X
THE ANGER OF BEL
Charmides was roused by an exclamation. His eyes fell open, and he foundhimself gazing up into a face that for months had baffled alike hisdreams and his actual vision, and that now stood out clearly above him.He sat hastily up, and immediately a pair of gentle hands were laid uponhis shoulders, and the most wonderful of voices said to him, sorrowfullyand in amazement:
"Rhapsode! Rhapsode! How came you here? Rise quickly from that place!"
The Greek obediently tried to scramble to his feet, but relinquishingthe attempt, he put his hands to his burning head and dizzily closed hiseyes.
"'Tis the cold!" he gasped, wretchedly.
Istar looked around her. Far below, in the square, many people moved.But the things that took place on the ziggurat were invisible to them.
"Come thou within--into the shrine. Here wilt thou find warmth," shesaid, drawing him with her own strength to his feet, and pushing backthe curtain before the door.
Charmides went with her blindly, and blindly obeyed her whisperedbehests. He lay down upon her own couch, was covered over with thecostly rugs that she herself had used, and felt the human warmth of thelittle place with a sense of peace and comfort.
"Oh, goddess--forgive--this profanation--of--thy--high--pla--" Themurmur ceased, and before the last word had been completed he had sunkaway to sleep, this time in a manner to recuperate his strength.
Istar of Babylon drew a stool to the side of the couch and seatedherself thereon, almost without moving her look from the face of theyouth before her. Again and again her great eyes traversed his features,the delicate, straight brows, the white eyelids, the long, golden-brownlashes, the short, straight nose, and that perfect mouth which, on awoman, might well have caused another Trojan war. A face as beautiful asever man possessed was this, and as she watched it a great sigh, thatwas like a sob, broke from her lips.
"Thou, too--thou, too, perhaps, hast been immortal!" she whispered overhim.
Charmides did not hear her. He lay like a statue, his sleep madedreamless and perfect by the presence of her whom he worshipped. And theface of the Greek bore the marks of a peace and content that were not onhers. Istar the goddess, the superb, the omniscient, was no more.Instead--Ah! There was a question that lay eternally at Istar's heart,that she could not answer, that burned her with its insistence. Now shebent closely and more close over her charge, seeking to forget herselfin contemplation of his beauty. The eager suppression of herself waspitiable, for the power of her self-control showed how great was itsnecessity. It was while her lashes almost touched the cheek of theSicilian that from beyond the curtain came the voice of a ministeringeunuch, raised in his regular morning formula:
"Belit Istar, the sacrifice is made: the meats have known the fire. Asweet savor ascends from the consecrated flesh, inviting the goddess toher morning repast. Let Belit Istar command her slave."
"Bring to me goat's flesh, and milk, and cakes of sesame. Let thesethings be placed outside my sanctuary door. Let no one enter my shrinethis day, on penalty of my wrath."
"Belit Istar is obeyed."
Istar sat up, straight and stiff, for full five minutes after thisdialogue had taken place. She was pale with the momentary danger, theremote possibility that the slave, contrary to custom, might have liftedthe curtain of the shrine, and, looking in, have beheld Charmides there.And now that the eunuch had safely gone, a trembling seized her, and sheleaned forward, burying her face in her hands. The rumors that hadspread through the city concerning her were in so much true, that shewas in a state of great suffering. The world had become her wilderness.It enclosed her now as a prison from which she could not escape, yet inwhich her liberty was appalling. Her sense of omniscience, ofcompanionship with the infinite, was quite gone. Nothing was leftexcept--except what she feared as a woman, except what, as a goddess,she cried aloud to the high God and his archetypes mercifully to spareher. Things to which she would give no definite place in her thoughtscrushed her by day and by night with their indeterminate weight. Thatthe worst had not come, that a great and terrifying cataclysm, whichwould rend her spirit in twain, drew day by day nearer to her, she knewtoo well. And as these days, these miserable, pain-filled days, crawledone by one away, she would fain have held them to her forever; for,wretched as they were, they were almost happy in comparison to that thatmust finally come upon her. At this moment as she leaned again over theyoung rhapsode, Istar scanned his face carefully, minutely, to find atrace of human unhappiness. And, finding none, a great envy of him andof the life that he had found in Babylon came over her. Was it possiblethat so much of joy might belong to any of God's creatures? And was she,then, utterly forgotten? She pulled herself up with a start. _This_ washuman, this question of hers. For a moment or two she saw truly what shehad become, and a fresh wave of fear swept over her. It passed, however.The supernatural perception was rarely with her now, and then only inquick, reminiscent flashes. She was indeed one of those whom she had soprofoundly pitied from her dim abode; for whom she had broken the law ofher order; in whose name God had driven her forth from the realm of highindifference into the sentient world, the world of pain.
