Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ

By Lew Wallace and John Swansburg

Lew Wallace’s enduring epic, a tale of revenge, betrayal, honor, compassion and the power of forgiveness, set during the life of Christ, with an introduction from John Swansburg

At the beginning of the first century, Judah Ben-Hur lived as a prince, descended from the royal line of Judea and one of Jerusalem’s most prosperous merchant families. But his world falls apart when he is betrayed by his best friend, Messala, who falsely accuses him of an attempt to assassinate the Roman governor.

Convicted without trial, Judah is sentenced to slavery on a Roman galley, while his mother and sister are imprisoned and his family’s assets are seized. All seems lost, but just before boarding the ship, Ben-Hur has his first interaction with the Christ, who offers him water and hope. Their lives continue to intersect as Ben-Hur miraculously survives his time as a slave to become a charioteer, confront his betrayer, Messala, in an epic race, fall in love with the beautiful Esther, avenge his family, and become a follower of the Christ.

Ben-Hur weaves biblical history and a rich adventure plot into a timeless tale certain to entertain a new generation of readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9780062465979

Lew Wallace

Lew Wallace was an American lawyer, soldier, politician and author. During active duty as a second lieutenant in the Mexican-American War, Wallace met Abraham Lincoln, who would later inspire him to join the Republican Party and fight for the Union in the American Civil War. Following the end of the war, Wallace retired from the army and began writing, completing his most famous work, Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ while serving as the governor of New Mexico Territory. Ben-Hur would go on to become the best-selling American novel of the nineteenth century, and is noted as one of the most influential Christian books ever written. Although Ben-Hur is his most famous work, Wallace published continuously throughout his lifetime. Other notable titles include, The Boyhood of Christ, The Prince of India, several biographies and his own autobiography. Wallace died in 1909 at the age of 77, after a lifetime of service in the American army and government.

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DEDICATION

To the wife of my youth who still abides with me

CONTENTS

Dedication

Introduction

BOOK FIRST

BOOK SECOND

BOOK THIRD

BOOK FOURTH

BOOK FIFTH

BOOK SIXTH

BOOK SEVENTH

BOOK EIGHTH

About the Author

Also by Lew Wallace

Credits

Back Ad

Copyright

About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION

by John Swansburg

Lew Wallace was making conversation with the other gentlemen in his sleeper car when a man in a nightgown appeared in the doorway. The train was bound for Indianapolis and the Third National Soldiers Reunion, where thousands of Union Army veterans planned to rally, reminisce, and march in a parade the New York Times would later describe as the grandest street display ever seen in the United States. It was September 19, 1876, more than a decade since the Civil War had ended. Wallace had grayed a bit, but still wore the sweeping imperial moustache he’d had at the Battle of Shiloh. Is that you, General Wallace? the man in the nightgown asked. Won’t you come to my room? I want to talk.

Robert Ingersoll, also a veteran of Shiloh, was the nation’s most prominent atheist, a renowned orator who toured the country challenging religious orthodoxy. Wallace recognized him from earlier that summer, when he’d heard Ingersoll, a fellow Republican, make a rousing speech at the party’s nominating convention. Wallace accepted his invitation and suggested they take up a subject near to Ingersoll’s heart: the existence of God.

Ingersoll talked until the train reached its destination. He went over the whole question of the Bible, of the immortality of the soul, of the divinity of God, and of heaven and hell, Wallace later recalled. He vomited forth ideas and arguments like an intellectual volcano. The arguments had a powerful effect on Wallace. Departing the train, he walked the predawn streets of Indianapolis alone. In the past he had been indifferent to religion, but after his talk with Ingersoll his ignorance struck him as problematic, a spot of deeper darkness in the darkness. He resolved to devote himself to a study of theology, if only for the gratification there might be in having convictions of one kind or another.

But how to go about such a study? Wallace knew himself well enough to predict that a syllabus of sermons and Biblical commentaries would fail to hold his interest. He devised instead what he called an incidental employment, a task that would compel him to complete a thorough investigation of the eternal questions while entertaining his distractible mind. A few years earlier, he’d published The Fair God, a historical romance about the Spanish conquest of Mexico, to modest success. His idea now was to inquire after the divinity of Christ by writing a novel about him.

It took four years, but in 1880, Wallace finished his incidental employment. He called it Ben-Hur. It’s one of the great if little known ironies in the history of American literature: having set out to win another soul to the side of skepticism, Robert Ingersoll instead inspired the book you hold in your hands, a Biblical epic that would rival the actual Bible for influence and popularity in Gilded Age America.

Ben-Hur might be the most famous American novel that most Americans don’t even realize is a novel. Thanks to William Wyler’s blockbuster 1959 film, which collected a record eleven Academy Awards, the story of Judah Ben-Hur is still widely-known, though the title now conjures the image of a bronze, bare-chested Charlton Heston, careening around the racetrack in the film’s iconic chariot race, not the dusty pages of Lew Wallace’s Victorian tome.

For many years, I was among those who assumed Ben-Hur was the work of an imaginative yet pious MGM screenwriter. It wasn’t until about a decade ago, when I visited Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee, the site of the battle of Shiloh, that I learned of the novel and of the remarkable man who wrote it. Wallace played a pivotal, and controversial, role in that bloody two-day fight, and I left my tour fascinated by the question of whether he deserved the blame—heaped on him in the wake of the battle—for nearly costing the Union its hard-won victory there.

When I returned home, I delved into Wallace’s biography and was astonished by what I found. Even by the standards of the nineteenth century, when the country was smaller and wilder, and adventure more readily at hand, Lew Wallace led an exceptionally eventful life. You could argue, with a straight face, that no man participated so fully in the postbellum American experience. Wallace had a Zelig-like knack for insinuating himself into the defining moments of his day. A lawyer by training, he served on the tribunal that tried the Lincoln assassination conspirators. During the disputed election of 1876, the Republican Party sent him to oversee what would become the original Florida recount. For his role in delivering the White House to Rutherford B. Hayes, Wallace was rewarded with the governorship of the New Mexico Territory. The duties of office included putting down a range war in Lincoln County; among the combatants was William H. Bonney, better known as Billy the Kid.

Wallace’s role in the life and death of Billy the Kid earned him a bit part in the dime novels that burnished the outlaw’s legend, but it was nothing compared to the celebrity Wallace’s own novel brought him. I was shocked to learn that not only was Ben-Hur a novel before it was a movie—it had been even more popular in its day than Wyler’s film ever was, possibly the bestselling novel of the nineteenth century.

It’s hard to say for sure since tracking book sales in the nineteenth century is an inexact science, but Robert and Katharine Morsberger, Wallace’s biographers, estimate that Harper & Brothers—as this house was then known—sold a million copies of the novel between 1880 and 1912. In 1913, Sears, Roebuck ordered a million more, at the time the largest book order ever placed. James David Hart’s The Popular Book: A History of America’s Literary Taste (1950) cites a study conducted in 1893, which found that only three contemporary novels were held by more than 50 percent of public libraries. Ben-Hur was first among them, present in 83 percent of the collections surveyed. If every American didn’t read the novel, almost everyone was aware of it, Hart concludes.

If the book was so popular in its day, you might be wondering, how come it’s no longer as widely read as, say, Huckleberry Finn? The answer is that what made Ben-Hur so attractive to nineteenth-century readers does not necessarily translate for twenty-first-century ones. Wallace’s novel can be plodding at times, its plot mechanics creaky, its prose overwrought. Always a lover of the bold stroke, Wallace had written out the final draft of his manuscript in purple ink, a color that will strike readers as apt for some of the novel’s loftier passages. Whereas Twain’s playful Southern drawl still delights, Wallace’s stilted attempt at Classical syntax can grate on the contemporary ear. You have grown handsome; the Greeks would call you beautiful, the Roman Messala tells Judah Ben-Hur when the boyhood friends are reunited at the outset of the novel. If Jupiter would stay content with one Ganymede, what a cup-bearer you would make for the emperor!

Scarcely more palatable are Wallace’s didactic digressions into the history of the Middle East. Caesar was not content with deposing Archelaus, Wallace writes, setting the political scene in first-century Jerusalem, He reduced Judea to a Roman province, and annexed it to the prefecture of Syria. So, instead of a king ruling royally from the palace left by Herod on Mount Zion, the city fell into the hands of an officer of the second grade, an appointee called procurator, who communicated with the court in Rome through the Legate of Syria, residing in Antioch. Got that?

