben-Hur, smiling at the other’s
shrewdness.
The man raised his head and considered an instant.
“One would think,” he then replied, “that the richest merchant in
Antioch would have a house for business corresponding to his wealth;
but if you would find him in the day, follow the river to yon bridge,
under which he quarters in a building that looks like a buttress of the
wall. Before the door there is an immense landing, always covered with
cargoes come and to go. The fleet that lies moored there is his. You
cannot fail to find him.”
“I give you thanks.”
“The peace of our fathers go with you.”
“And with you.”
With that they separated.
Two street-porters, loaded with his baggage, received Ben-Hur’s orders
upon the wharf.
“To the citadel,” he said; a direction which implied an official
military connection.
Two great streets, cutting each other at right angles, divided the city
into quarters. A curious and immense structure, called the Nymphaeum,
arose at the foot of the one running north and south. When the porters
turned south there, the new-comer, though fresh from Rome, was amazed
at the magnificence of the avenue. On the right and left there were
palaces, and between them extended indefinitely double colonnades of
marble, leaving separate ways for footmen, beasts, and chariots; the
whole under shade, and cooled by fountains of incessant flow.
Ben-Hur was not in mood to enjoy the spectacle. The story of Simonides
haunted him. Arrived at the Omphalus—a monument of four arches wide as
the streets, superbly illustrated, and erected to himself by Epiphanes,
the eighth of the Seleucidæ—he suddenly changed his mind.
“I will not go to the citadel to-night,” he said to the porters. “Take
me to the khan nearest the bridge on the road to Seleucia.”
The party faced about, and in good time he was deposited in a public
house of primitive but ample construction, within stone’s-throw of the
bridge under which old Simonides had his quarters. He lay upon the
house-top through the night. In his inner mind lived the thought,
“Now—now I will hear of home—and mother—and the dear little Tirzah. If
they are on earth, I will find them.”