This vague and unhappy reverie was broken in upon by the return of theeunuch with food, which he set down outside her door. The proceeding wasunusual, and after the man's departure Istar was seized with a new fear.What would the slave think, that she had bidden him not enter theshrine? Would he suspect? Of all things now, she dreaded suspicion; shedreaded being watched; she dreaded beyond measure the exposure that mustinevitably come--but not yet! Not yet for a little while! Stealthily nowshe drew aside the curtain and looked out upon the narrow platform ofthe ziggurat. No one was there. Upon the door-sill were two dishes ofchased gold, the one filled with steaming goat's flesh and roastedpigeons, the other heaped with barley cakes; and the two of them wereflanked by a tall silver jar of warm goat's milk. These Istar lifted oneby one, carried them into the shrine, and set them upon the table whereher shew-bread was usually placed. Then, when the meal was safe withinand ready, she went over to where Charmides still lay motionless, andlaid her hand gently upon his forehead.
"Rise thou, Charmides," she said.
"Ramua!" muttered the Greek. He stirred slightly. His eyes opened. Then,suddenly realizing where he was, he leaped to his feet, stared about himirresponsibly for an instant, and finally threw himself on his facebefore Istar.
"Forgive me, my goddess! I knew not what I did!" he whispered,terror-stricken.
Istar smiled mournfully. "You ask forgiveness for that that I bade youdo. Rise, my Greek. Eat of the food that is here. I command it."
Charmides looked quickly up. He could not deny that he was ravenouslyhungry. The smell of the meats caused his nostrils to quiver, and thesight of them did away with his reverent wish to refuse. Istar watchedhim closely as he sat down to her morning meal. She herself could havetaken not one mouthful of food, but she had already had a draught ofmilk; and now, urging the Greek to eat his fill, she turned aside andsat down near the door-way, waiting in silence till the young fellow,after a final cup of the mild beverage, wiped his dagger on his tunic,muttered a line of grace to the gods of Greece, and rose a littleshamefacedly.
"Thou hast eaten and art filled, Charmides?" Istar asked, turning to himquietly, with the shadow of a smile.
For answer the Greek bent his knee and bowed his head.
"And now thou goest forth again into the city?"
Charmides looked at her to read the answer that she wished him to make.But the words on his lips were never spoken.
Istar was standing before him a little to the left of the door-way, fromwhich the curtain was half pulled aside. The daylight fell relentlesslyover her face and her form. It was upon her face that the Greek's eyesrested: rested in wonder, in amazement, finally with something more thaneither of those things. Was this last expression one of horror? Istarsaw the look and read it; and before its piercing inquiry she quivered.Involuntarily she began to shri
nk away from him, but escape him now shecould not. Knowledge was his. There was no concealment. Then, at length,she accepted the situation, as it was necessary that she should.
"I am a woman," she said, with a gentleness and an unconscious dignitythat nonplussed him anew. "Thou mayst not kneel to a woman, Greek. Riseup."
"I kneel to thee, O Istar!" was his reply.
Then, indeed, her lips quivered, but with a little effort she regainedher self-control. "Go then, Charmides. Thou knowest me--now."
Charmides got to his feet, but he made no move towards departure.Instead, after an instant's hesitation, he went a little closer to her,and spoke as he might have spoken to Baba--Baba as she was now.
"Istar--art thou indeed the Istar whom first I beheld in Babylon?"
"Yea, Charmides. I am that Istar; yet I am not the same. Then was I morethan human. Now--less."
"Who decreed it? Who defiled thee?" he asked, as much of the air aroundhim as of her.
"That thou must not ask. It is what none shall ever know. Depart from meand go thy way. Tell whom thou wilt what I am become. Not long--Ah! Itis not long when all the world must know me--as I am."
"Not from the words of my mouth, Belit," Charmides said, sadly. Then,for a little, silence fell between them. He knew that she waited for himto go, and yet, before he went, he felt that he must warn her of thedanger that she ran--that danger that he had learned by night. Twist itas he might, the facts were too brutal to be made plain to her. Heflushed as he connected, even in thought, the scene of the past nightwith the grave and grandly beautiful creature before him. Woman shemight be, but the mark of her godhead was on her still, could neverleave her; for no living woman, of his race or of any other, wascomparable to her. And while he thought these things she also stoodregarding him, and finally, having read half his mind, opened her mouthand spake:
"Charmides, tell me thy thoughts. I will bear with them."