In other words, Ben-Hur is not exclusively a swords-and-sandals romp. There is plenty of action, action that has stood the test of time, but the real reason to revisit the novel today is for what it reveals about the period in which it was written. Few works offer as compelling a portrait of popular American tastes in the post–Civil War era—and not just tastes in fiction. The book opens a window onto the country’s evolving religious attitudes, its embrace of the almighty dollar at the dawn of the Gilded Age, and its efforts to heal the still fresh wound of the War Between the States.

Let’s begin with the novel’s treatment of religion, since interrogating his own faith was Wallace’s ostensible purpose in writing the book. It’s difficult to appreciate fully today, but his project was a controversial one at the time. Religious authorities in the latter half of the nineteenth century still held the novel in low regard, seeing it as a potentially corrupting form of leisure. The idea that an author would presume to make Jesus Christ a character in such a debased medium—a virtually unheard of proposition—was not one likely to meet with clerical, or for that matter popular, approval.

Yet Wallace approached his task reverently and cannily. Rather than making Christ his central character, he devised a plot that takes place in the years between the nativity and the crucifixion. The novel begins with a description of the former, and ends by recounting the latter, but for most of the novel Christ remains just out of sight. The real hero of the novel is the titular Judah Ben-Hur, a Jewish prince who is betrayed by his boyhood friend, the venal, power-hungry Messala. In one of the novel’s clunkier twists, Judah is watching the new Roman procurator parade through the streets of Jerusalem when he accidentally dislodges a roofing tile, which in turn brains the Roman governor, gravely injuring him. Though he knows Judah would never have intentionally set out to do this harm, Messala takes the opportunity to demonstrate his fealty to Rome by seeing to it that his childhood playmate is sent off into bondage on a Roman galley and his mother and sister condemned to prison.

The balance of the novel involves Judah’s attempt to avenge himself and return from his exile to rescue his family. This long middle section, which contains the novel’s most-famous sequences—the still-pulse-quickening set pieces in which Judah escapes his enslavement in the galley during a battle at sea, then challenges Messala in a chariot race at Antioch—has little to do with Jesus Christ. It’s a gripping revenge story, not a gentle allegorical account of a pilgrim’s progress. (Readers who have seen Wyler’s movie will be surprised at how differently the famous chariot race plays in the novel, in which Judah’s vengeance is more . . . Biblical.)

And yet, though Christ spends long swaths of the novel out of sight, Wallace does make the Nazerene, as he frequently refers to him, a full-fledged character in his story. In some ways, Wallace was cautious in his treatment of Christ: His speaking part is small, and the dialog is taken verbatim from the King James Bible; he didn’t dare put words in the messiah’s mouth. But in other ways Wallace was bold. At the outset of Judah’s trials, as he’s being marched off to slavery, a young man in Nazareth wordlessly offers the prisoner a drink of water:

Looking up, [Judah] saw a face he never forgot—the face of a boy about his own age, shaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut hair; a face lighted by dark-blue eyes, at the time so soft, so appealing, so full of love and holy purpose, that they had all the power of command and will.

The scene is remarkable for having been created out of whole cloth; inventing occurrences in the life of Jesus simply wasn’t done in nineteenth-century Biblical fiction. It’s also notable for its detailed physical portrait of Christ, who is described as he’d rarely been before, in the Gospels or elsewhere. Wallace wrote of the pallor of Jesus’s complexion, the reddish golden highlights the sun leaves in that chestnut hair, and even the impressive length of his eyelashes. Iras, the novel’s femme fatale, derisively refers to Jesus as the man with the woman’s face—perhaps with a touch of jealousy.

Bolder still are Wallace’s accounts of Judah’s interactions with Christ at the end of the novel, when our hero has returned to Jerusalem. Judah’s conversion to Christianity comes soon after Christ cures his mother and sister of the leprosy they contracted during their long imprisonment: Wallace may not have presumed to invent dialogue for Christ to speak, but he doesn’t mind asking him to cure characters of his invention. Later, in a subtle but audacious stroke, Wallace goes a step further in intertwining his narrative with that of the New Testament. After a failed attempt to save Christ from the Roman authorities at Gethsemane, Judah is stripped of his clothes by the mob and left to flee the garden naked. Careful readers of the Gospels will recall that Mark (and Mark alone) describes a mysterious, nameless young disciple of Christ who is nearly seized by the mob, and flees naked from the garden. Wallace, in other words, suggests that Mark’s nameless disciple was none other than Judah Ben-Hur. Christ isn’t just in Judah’s story—Judah is now in Christ’s.

Wallace balanced his occasionally adventurous manipulation of holy texts with a careful study of scientific ones, which he dutifully pulled from the shelves of libraries in Boston, New York, and Washington, D.C. In describing ancient Judea, he was attentive to its geography, topography, and even its flora and fauna. Rarely in American fiction has the camel been described so extravagantly.

These passages will strike some contemporary readers as drudgery, but Wallace’s careful descriptions were not incidental to the novel’s nineteenth-century appeal. He made the figure of Christ, and the times in which he lived, come alive for readers at a moment when faith was under assault—by the speeches of Robert Ingersoll, the writings of Charles Darwin, and the lingering trauma of the Civil War. The horrors of battle and the magnitude of the carnage were difficult to put aside, writes Drew Gilpin Faust in This Republic of Suffering (2008). The force of loss left even many believers unable to abandon lingering uncertainties about God’s benevolence. In Ben-Hur, Wallace gave readers a flesh-and-blood Jesus who walked through a realistically rendered landscape, reassuring the wavering reader of Christ’s divinity by making the case for his historicity.

It worked. Letters Wallace received from readers attested to the novel’s descriptive power. The messiah appears before us as I always wished him depicted to men, wrote a Roman Catholic priest. The various descriptions surpassed in their attraction, glowing colors, and truthfulness all I have ever read before. According to a contemporary newspaper account, pastors and school superintendents were fond of pointing out that "the most vivid picture of the Holy Land in the time of Christ was in Ben-Hur. As a result, no boy who went to Sunday school could have escaped the story if he tried." (Teachers who ignored the novel may have done so at their peril. In Anne of Green Gables (1908), the young heroine sneaks Ben-Hur into her Canadian history class. I had just got to the chariot race when school went in, she later confesses. I was simply wild to know how it turned out.)

Wallace always maintained that, though he never joined an organized church, he came to believe in Christ’s divinity in the course of writing his novel. Whether the assertion was true, or merely meant to allay concerns in the marketplace about the novelist’s propriety, the book inspired the faith of readers. For some, it accomplished what even the Bible could not. Perhaps the most remarkable letter Wallace received after the novel’s publication was from a man named George Parrish, a self-described drunkard who had lost everything to his addiction. I had no future to hope for, he wrote to Wallace from a YMCA in Kewanee, Illinois. No past but of which I was ashamed. Ben-Hur, however, inspired Parrish to find religion, and recovery. It seemed to bring Christ home to me as nothing else could, he explained, and resting on his strength, I stood up again in this community and was a man. Parrish wrote that it had been a year since he read the novel, and he’d faltered not once in that time. I want to thank you for that book, he wrote to Wallace. Thank you as a man who has come up from midnight into midday.

Thanks to the novel’s salubrious effect on the souls of its readers, the critic Carl Van Doren credited Ben-Hur with convincing skeptical parish priests that fiction could be a force for good. Wallace’s book had won practically the ultimate victory over village opposition to the novel, he wrote, and as such, he surmised that Ben-Hur was likely the first work of fiction many Americans ever read—or at least the second, after Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

That Van Doren ranked Wallace’s novel with Harriet Beecher Stowe’s was fitting: The outsized role Wallace’s novel played in the imagination of post-war America mirrored the role Uncle Tom’s Cabin had played in the antebellum period. As Howard Miller, a professor emeritus of history and religious studies at the University of Texas, has argued, if Uncle Tom’s Cabin played a role in dividing the Union in the 1850s, "Wallace’s Ben-Hur helped to reunite the nation in the years following Reconstruction."

The middle portion of Wallace’s novel may take its pleasures from the visceral thrill of vengeance, but ultimately the book is concerned with the spiritual thrill of forgiveness. Having vanquished Messala in the Antioch arena, Judah sets out for Jerusalem to continue his campaign of retribution, bent on freeing Judea from its Roman oppressors. But when he arrives in the Holy Land he encounters a rabbi from Nazareth, a man promising not an earthly kingdom but a heavenly one. After witnessing Jesus’s arrest and crucifixion, Judah lays down his sword and instead takes up the work of honoring Christ’s message of forbearance. The novel closes with Judah deciding to spend the vast wealth he’s accumulated during his exile to finance a catacomb where Christian martyrs can be buried and venerated.