He grasped the opportunity eagerly: "O Belit, I must warn thee--warnthee against all the priesthood, those of every temple and house in thecity. They threaten thee with untellable disaster. Watch them, lady, andtake heed to thyself. Beware whither thy steps lead thee, what thingsthou turnest thy hands unto. They watch thee with numberless and unholyeyes. They mean great wrong."
"If they will bring me death, I welcome it gladly."
He shot a glance at her that caused her suddenly to drop her eyes. Thenhe said, quietly: "It is not death. Ah, Istar, do not ask its horror. Imyself would deal thee death with my right hand to save thee from it."
Istar shuddered.
"Belit, know this. When comes the day of thy trial, if thou wouldst seekshelter from the pursuers, ask to be taken to the palace of Lord RibataBit-Shumukin, on the canal of the New Year. There, at the gate, demandthe presence of the Lady Baba. Baba will conduct thee to the home I livein. It is very lowly, but in it thou shalt find safety. Thou wiltremember this?"
"Truly, Charmides, thou deservest all happiness!" she said, impulsively,coming nearer to him.
He bowed his head. "For thee I came to Babylon. Through thee my hearthas found its home. Therefore, when thou shalt ask it of me, my life itis thine."
With this, then, and a last puzzled look at her, he went forth to hismuch-belated temple duties.
Istar, once more left alone, turned slowly back into her shrine. Thelittle interlude that had broken in upon her loneliness made her shrinkfrom the pall that waited to overwhelm her again. Thereafter the onehour of Charmides' presence remained like a little golden disk in thememory of her solitary months. But now the momentary sense ofcompanionship was too terribly contrasted with the melancholy of hersolitude. Hurriedly covering herself with a great, silver-woven,heavy-meshed veil, she left her retreat in the upper morning and leftthe ziggurat for her dwelling-place behind the temple.
She did not see her sanctuary again for seven months. It was not thatshe felt any reluctance about entering it. Simply, her apathy had becomesuch that she was incapable of the physical effort necessary for theascent of the tower. Once a day she took her place in the mercy-seat inthe temple. All the remaining time she spent in the inmost court of herparticular suite of rooms, or in the miniature apartment where she wasaccustomed to sleep. She reclined generally at full length, doing nowork of any kind, her eyes shut, the heavy veil shrouding her figure butthrown back from her face, her body perfectly motionless, her verythoughts apparently at rest. Her attendants watched her, wondering atthe great change that was working upon that formerly magnificentpersonality. And through these same temple-slaves, eunuchs, andhierodules, strange rumors concerning the once universally worshippedgoddess continued to fly abroad through the city. Certainly thereappeared to be little enough of the divine about this weak, ill woman;though why the change had come none of those connected with her had thefaintest idea.
These were the days of Istar's wandering in the wilderness. Pain, mentaland physical, she learned in every stage, from slight discomfort tonerveless agony. Each morning she woke with the prayer in her heart thatnight might bring the end of it all, yet knowing well that her end wasfar away. Her old, archetypal world became gradually more and moreindistinct to her memory, till she had all but forgotten it. Her onewish, that she dared not utter, was for annihilation. Yet this wouldinvolve a sin that she could not but recognize as unpardonable; forIstar of Babylon bore within her another life, a life that was, as yet,part of her, that by natural law was hers to cherish, that she could notlove, that she dared not hate. And it was the day when this new lifeshould take unto itself individuality that she lay dreading through allthose dreary months, from the death of summer to Airu, when the newspring came to Babylon.
The fall of Istar was accomplished. This, by day and by night, she criedto herself, in her agony of self-mortification. It seemed to her thatthe wheel of the law was the most merciless of all ordained things. Theformer dead-alive existence of her godhead seemed holy, now that shecould know it no more. The very present, indeed, unendurable as it was,was infinitely better than what was to come. As a matter of fact, herextreme dread of the future was very near to turning her brain, for atevery hour she lived the moment of discovery, till, at times, she waslike to go mad with it, and to disclose it all, then and there, and sohave done with it.