Offering the satisfaction of a revenge plot while preaching the gospel of compassion, Ben-Hur resonated with a country that was pivoting from vengeance to forgiveness itself. The National Soldiers Reunion that Wallace and Ingersoll attended in 1876, at the tail end of Reconstruction, was a strictly Union event, with speeches and parades honoring the North’s just cause. But at the Reunion held just two years later, in Cincinnati, blue mingled with gray: Joe Johnston, John Bell Hood, and Robert E. Lee’s nephew Fitzhugh were among the invitees, and the order of the day was celebrating the heroism of combatants on both sides of the conflict.

Wallace harbored no grudge against his former adversaries; on the contrary, he held the sacrifices they made in high esteem. Speaking at the dedication of the Chickamauga battlefield, he described the Confederates as having made an honest mistake. He encouraged his audience to remember not the cause, but the heroism it invoked. His admiration for the heroes of the Lost Cause seeped into his novel. As the literary historian David S. Reynolds has noted, in Ben-Hur’s portrait of the Jewish people, readers in the American South could find a subjugated, slave-holding, and yet noble people sympathetically described.

Indeed, despite being authored by a former Union general, the book found an avid readership in the former Confederacy, making Ben-Hur among the first mass entertainments to transfix all corners of the reconstituted nation. In an Indiana newspaper, the historian S. Chandler Lighty discovered Varina Davis’s account of reading Ben-Hur aloud to her father from ten o’clock until daybreak, both of us oblivious to the flight of time. Her father was Jefferson Davis, the former Confederate president.

One of the earliest fan letters Wallace received came from Paul Hamilton Hayne, a respected poet and editor and a Confederate veteran. "It is—me judice—a noble and very powerful prose poem! Hayne wrote. Simple, straightforward, but eloquent. Wallace was thrilled to learn that a former rebel had enjoyed his novel. In his reply to Hayne, he expressed delight at receiving such high praise from the Singer of the South." He then delicately asked the poet if he had any objections to Wallace’s publishing the letter. After his long string of financial failures, he was eager to join in the prosperity of the nascent Gilded Age, and hoped testimonials like Hayne’s would help him move copies. For Wallace as for many Americans, the profit motive extinguished any lingering sectional enmity.

That Judah Ben-Hur finds Christ and wins a great fortune was surely not lost on the novel’s newly affluent readers, North and South. In fact, among the popular genres that Wallace channels in Ben-Hur is the rags-to-riches tale, specifically the type made famous by his contemporary Horatio Alger. Alger specialized in stories in which a worthy but disadvantaged young man is elevated from low circumstances thanks to his moral fiber and the good offices of a wealthy benefactor. That’s precisely the story of Judah Ben-Hur, whose selfless act of bravery in saving the life of Quintus Arrias, the captain of the galley to which he’s been condemned, wins him the protection and ultimately the inheritance of the powerful Roman.

Wallace himself had struggled financially through much of his life. His correspondence is full of enthusiastic accounts of railroad investments and mining prospects that never pan out; he patented unprofitable improvements to railway ties, automatic fans, and the fishing rod. But Ben-Hur opened the doors of opportunity. A steady stream of royalty checks freed Wallace from the practice of law (that most detestable of occupations, he called it) and from his creditors. I contemplate with great satisfaction the pains that will wrench his little pigeon heart when he hears that all my debts are paid, Wallace wrote of one of them, his brother-in-law. Ben-Hur is a rags-to-riches story that achieved for its author something like the transformation it describes, rescuing Wallace from his scant means and delivering him into comfortable affluence.

Despite these monetary rewards, Wallace was disappointed that the book failed to win him the literary laurels he felt he deserved. Contemporary critics found the novel’s romanticism passé and its action pulpy. The Atlantic’s reviewer wrote that the novel lacks the sincere dignity and sustained sweep which a novel with the ambitious purpose of this must have in order to take the rank as a great historical picture. On a visit to Boston, home of the literary old guard, Wallace noted with pique that William Dean Howells, James Russell Lowell, and Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. all declined invitations to parties held in his honor. Why did they not come? he wrote to his wife, Susan. Would their presence have been too much of a sanction or endorsement for the wild westerner?

As much as such dismissals stung Wallace, there was something he desired even more deeply than critical acclaim. He wanted absolution for his role in the Union losses at the bloody battle of Shiloh. We’ve seen how Ben-Hur’s theme of forgiveness played into the national mood and the desire to resolve any lingering resentments left over from the Civil War. But we can also see in the novel the very personal toll the war took on its author, and the unresolved conflict it left within him.

Ben-Hur can’t be properly understood without appreciating Wallace’s experience at Shiloh. Wallace wasn’t just a writer of romances; he was a romantic himself, with a chivalric sense of honor, and he was plagued by the blot left on his reputation by that two-day fight. Twenty-six thousand men were killed or wounded in the battle, and no participant was left without a scar. Robert Ingersoll, then a Union cavalryman, spent the first day corralling infantry as they fled the slaughter of the front lines; when a storm broke that evening, he wrote that the rain fell slowly and sadly, as though the heavens were weeping for the dead. Even the usually imperturbable Ulysses S. Grant was taken aback. Writing of Shiloh in his memoirs, he recalled a field so covered with dead that it would have been possible to walk across the clearing, in any direction, stepping on dead bodies, without a foot touching the ground.

It’s difficult to comprehend death on this scale; now try to imagine being blamed for it. On April 5, 1862, Wallace had been the youngest major general in the Union Army, a promising if brash officer who’d fought ably during the early days of the still young conflict. But on April 6, when the Confederates attacked and nearly succeeded in overrunning the Union lines, Wallace, who was stationed just a few miles from the front, failed to bring his sorely needed troops to the field of battle. He was rumored to have gotten lost—or worse, to have lost his nerve—and in the aftermath of the battle Grant blamed him for the heavy Union casualties. Within a few months, Wallace was relieved of his field command.

Historians have long debated how dearly Wallace’s missteps cost the Union, and whether he indeed erred, or was merely a convenient scapegoat for Grant’s own questionable leadership during the first day’s fight. There’s good evidence to suggest that Wallace was more the victim of the fog of war than poor judgment, or for that matter a lack of fighting spirit; up until that point, he’d never demonstrated anything but eagerness to lead his men into battle. Regardless, Wallace believed in his bones that Grant had blamed him unfairly for the debacle at Shiloh, and in doing so had ruined his military career. Wallace spent the rest of his life trying to clear his name, producing maps, affidavits from fellow combatants, anything that might prove that the blood of his comrades shouldn’t be on his hands.

With Wallace’s tragic experience of the Civil War in mind, it’s difficult not to see Ben-Hur as a wistful revision of the author’s personal history. The novel tells the story of a promising young man condemned for a crime he didn’t commit—and one who ultimately avenges himself, clears his name, and wins a great fortune in the process.

Even the novel’s most famous scene, the chariot race showdown between Judah and Messala, might well have its roots in Wallace’s rivalry with Grant, the man responsible for his own exile. Researching Wallace’s life, I came across an item in the Denver News, published a few days after Wallace had died. The article described a meeting between Wallace and Grant, near the end of the war. Though he never served in a major campaign again after Shiloh, Wallace did manage to make himself useful in ancillary roles, and Grant eventually warmed to him. One day, the article recounted, Grant invited Wallace to visit him at his headquarters in Virginia. Wallace arrived on his horse Old John, a red bay who was unusually tall and fast.

Grant and Wallace rode out to inspect a fort on the left of the Union lines. Grant, a gifted horseman, admired Old John and proposed a race back to camp. Wallace assented, but reined his horse in as the race began. Let him out! barked Grant, seeing that he was being afforded a handicap. Wallace did as he was ordered, and though Grant was in a furious gallop, Old John easily sprinted ahead. After a mile or two, Grant called a halt—and offered to buy Old John on the spot. Wallace refused. Neither love nor money, he said, can buy Old John.

Wallace himself never wrote of this impromptu race or his triumph over his old nemesis. Perhaps, in a rare demonstration of tact, he realized it wasn’t to his advantage to brag of beating Grant at a favorite pastime. Or perhaps the author of the article—a family friend—was merely relaying a well-worn legend, a story passed around the Wallace paddock in his native Indiana.