There were two or three of her priestesses who realized, through many ofher symptoms, her mortal state; and these were very tender to her inthis time of her trial. From their lips no word of her condition reachedthe outside world. The underlings, only, talked; and it was fromunderling to Zicari, Zicari to Pasisu, Pasisu to Sangi, and so to thePatesi at last, that distorted accounts of Istar's life and sufferingpassed rapidly in the late autumn. And these rumors quickly reached theears of the three people who had the strongest personal interest inIstar of Babylon. Two of them were her enemies, bitter, unscrupulous,and powerful. These two were also closely connected. But, while one knewperfectly the mind of the other, and each knew that the greatest desireof the other's political life was Istar's ruin, yet, while mattersslowly ripened and daily grew more absorbing, the subject of theapproaching disgrace of the whilom goddess was never once opened betweenthem. Amraphel of Bel, from his palace on the A-Ibur-Sabu, and Daniel ofJudea, from his humble house south of the canal of the Prophet, in theJews' quarter, watched, planned, listened, read each other's hearts, andbided their time, in the way peculiar to those that know well theirworld. The time for action would come, and without any planning on thepart of either of them. But when it did arrive there must be no bunglingof the affair.
Only one little thing in the case, as these two considered it, failed toassume its proper proportion in the perspective of their reasoning. Thecause of Istar's undoing was as much a mystery to them as it was to thelowliest kali in Istar's temple. Both Amraphel and Daniel had long agoceased to reckon Belshazzar as a factor in this affair. The oldsuspicion had been a mistake--an incomprehensible mistake. The princeroyal went no more to the temple of the goddess, never spoke of or toher, gave rather all his time to affairs of
state; which at this momentsorely needed the firm will and the strong hand that he alone, of allhis house, possessed.
It was well enough that Amraphel could not read Belshazzar's heart.There was indelibly written what would have startled that reverent manout of all his omniscient composure. For if Istar mourned unceasinglythe loss of her godhead, Belshazzar, of the house of the Sun, mournedthe loss of her to his life as he would hardly have mourned the fall ofthat kingdom that was dearer to him than his life. After the strangereturn from Erech, he had gone daily for two months to Istar's temple,and had sought by entreaty, threat, prayer, and imprecation, to beadmitted to her. And again and again, and yet again, had he beenrefused, till finally he turned his thoughts to the life of his city.But by this means she was not taken from his heart. By night he dreamedof her, and by day, when she was as far from him as the sun, as near ashis children, as unapproachable as the silver sky, she was forever asub-consciousness in his thoughts.
Thus passed, unhappily and uneventfully, the long winter months of thelast year of Nebuchadrezzar's Babylon. In the first week of Airu(April), Belshazzar determined finally to reach Istar's presence. Thestories of her condition had of late become alarming, and in the depthsof his heart he had begun to dread what had never occurred to himbefore--the possibility of her death. The mere thought left himagonized, and he felt himself unable to keep away from her longer.
It was late in the morning--a glowing morning in Babylon's fairestmonth--when he left the palace on foot, clad in a dark mantle thatcompletely covered his head and his figure, rendering him unrecognizableto any but his closest companions. He chose this hour for going becausehe knew that now Istar's vitality would be strongest, and he dared notgive her the shock of seeing him at a time when she would be especiallyweak. The matter of his admission to her dwelling had been arranged byRibata the week before, through hirelings whom he had kept in the templeprecincts for some months past. Unnoticed by any one, then, the princearrived at the bronze door of the building behind the temple. It wasinstantly opened, wide enough to permit of his passing through; andinside stood a veiled woman, who, after a silent acknowledgment of hisrank, led the way through the succession of courts and passages to aclosely curtained door-way.
"Belit Istar is within," she whispered. Then on the instant she turnedand glided swiftly away.
For the moment Belshazzar stood trembling upon the threshold. His dreadwas evenly matched with his fever. The throbbing of his heart sent theblood pounding through all his arteries. His hands grew cold anduseless. The effect on him of the mere thought of beholding this womanagain was something that he did not pretend to understand. Women,ordinarily, were little enough to him. But _this_ woman--she who washidden from him by the single fold of an embroidered curtain--this womanmade his earth and his heaven, his soul, his brain, his body, and hisblood. Go to her it seemed he could not, for very desire. Once his handmoved forth to lift the curtain, but it fell again to his side. His headwhirled. Long as it was since he had seen Istar, yet the picture of heras she had lain unconscious in his arms on the morning of the fall atErech, came again before him to the smallest detail--perfect, finished,immutable. He felt her weight, he beheld the living pallor of her flesh,he saw the heavy-fringed eyelids close over the eyes that lighted hisworld. She would live so in his mind forever. Now--he was about to turnaway, to leave her alone in peace.