Or maybe Wallace did write of the contest, though only under the veil of fiction. Might the race against Grant have been the inspiration for the chariot race between Judah and Messala? If so, it would make for a wonderful irony. Wallace never believed he’d been fully exonerated of wrongdoing at Shiloh, even after Grant allowed, in his memoirs, that he might have unfairly singled him out for blame. But the success of Ben-Hur, fueled in no small part by the showstopping sequence at the Antioch arena, won its author fame and riches to match those he bestowed on his fictional hero. The novel also dimmed the memory of Shiloh in the public imagination, though perhaps too late for Wallace to appreciate how completely his literary triumph had eclipsed his wartime infamy. When he died, in 1905, newspapers across the country carried his obituary. Some touched on the scandal at Shiloh, but the success of Ben-Hur, and its unprecedented appeal among the reading public, was the dominant theme of most. "Throughout the rank and file of our steady churchgoing people the man who is ignorant of Ben-Hur, who cannot relay vividly every point of the chariot race, is set down as beyond the pale in both literature and religion, read one encomium, typical of the lot. Shakespeare and Milton are above the range of honest folk, the Bible they are often content to take at second hand, but Ben-Hur brings grandeur nearer our common dust."

Wallace, who fancied himself a litterateur, might have preferred to be in the company of Shakespeare and Milton. But he’d surely take pride in knowing he’d written a work that held great appeal among the reading public—and a folk story that has endured, in one medium or another, through every generation since his own. Wallace’s own name has faded from American memory. Ben-Hur’s lives on.

BOOK FIRST

CHAPTER I

The Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more in length, and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it a likeness to a caterpillar crawling from the south to the north. Standing on its red-and-white cliffs, and looking off under the path of the rising sun, one sees only the Desert of Arabia, where the east winds, so hateful to vinegrowers of Jericho, have kept their playgrounds since the beginning. Its feet are well covered by sands tossed from the Euphrates, there to lie, for the mountain is a wall to the pasture-lands of Moab and Ammon on the west—lands which else had been of the desert a part.

The Arab has impressed his language upon everything south and east of Judea, so, in his tongue, the old Jebel is the parent of numberless wadies which, intersecting the Roman road—now a dim suggestion of what once it was, a dusty path for Syrian pilgrims to and from Mecca—run their furrows, deepening as they go, to pass the torrents of the rainy season into the Jordan, or their last receptacle, the Dead Sea. Out of one of these wadies—or, more particularly, out of that one which rises at the extreme end of the Jebel, and, extending east of north, becomes at length the bed of the Jabbok River—a traveller passed, going to the table-lands of the desert. To this person the attention of the reader is first besought.

Judged by his appearance, he was quite forty-five years old. His beard, once of the deepest black, flowing broadly over his breast, was streaked with white. His face was brown as a parched coffee-berry, and so hidden by a red kufiyeh (as the kerchief of the head is at this day called by the children of the desert) as to be but in part visible. Now and then he raised his eyes, and they were large and dark. He was clad in the flowing garments so universal in the East; but their style may not be described more particularly, for he sat under a miniature tent, and rode a great white dromedary.

It may be doubted if the people of the West ever overcome the impression made upon them by the first view of a camel equipped and loaded for the desert. Custom, so fatal to other novelties, affects this feeling but little. At the end of long journeys with caravans, after years of residence with the Bedawin, the Western-born, wherever they may be, will stop and wait the passing of the stately brute. The charm is not in the figure, which not even love can make beautiful; nor in the movement, the noiseless stepping, or the broad careen. As is the kindness of the sea to a ship, so that of the desert to its creature. It clothes him with all its mysteries; in such manner, too, that while we are looking at him we are thinking of them: therein is the wonder. The animal which now came out of the wady might well have claimed the customary homage. Its color and height; its breadth of foot; its bulk of body, not fat, but overlaid with muscle; its long, slender neck, of swanlike curvature; the head, wide between the eyes, and tapering to a muzzle which a lady’s bracelet might have almost clasped; its motion, step long and elastic, tread sure and soundless—all certified its Syrian blood, old as the days of Cyrus, and absolutely priceless. There was the usual bridle, covering the forehead with scarlet fringe, and garnishing the throat with pendent brazen chains, each ending with a tinkling silver bell; but to the bridle there was neither rein for the rider nor strap for a driver. The furniture perched on the back was an invention which with any other people than of the East would have made the inventor renowned. It consisted of two wooden boxes, scarce four feet in length, balanced so that one hung at each side; the inner space, softly lined and carpeted, was arranged to allow the master to sit or lie half reclined; over it all was stretched a green awning. Broad back and breast straps, and girths, secured with countless knots and ties, held the device in place. In such manner the ingenious sons of Cush had contrived to make comfortable the sunburnt ways of the wilderness, along which lay their duty as often as their pleasure.

When the dromedary lifted itself out of the last break of the wady, the traveller had passed the boundary of El Belka, the ancient Ammon. It was morning-time. Before him was the sun, half curtained in fleecy mist; before him also spread the desert; not the realm of drifting sands, which was farther on, but the region where the herbage began to dwarf; where the surface is strewn with boulders of granite, and gray and brown stones, interspersed with languishing acacias and tufts of camel-grass. The oak, bramble, and arbutus lay behind, as if they had come to a line, looked over into the well-less waste and crouched with fear.

And now there was an end of path or road. More than ever the camel seemed insensibly driven; it lengthened and quickened its pace, its head pointed straight towards the horizon; through the wide nostrils it drank the wind in great draughts. The litter swayed, and rose and fell like a boat in the waves. Dried leaves in occasional beds rustled underfoot. Sometimes a perfume like absinthe sweetened all the air. Lark and chat and rock-swallow leaped to wing, and white partridges ran whistling and clucking out of the way. More rarely a fox or a hyena quickened his gallop, to study the intruders at a safe distance. Off to the right rose the hills of the Jebel, the pearl-gray veil resting upon them changing momentarily into a purple which the sun would make matchless a little later. Over their highest peaks a vulture sailed on broad wings into widening circles. But of all these things the tenant under the green tent saw nothing, or, at least, made no sign of recognition. His eyes were fixed and dreamy. The going of the man, like that of the animal, was as one being led.

For two hours the dromedary swung forward, keeping the trot steadily and the line due east. In that time the traveller never changed his position, nor looked to the right or left. On the desert, distance is not measured by miles or leagues, but by the saat, or hour, and the manzil, or halt: three and a half leagues fill the former, fifteen or twenty-five the latter; but they are the rates for the common camel. A carrier of the genuine Syrian stock can make three leagues easily. At full speed he overtakes the ordinary winds. As one of the results of the rapid advance, the face of the landscape underwent a change. The Jebel stretched along the western horizon, like a pale-blue ribbon. A tell, or hummock of clay and cemented sand, arose here and there. Now and then basaltic stones lifted their round crowns, outposts of the mountain against the forces of the plain; all else, however, was sand, sometimes smooth as the beaten beach, then heaped in rolling ridges; here chopped waves, there long swells. So, too, the condition of the atmosphere changed. The sun, high risen, had drunk his fill of dew and mist, and warmed the breeze that kissed the wanderer under the awning; far and near he was tinting the earth with faint milk-whiteness, and shimmering all the sky.

Two hours more passed without rest or deviation from the course. Vegetation entirely ceased. The sand, so crusted on the surface that it broke into rattling flakes at every step, held undisputed sway. The Jebel was out of view, and there was no landmark visible. The shadow that before followed had now shifted to the north, and was keeping even race with the objects which cast it; and as there was no sign of halting, the conduct of the traveller became each moment more strange.

No one, be it remembered, seeks the desert for a pleasure-ground. Life and business traverse it by paths along which the bones of things dead are strewn as so many blazons. Such are the roads from well to well, from pasture to pasture. The heart of the most veteran sheik beats quicker when he finds himself alone in the pathless tracts. So the man with whom we are dealing could not have been in search of pleasure; neither was his manner that of a fugitive; not once did he look behind him. In such situations fear and curiosity are the most common sensations; he was not moved by them. When men are lonely, they stoop to any companionship; the dog becomes a comrade, the horse a friend, and it is no shame to shower them with caresses and speeches of love. The camel received no such token, not a touch, not a word.

Exactly at noon the dromedary, of its own will, stopped, and uttered the cry or moan, peculiarly piteous, by which its kind always protest against an overload, and sometimes crave attention and rest. The master thereupon bestirred himself, waking, as it were, from sleep. He threw the curtains of the houdah up, looked at the sun, surveyed the country on every side long and carefully, as if to identify an appointed place. Satisfied with the inspection, he drew a deep breath and nodded, much as to say, At last, at last! A moment after, he crossed his hands upon his breast, bowed his head, and prayed silently. The pious duty done, he prepared to dismount. From his throat proceeded the sound heard doubtless by the favorite camels of Job—Ikh! ikh!—the signal to kneel. Slowly the animal obeyed, grunting the while. The rider then put his foot upon the slender neck, and stepped upon the sand.

CHAPTER II

The man as now revealed was of admirable proportions, not so tall as powerful. Loosening the silken rope which held the kufiyeh on his head, he brushed the fringed folds back until his face was bare—a strong face, almost negro in color; yet the low, broad forehead, aquiline nose, the outer corners of the eyes turned slightly upward, the hair profuse, straight, harsh, of metallic lustre, and falling to the shoulder in many plaits, were signs of origin impossible to disguise. So looked the Pharaohs and the later Ptolemies; so looked Mizraim, father of the Egyptian race. He wore the kamis, a white cotton shirt tight-sleeved, open in front, extending to the ankles and embroidered down the collar and breast, over which was thrown a brown woollen cloak, now, as in all probability it was then, called the aba, an outer garment with long skirt and short sleeves, lined inside with stuff of mixed cotton and silk, edged all round with a margin of clouded yellow. His feet were protected by sandals, attached by thongs of soft leather. A sash held the kamis to his waist. What was very noticeable, considering he was alone, and that the desert was the haunt of leopards and lions, and men quite as wild, he carried no arms, not even the crooked stick used for guiding camels; wherefore we may at least infer his errand peaceful, and that he was either uncommonly bold or under extraordinary protection.

The traveller’s limbs were numb, for the ride had been long and wearisome; so he rubbed his hands and stamped his feet, and walked round the faithful servant, whose lustrous eyes were closing in calm content with the cud he had already found. Often, while making the circuit, he paused, and, shading his eyes with his hands, examined the desert to the extremest verge of vision; and always, when the survey was ended, his face clouded with disappointment, slight, but enough to advise a shrewd spectator that he was there expecting company, if not by appointment; at the same time, the spectator would have been conscious of a sharpening of the curiosity to learn what the business could be that required transaction in a place so far from civilized abode.

However disappointed, there could be little doubt of the stranger’s confidence in the coming of the expected company. In token thereof, he went first to the litter, and, from the cot or box opposite the one he had occupied in coming, produced a sponge and a small gurglet of water, with which he washed the eyes, face, and nostrils of the camel; that done, from the same depository he drew a circular cloth, red-and white-striped, a bundle of rods, and a stout cane. The latter, after some manipulation, proved to be a cunning device of lesser joints, one within another, which, when united together, formed a centre pole higher than his head. When the pole was planted, and the rods set around it, he spread the cloth over them, and was literally at home—a home much smaller than the habitations of emir and sheik, yet their counterpart in all other respects. From the litter again he brought a carpet or square rug, and covered the floor of the tent on the side from the sun. That done, he went out, and once more, and with greater care and more eager eyes, swept the encircling country. Except a distant jackal, galloping across the plain, and an eagle flying towards the Gulf of Akaba, the waste below, like the blue above it, was lifeless.

He turned to the camel, saying low, and in a tongue strange to the desert, We are far from home, O racer with the swiftest winds—we are far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient.

Then he took some beans from a pocket in the saddle, and put them in a bag made to hang below the animal’s nose; and when he saw the relish with which the good servant took to the food, he turned and again scanned the world of sand, dim with the glow of the vertical sun.

They will come, he said, calmly. He that led me is leading them. I will make ready.

From the pouches which lined the interior of the cot, and from a willow basket which was part of its furniture, he brought forth materials for a meal: platters close-woven of the fibres of palms; wine in small gurglets of skin; mutton dried and smoked; stoneless shami, or Syrian pomegranates; dates of El Shelebi, wondrous rich and grown in the nakhil, or palm orchards, of Central Arabia; cheese, like David’s slices of milk; and leavened bread from the city bakery—all which he carried and set upon the carpet under the tent. As the final preparation, about the provisions he laid three pieces of silk cloth, used among refined people of the East to cover the knees of guests while at table—a circumstance significant of the number of persons who were to partake of his entertainment—the number he was awaiting.

All was now ready. He stepped out: lo! in the east a dark speck on the face of the desert. He stood as if rooted to the ground; his eyes dilated; his flesh crept chilly, as if touched by something supernatural. The speck grew; became large as a hand; at length assumed defined proportions. A little later, full into view swung a duplication of his own dromedary, tall and white, and bearing a houdah, the travelling litter of Hindostan. Then the Egyptian crossed his hands upon his breast, and looked to heaven.

God only is great! he exclaimed, his eyes full of tears, his soul in awe.

The stranger drew nigh—at last stopped. Then he, too, seemed just waking. He beheld the kneeling camel, the tent, and the man standing prayerfully at the door. He crossed his hands, bent his head, and prayed silently; after which, in a little while, he stepped from his camel’s neck to the sand, and advanced towards the Egyptian, as did the Egyptian towards him. A moment they looked at each other; then they embraced—that is, each threw his right arm over the other’s shoulder, and the left round the side, placing his chin first upon the left, then upon the right breast.

Peace be with thee, O servant of the true God! the stranger said.

And to thee, O brother of the true faith!—to thee peace and welcome, the Egyptian replied, with fervor.

The new-comer was tall and gaunt, with lean face, sunken eyes, white hair and beard, and a complexion between the hue of cinnamon and bronze. He, too, was unarmed. His costume was Hindostani; over the skull-cap a shawl was wound in great folds, forming a turban; his body garments were in the style of the Egyptian’s, except that the aba was shorter, exposing wide flowing breeches gathered at the ankles. In place of sandals, his feet were clad in half-slippers of red leather, pointed at the toes. Save the slippers, the costume from head to foot was of white linen. The air of the man was high, stately, severe. Visvamitra, the greatest of the ascetic heroes of the Iliad of the East, had in him a perfect representative. He might have been called a Life drenched with the wisdom of Brahma—Devotion Incarnate. Only in his eyes was there proof of humanity; when he lifted his face from the Egyptian’s breast, they were glistening with tears.

God only is great! he exclaimed, when the embrace was finished.

And blessed are they that serve him! the Egyptian answered, wondering at the paraphrase of his own exclamation. But let us wait, he added, let us wait; for see, the other comes yonder!

They looked to the north, where, already plain to view, a third camel, of the whiteness of the others, came careening like a ship. They waited, standing together—waited until the new-comer arrived, dismounted, and advanced towards them.

Peace to you, O my brother! he said, while embracing the Hindoo.

And the Hindoo answered, God’s will be done!

The last comer was all unlike his friends: his frame was slighter; his complexion white; a mass of waving light hair was a perfect crown for his small but beautiful head; the warmth of his dark-blue eyes certified a delicate mind, and a cordial, brave nature. He was bareheaded and unarmed. Under the folds of the Tyrian blanket which he wore with unconscious grace appeared a tunic, short-sleeved and low-necked, gathered to the waist by a band, and reaching nearly to the knee; leaving the neck, arms, and legs bare. Sandals guarded his feet. Fifty years, probably more, had spent themselves upon him, with no other effect, apparently, than to tinge his demeanor with gravity and temper his words with forethought. The physical organization and the brightness of soul were untouched. No need to tell the student from what kindred he was sprung; if he came not himself from the groves of Athene’, his ancestry did.

When his arms fell from the Egyptian, the latter said, with a tremulous voice, The Spirit brought me first; wherefore I know myself chosen to be the servant of my brethren. The tent is set, and the bread is ready for the breaking. Let me perform my office.

Taking each by the hand, he led them within, and removed their sandals and washed their feet, and he poured water upon their hands, and dried them with napkins.

Then, when he had laved his own hands, he said, Let us take care of ourselves, brethren, as our service requires, and eat, that we may be strong for what remains of the day’s duty. While we eat, we will each learn who the others are, and whence they come, and how they are called.

He took them to the repast, and seated them so that they faced each other. Simultaneously their heads bent forward, their hands crossed upon their breasts, and, speaking together, they said aloud this simple grace:

Father of all—God!—what we have here is of thee; take our thanks and bless us, that we may continue to do thy will.

With the last word they raised their eyes, and looked at each other in wonder. Each had spoken in a language never before heard by the others; yet each understood perfectly what was said. Their souls thrilled with divine emotion; for by the miracle they recognized the Divine Presence.

CHAPTER III

To speak in the style of the period, the meeting just described took place in the year of Rome 747. The month was December, and winter reigned over all the regions east of the Mediterranean. Such as ride upon the desert in this season go not far until smitten with a keen appetite. The company under the little tent were not exceptions to the rule. They were hungry, and ate heartily; and, after the wine, they talked.

To a wayfarer in a strange land nothing is so sweet as to hear his name on the tongue of a friend, said the Egyptian, who assumed to be president of the repast. Before us lie many days of companionship. It is time we knew each other. So, if it be agreeable, he who came last shall be first to speak.

Then, slowly at first, like one watchful of himself, the Greek began:

What I have to tell, my brethren, is so strange that I hardly know where to begin or what I may with propriety speak. I do not yet understand myself. The most I am sure of is that I am doing a Master’s will, and that the service is a constant ecstasy. When I think of the purpose I am sent to fulfil, there is in me a joy so inexpressible that I know the will is God’s.

The good man paused, unable to proceed, while the others, in sympathy with his feelings, dropped their gaze.

Far to the west of this, he began again, "there is a land which may never be forgotten; if only because the world is too much its debtor, and because the indebtedness is for things that bring to men their purest pleasures. I will say nothing of the arts, nothing of philosophy, of eloquence, of poetry, of war: O my brethren, hers is the glory which must shine forever in perfected letters, by which He we go to find and proclaim will be made known to all the earth. The land I speak of is Greece. I am Gaspar, son of Cleanthes the Athenian.

My people, he continued, were given wholly to study, and from them I derived the same passion. It happens that two of our philosophers, the very greatest of the many, teach, one the doctrine of a Soul in every man, and its Immortality; the other the doctrine of One God, infinitely just. From the multitude of subjects about which the schools were disputing, I separated them, as alone worth the labor of solution; for I thought there was a relation between God and the soul as yet unknown. On this theme the mind can reason to a point, a dead, impassable wall; arrived there, all that remains is to stand and cry aloud for help. So I did; but no voice came to me over the wall. In despair, I tore myself from the cities and the schools.

At these words a grave smile of approval lighted the gaunt face of the Hindoo.

In the northern part of my country—in Thessaly, the Greek proceeded to say, there is a mountain famous as the home of the gods, where Theus, whom my countrymen believe supreme, has his abode; Olympus is its name. Thither I betook myself. I found a cave in a hill where the mountain, coming from the west, bends to the southeast; there I dwelt, giving myself up to meditation—no, I gave myself up to waiting for what every breath was a prayer—for revelation. Believing in God, invisible yet supreme, I also believed it possible so to yearn for him with all my soul that he would take compassion and give me answer.

And he did—he did! exclaimed the Hindoo, lifting his hands from the silken cloth upon his lap.

Hear me, brethren, said the Greek, calming himself with an effort. The door of my hermitage looks over an arm of the sea, over the Thermaic Gulf. One day I saw a man flung overboard from a ship sailing by. He swam ashore. I received and took care of him. He was a Jew, learned in the history and laws of his people; and from him I came to know that the God of my prayers did indeed exist; and had been for ages their lawmaker, ruler, and king. What was that but the Revelation I dreamed of? My faith had not been fruitless; God answered me!

As he does all who cry to him with such faith, said the Hindoo.

But, alas! the Egyptian added, how few are there wise enough to know when he answers them!

That was not all, the Greek continued. The man so sent to me told me more. He said the prophets who, in the ages which followed the first revelation, walked and talked with God, declared he would come again. He gave me the names of the prophets, and from the sacred books quoted their very language. He told me, further, that the second coming was at hand—was looked for momentarily in Jerusalem.

The Greek paused, and the brightness of his countenance faded.

It is true, he said, after a little—"it is true the man told me that as God and the revelation of which he spoke had been for the Jews alone, so it would be again. He that was to come should be King of the Jews. ‘Had he nothing for the rest of the world?’ I asked. ‘No,’ was the answer, given in a proud voice—‘No, we are his chosen people.’ The answer did not crush my hope. Why should such a God limit his love and benefaction to one land, and, as it were, to one family? I set my heart upon knowing. At last I broke through the man’s pride, and found that his fathers had been merely chosen servants to keep the Truth alive, that the world might at last know it and be saved. When the Jew was gone, and I was alone again, I chastened my soul with a new prayer—that I might be permitted to see the King when he was come, and worship him. One night I sat by the door of my cave trying to get nearer the mysteries of my existence, knowing which is to know God; suddenly, on the sea below me, or rather in the darkness that covered its face, I saw a star begin to burn; slowly it arose and drew nigh, and stood over the hill and above my door, so that its light shone full upon me. I fell down, and slept, and in my dream I heard a voice say:

"‘O Gaspar! Thy faith hath conquered! Blessed art thou! With two others, come from the uttermost parts of the earth, thou shalt see Him that is promised, and be a witness for him, and the occasion of testimony in his behalf. In the morning arise, and go meet them, and keep trust in the Spirit that shall guide thee.’

And in the morning I awoke with the Spirit as a light within me surpassing that of the sun. I put off my hermit’s garb, and dressed myself as of old. From a hiding-place I took the treasure which I had brought from the city. A ship went sailing past. I hailed it, was taken aboard, and landed at Antioch. There I bought the camel and his furniture. Through the gardens and orchards that enamel the banks of the Orontes, I journeyed to Emesa, Damascus, Bostra, and Philadelphia; thence hither. And so, O brethren, you have my story. Let me now listen to you.

CHAPTER IV

The Egyptian and the Hindoo looked at each other; the former waved his hand; the latter bowed, and began:

Our brother has spoken well. May my words be as wise.

He broke off, reflected a moment, then resumed:

"You may know me, brethren, by the name of Melchior. I speak to you in a language which, if not the oldest in the world, was at least the soonest to be reduced to letters—I mean the Sanscrit of India. I am a Hindoo by birth. My people were the first to walk in the fields of knowledge, first to divide them, first to make them beautiful. Whatever may hereafter befall, the four Vedas must live, for they are the primal fountains of religion and useful intelligence. From them were derived the Upa-Vedas, which, delivered by Brahma, treat of medicine, archery, architecture, music, and the four-and-sixty mechanical arts; the Ved-Angas, revealed by inspired saints, and devoted to astronomy, grammar, prosody, pronunciation, charms and incantations, religious rites and ceremonies; the Up-Angas, written by the sage Vyasa, and given to cosmogony, chronology, and geography; therein also are the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, heroic poems, designed for the perpetuation of our gods and demi-gods. Such, O brethren, are the Great Shastras, or books of sacred ordinances. They are dead to me now; yet through all time they will serve to illustrate the budding genius of my race. They were promises of quick perfection. Ask you why the promises failed? Alas! the books themselves closed all the gates of progress. Under pretext of care for the creature, their authors imposed the fatal principle that a man must not address himself to discovery or invention, as Heaven had provided him all things needful. When that condition became a sacred law, the lamp of Hindoo genius was

Reviews for Ben-Hur

[maryhollis · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I read this long book long ago.

[wordsampersand · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I can't recall another novel I've read that seesawed between sublime and sheer awfulness like this one. There were some wonderfully written moments, and then mere sentences later we'd get a description of a handshake that's, like, paragraphs long. The dialogue was the same way--some really subtle stuff, then a mallet to the head.

It's a great premise that's not handled that well. As a person of faith, I also found the handling of Christ reallllllly obnoxious, like a stoic model who also kind of looked like a figure from a Margaret Keane painting.

This is one of those cases where the '50s film version is vastly superior to the source material. Watch that instead.

[j.n6turner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Really good read!

[jclemence_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ tells the fictional story of the first-century Jew Judah Ben-Hur, who as a young man is betrayed by his best friend, Messala. This betrayal changes Ben-Hur forever, as he finds himself rising from a slave aboard a ship to one of the most rich and powerful men in the Roman Empire, to the commander of a volunteer army, and finally to the status of worshiper at the foot of the Cross on Golgotha. Author Lew Wallace paints an interesting picture of how God might have chosen to work in one man for the glory of His kingdom.There is much commendable in Ben-Hur. Wallace took his Christian faith seriously, and as a result spent much time studying the geography, politics and general way of life of first-century Rome and Jerusalem making his novel as historically accurate as he could. Wallace also did an exceptional job writing about the eyewitness accounts of the Christ. As people far removed from the events of the New Testament, it is easy to nonchalantly affirm that Jesus really did the things contained therein. But imagine the excitement that would emanate from inside of you if you watched a man heal your own family from leprosy, or raise a man from the dead! Lewis captured this sense of excitement and awe that must have been present for those who really saw such events. Moving on, the plot of the book is well-written, with a compelling main story and interconnected subplots, each of which keeping one's interest. Many of the characters were relatable, too; I kept wondering in between reading sessions what was the fate of Ben-Hur's mother and sister.If I had to present a criticism of this book, it would be as follows: First, while there was at least one plot twist I didn't see coming, for the most part it wasn't too hard to see where the story was going. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, but a bit more suspense would have been nice. Second, although I think Wallace presented a portrait of Christ that was "historically accurate" for his day, it's highly unlikely (as in 100%) that Jesus was a feminine-looking, long-haired, blue-eyed white guy. I suppose I can forgive him that, though, as he was writing in the 1890s. My only other complaint was his portrayal of Joseph as someone with the personality of a felled tree. That just came out of nowhere, and it probably hurt the story more than it helped.All in all, this is a good book to read for both the Christian and non-Christian alike. It is a solid story, it is a fun read, and it's good motivation to re-watch the Charlton Heston film, too!

[miguelnunonave · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The ultimate youth book. An extremely educating saga, a formidable revenge story, interspersed with important episodes in the life of Christ. I do not agree that Quo Vadis is more moving. They are equally great touching stories in their own special way. This one is a bit more entertaining and fast-paced. And, of course, the Hollywood classic starring Charlton Heston is just one of the best movies of all time.

[mossjon · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was the first book of historical fiction I ever read. It was also the first Christian fiction I read. I can attribute my fascination to ancient history, particularly Roman, to this great story. I also can't remember if I read the book or saw the movie first - although I've read and watched both multiple times over the years.

Judah Ben-Hur is the son of a wealthy merchant who is also friends with Messala, a Roman soldier/politician in occupied Jerusalem. Messala returns to Jerusalem as it's new tribune and there is a bittersweet reunion between the two. During the parade, a loose roof tile falls from the Hur household, striking the tribune and injuring him. The house of Hur is arrested, the women thrust into a dungeon cell and forgotten, and Judah sold into slavery, chained to an oar on a Roman Naval galley.

Dark dreams of revenge keep Judah alive in what most often is a short brutal existence on a Roman galley. During a naval battle, which the Romans lose, Judah saves the galley's Roman commanding officer, prevents the Roman from committing suicide, and eventually returns him safely to the Roman Navy. In return, this Roman officer frees Judah and adopts him as his son.

Now that Judah has the means to pursue his vengeance, he finds Messala and decides to compete against him in the great chariot race. Judah befriends a sheik, the loving owner of four swift and beautiful Arabian horses. Judah trains them for the race. The chariot race culminates in Judah surviving Messala's deadly tricks and eventually running over Messala with his chariot. But hsi revenge turns frigid as Messala's dying words tell Judah that his mother and sister are still alive but lepers from their long confinement in the dungeons.

Judah finds his mother and sister, who lead him to a great teacher. Jesus was in the background of this story throughout Judah's travails. Jesus even slaked Judah's thirst during his trek across the desert with the rest of the galley slaves. Where Judah searched with revenge in his heart, others would speak of the Rabbi who taught of love, forgiveness and peace.

As Judah moved his family away from the leper colony, they were caught in the storms and earthquakes which occurred during the crucifixion of Jesus. His mother and sister were miraculously healed of their leprosy by the blood of Jesus washed from Golgotha by the rain. Finally, Judah comes to terms with the hollowness and futility of his vengeful hate. He forgives his enemies and receives forgiveness and peace himself.

It's no wonder, to me at least, that this story inspired many attempts to theatrically recreate it on stage, as a silent film and finally as one of the greatest motion pictures ever filmed.

[santhony_35 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Virtually anyone reading this book will have seen the movie, which is very faithful to the 19th century novel, penned by a former Union Civil War General named Lew Wallace. Wallace was “disgraced” at the Battle of Shiloh, but went on to serve capably and courageously. Following the war, Wallace pursued a successful political career before penning this work, which is acknowledged as the best selling religiously themed novel in history.Judah Ben-Hur is born to wealth and privilege as the son of a Jewish merchant in Jerusalem. His stunning fall and subsequent “resurrection” has been likened to that of the author, as has his religious awakening, as Ben-Hur’s path crosses and recrosses that of Jesus of Nazareth.Written in the late 19th century, much of the dialogue is in the form spoken during the time of Christ (i.e. sayest thou), but is easily understandable and at times quite beautiful. Nevertheless, there are periods in the story (most notably during Ben-Hur’s sojourn in Antioch) that are mind-numbingly boring as the author spends scores of pages in philosophical contemplation and florid description of the people and places that make up the story.My suggestion: Watch the movie. If you have already done so, I can’t say that reading the book will benefit your appreciation of the story.

[david.alfred.sarkies · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Needless to say that the book is much better than the movie, and when it comes to Ben Hur, that is definitely saying something. While the famous scenes in the movie are replicated from the book (that being the chariot race and the sea battle), there is much more to the book than there is to the movie (though the theme is the same in both). The book is actually called Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ. It may seem that Christ is only a bit part in the book (and in the movie) but his presence in the world of Ben Hur dominates.Much of Ben Hur is about who the Christ is and what his purpose is in the world, and there is a lot of discussion about this. We have Bathasar, an Egyptian and one of the wise men who visited Christ at birth. He is seeking a redeemer, somebody to restore the relationship between humanity and their creator. Then there is Ben Hur, a Jew who believes that the Messiah is a king who shall come and liberate them from the Romans (and he even has three legions ready to be called when the king comes on his own). To us this side of the cross, Balthasar is correct in identifying Christ as a redeemer, and it is that realisation in Ben Hur that forms the centerpiece of the book (and this is something that isn't teased out in the movie, though the scene where Ben Hur sits at the foot of the cross and looks up to Christ still sits in my mind as one of the greatest scenes in film history).However the first part of the book (like the movie) is about how Ben Hur comes through his own redemption. At the beginning he meets Masarla, a childhood friend who travelled to Rome for an education, and it is when they meet as adults that they discover that they can no longer be friends. Masarla believes that the Jews are a backward people clinging to their outdated traditions (much like how the world views Christians today) while Ben Hur is convinced by his mother that these outdated traditions are not outdated, but eternal, and demonstrates that Masarla is incorrect when he accuses the Jews of not having a culture (and identifies the psalms and the prophets as examples of their literary ability – indeed today the book of Isaiah is considered a literary masterpiece).Ben Hur travels to hell in the form of being a slave on a galley, but he is released shortly before the battle, and it is this act of a gracious tribune that redeems him in the eyes of Rome. From then on, while clinging to his Jewish heritage, he is reborn as a Roman and is able to pass through the Roman world as a Roman. However, it is his heritage that defines him, and Ben Hur is faithful to that heritage.While in the film the focus is on Ben Hur's search for his mother and sister, and then his quest to see them healed of their leprosy, this is a mere sub-plot in the book. The quest is for the Christ and the redemption of Israel, however at its conclusion, it is not a physical redemption from Rome that is achieved, but a spiritual redemption with God.

[schmerguls · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was the third 'library book' I read when I obtained access to the high school library as a freshman in the fall of 1942. It was a memorable book, though I suppose my memory has been enhanced by the movie. Wallace, I beleve, wrote it when he was an Army general stationed at a quiet Army post in New Mexico.

[gaillamontagne · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I have loved the movie, Ben- Hur since I first saw it in a re-release in 1968. It has taken me 48 years to read the book.I was surprised that the 1959 movie, which I love, was so boring in book form. The first 16 chapters were the first 10 minutes of the 1959 movie. The author, General Lew Wallace, wanted to make sure the reader knew the historical background of the 3 wise men and their cultural and religious histories. The person who wrote the 1959 screenplay, Karl Tunberg with contributions from 4 others, is a masterpiece considering the tsunami of words a person had to wade through in order to focus on the important ideas. The movie screenplay hit the important points and left out characters and side plots that distracted from the main theme. There are many differences between the book and the movie. First, it was Judah that knocked the tile off the roof, injuring the governor, not Tirza; the slaves in the Hur home were imprisoned but in the movie, released; Judah's faithful steward, did not know or recognize him in the book when he returned. Judah had a different love interest throughout most of the book but in the movie, it was only Esther. Most importantly , Masalla did not die in the book but only became a paraplegic. Judah's mother and sister were not healed of leprosy when Jesus died, as in the movie, but were healed when they approached him on roadside. (far less dramatic). In the movie, Judah sees Quintus Arias fall over board and saves him. In the book, he simply escapes and finds Quintus Arias floating and drags him aboard his little raft. Many more smaller changes, for the better, were made in the screenplay, making the movie more concise and move at a much faster pace. You would have to be a real lover of reading to get through this book in my opinion .

[tadad_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It was a great movie. How does the book stack up? In some ways, it's better: the stories are richer, there are many secondary stories that the movie could not accommodate. In some ways, it's not as good: the book has a lot of speechifying in it. If you skim those, I'd recommend reading the book after seeing the movie.

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A young Jewish man clashes with the Roman Empire. His struggles embitter him until he is able to find the comfort of faith. Lots of action in this book. It has been some time since I read this book, but I remember putting it down at the end with a great deal of satisfaction with the read.

[john257hopper · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I have to say I did not find this novel as moving as I did Quo Vadis, that other 19th century novel about early Christianity. It rather dragged in places and some of the characters seemed rather flat. It covers a longer period of time than the famous film, as the first 50 pages concern the birth of Christ and in particular the progress of the Magi. As for other comparisons, the "real" Ben Hur sounds nothing like Charlton Heston, not only physically, but also in that here in the novel his desire for vengeance on Messala comes out more strongly as the chief personal drive of his life. Particular moving moments were the immediate aftermath of the accident that led to Ben Hur's arrest and that of his family and the later discovery of the appalling treatment and condition of his mother (unnamed for some reason) and sister Tirzah. In sum, I'm glad I read this novel, but it was a bit of a struggle in parts.

[robeik_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When I was in primary school I read almost a book a day from the school library. Ben Hur was on the shelf, but I never selected it to take home to read. Now 40+ years later I have finally read it; I've never watched the film versions.The book was written well over 100 years ago; the style of writing is certainly not modern. Even some of the spelling is strange e.g. earht (or was that a typographical error that was repeated?) However, it's fun to read. It's the story of a young Jewish boy, who by accident, earns himself a place on a Roman galley. There are two themes - one being the boys hatred for the Romans, especially his former friend; secondly, the events around the birth and crucifixion of Jesus. The author was apparently not a Christian, and it shows. Or perhaps he was realistic - Christians often do not forgive others as they should; revenge is in play almost through to the last pages of the book, and even then the conflict between the two protagonists is not really resolved.

[jimmoz-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a very interesting novel. Here are some items I will look for if I watch the movie again, or items that are in contrast to the film: Is Balthasar's daughter a vamp for Messala, and a real threat to BH? Messala does not die from the race, but attempts to have BH killed right afterwards. Messala has benefited from the Hur family wealth. BH has trained in military arts while in Rome. Ilderim and Simonides are good friends. From the race onward, BH focuses on being ready to help the expectant King if he should need military help. The last portion of the book revolves around Christ's ministry, which is in the background. Christ heals mother and daughter on Palm Sunday while traveling into Jerusalem, and BH is the follower who runs naked from Gethsemane. BH has observed many of Christ's miracles. A question that abides through much of the last half is whether His kingdom will be political (Simonides) or spiritual (Ilderim). BH triggers Messala's crash, as his yoke contacts a wheel of Messala. Mother and daughter are secretly imprisoned in a secluded cell which is laced with leprosy. BH is about the same age as Christ. There are several years between the race and the Crucifixion. Simonides and Ilderim place very heavy bets to bust Messala.

[charlie68_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Better than the movie.

[ari4joki · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This narrative is tempered with love and compassion, in contrast to moderns such as LaHaye and Jenkins, whose work mostly rejoices in the suffering of the infidel and the mocking of those of differing views. Ben Hur, while convoluted and logorrheic, remains inspiring.

[antiquary_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

My rating is based on the movie, which I rather like

[susanbevans · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lew Wallace's Ben-Hur: A Tale of Christ, is the story of the life of Jesus told within the exciting tale of Judah of the House of Hur. Judah is a Prince of Jerusalem betrayed by his childhood friend Messala, and sent to spend the rest of his life in servitude on a Roman ship. After three years, Judah miraculously saves the life of a rich Roman tribune, and embarks on a journey of vengeance that ends in redemption for himself and his family. I know that's an incredibly loose synopsis of the novel, but I don't want to give any of the good stuff away - in case there is someone out there who hasn't read the book or seen the movie.Although Ben-Hur was published in 1880, I found it astonishingly readable. I wasn't constantly stumbling over the language or wondering when the story was going to "pick up." Ben-Hur is full of detail - nearly everything is described in grand scale. This is not a quick read, but the continual movement toward the climax kept me turning pages. The novel itself is charming and incredibly entertaining. Full of the kind of larger-than-life characters you would expect, Ben-Hur is a wonderful historical novel. After almost 130 years, it remains a powerful and moving novel. It contains some historical information, but is also rich with detail and action packed. With vivid imagery, lavish settings, and affecting characters, Ben-Hur is a must read!

[rchurch_19 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

First published in 1880's, the language is a bit flowery. Phrases such as "O Reader" and "Thou wilt not" give the book an archaic feel. The author seems to have borrowed from "The Merchant of Venice" and "Ivanhoe" among other sources. The middle drags somewhat because of too much dialogue. Predictable story to anyone with a passing knowledge of the New Testament. On the positive side, I found Book First to be an excellent account of the events leading up to the arrival of the Magi from the East. If you like Christian literature, this might be a book for you.

[ecataldi-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

FINALLY! This is one of those books that I thought would never end. It would go from super exciting to boring as all get out and it took me until the chariot race to even really get into it. It's cool that it was written by a Hoosier and was the first piece of fiction to be blessed by the pope, BUT... that's about it. It was written very prettily, I suppose but it won't be one I ever re-read or recommend to people. Unless they love historical, religious reads. Kinda wish I had just watched the movie.

[kakadoo202 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought I never say that, but the movie was better. Too much religion and Ben Hur was the hero in everything. Really reads like a script to an action movie.

[sweetiegherkin · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ben-Hur is a prince of Judah in the days of ancient Rome, specifically around the same time that Jesus Christ is born. A terrible mistakes strips everything of value from Ben Hur -- including his family, his home, his wealth, and his freedom -- and he vows vengeance on those who took it all from him.From the outset, I am going to note that I read this book solely because it is on the 1,001 Books to Read Before You Die list and its accompanying movie is on AFI's 100 Greatest American Movies of All Time list. I did not really have that much interest in the subject matter, but I hoped for the best.My first observation of this book is that it is looooong. The audiobook I listened to was 24 hours in length. It took 3 hours before the character of Ben-Hur was even introduced. Most of the beginning part was Wallace's version of the nativity story, which is told in the Bible with just a few paragraphs. If he wanted to do an expanded look at that story, that's fine. It just didn't need to be in a book that already had 21 more hours of content. That's just my opinion.In fact, this book seems to be more about its subtitle "A Tale of the Christ" than it is about its title "Ben-Hur." Ben-Hur's story is essentially pretty short when it comes down to it, while Wallace fills out the pages by describing all the physical scenes in minutiae, as if the reader really needs to know about the color of the curtains are in every room Ben-Hur ever steps foot in throughout his life. In terms of characterization, there is really no one here who is well-rounded or grows in any way. Everyone is exactly what you predict they will be from the first moment they are introduced.There were times here and there where the plot could be interesting or where Wallace showed some fine writing skills. But there was also just so much that seemed extraneous. If you really enjoy historical fiction and/or religious fiction (specifically Christian fiction), then you might enjoy this book more than I did.

[danielstj · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

While the story itself is interesting, the writing felt a little forced and stilted. The style was simply not there and the writing felt a little archaic due to this. I felt a little cheated out of my expectations for this one and I would suggest that those interested in the tale might read a modern, or different, version of this story rather than resorting to this particular novel. Overall, a disappointing experience. 2 stars.

[theelliemo · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Yes, I know, it's one of the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die. And yes, it's all about revenge and redemption. But oh my goodness how tedious is this? Dull, overly verbose, what good story there may be lost in unnecessary words. I have no idea how much time I invested in reading this book. However much it was, it was about 75% too much!