So far there had been no sound in the room beyond. But just as he wasabout to depart there came to his ears some words spoken in hervoice--her low, exquisite voice, now so weary and so much weaker than ithad been of old. The words reached him distinctly; and instantly theycaught his attention. The spell of his reluctance was broken, and allthe fire of his eagerness blazed up at the first syllable spoken by her.Quickly he lifted the curtain and stepped out of the sun-flooded courtover the threshold of the dimly lighted room. Istar was on her kneesbefore him, her back turned to the door, her head bowed, her long, blackveil trailing on the floor around her. Her voice was lifted in prayer,the first words of which had caught his attention, and held himspellbound by means of the sweet, forlorn monotony of her tone, the ringof yearning, of pathos, of utter hopelessness indescribably felt throughall the rhythmical cadences, till Belshazzar bent his head in helplesspity over her incomprehensible plight.
Thus, in the unmusical Babylonish syllables, ran her psalm:
"_God of all gods, of men and of ages, of time and of tears: Creator ofrivers, Divider of seas, accept of the homage I proffer at noon._
"_The winds Thou hast hushed for my peace have obeyed Thee. The sun'sgolden glory of mid-day is Thine._
"_Father of lowliness, High-priest of sorrow, mighty and powerful; Loverof children, in mercy merciless, piteous in justice; raise me fromflesh, above wrong, to communion with spirits of heaven._
"_My body before Thee is bended. My face is uplifted in prayer that ispure._
"_Love all unholy by night I admitted. Yea, I have loved love for Sin'ssake, rejoicing in earth-begot passion. Godhead I lost; and desire forgoodness departed. Now in the hour of trial, homeward I come to myFather at noon; no more in fear to approach Him, believing His mercyomniscient. Home come I, washed in my tears._
"_Lord of the noon, my Begetter, absolve me!_
"_Lord of the sun, of the well-flowing river, receive me that offer Theepraise._
"_Lord of the world and of children and angels, bequeath me forgivenessof sin._
"_Lord of all lords, from Thy home grant me peace everlasting. O Amanu,Thou on High._"
"Amanu," came the soft echo of a masculine voice from behind her.
With a gasp that resembled a sob, Istar faced about, still on her knees.In turning, she drew the heavy veil that had hung around her close overher face, so that, to any one but him who looked at her, she would havebeen unrecognizable. Belshazzar, indeed, confronted by the black mask,felt his speech suddenly suppressed within him. His cloak had fallen tohis feet, and he stood revealed in all the splendor of his strength androyal beauty. But before her he was powerless to act. He left thesituation helplessly to her.
Istar herself, for the moment, was stunned. In that first minute thatshe looked upon him again, the world around her grew gray andindistinct. Her cold body trembled. In her dry throat a sob struggled tocome forth. But in her heart--ah, who would have believed it!--wasrising a great, overweening joy. God had heard her! God sent the answerto her prayer--such an answer as she had not dreamed of. Yet she knewthat the Comforter was come. In this thought Istar loosened the veilagain and took it from her head, so that her face, white, thin,great-eyed, mournful, and still divinely perfect, was revealed to him.
"Istar!" he cried, half in sudden woe at her too apparent illness, halfstill in passionate admiration. He had seen her before with the silveraureole gone, but now her very face, in its shining purity, was ofrefined silver. "Istar!" He spoke the word tenderly, and went a littlenearer to her.
She had fixed her eyes upon his, and the painfully strained look in herface showed him that she strove to read his mind: his purpose in comingto her. As he approached nearer still she rose suddenly to her feet, forone instant held the protecting veil close around her figure, and then,still without taking her fear-stricken eyes from his face, let it drop,and stood there revealed before him, clothed from head to heel in ascant, straight tunic of white wool.
For an instant Belshazzar saw her stupidly. His eyes travelled over herand suddenly he saw, and his self-control broke down. With a great,hoarse cry of pity and of love, he rushed to her and caught her close inboth of his strong, protecting arms.
"Istar! Istar! Thou untrusting one! My beloved! Thou hast suffered aloneand told me nothing! Where was thy faith? Hast thou for an hour doubtedmy love? Know you not how, in my heart, I have mourned thee, haveyearned for thee, day by day? Yea, the anger of Bel alone has kept usapart one from the other. The very gods are jealous that I should havethee, thou lotus-flower of the world! Speak to me, O my beloved!"
"Belshazzar! Belshazzar!" she whispered, once,
twice, thrice. Then,seeming to gain courage from the syllables of his name, she went on,half fearfully still: "I have hardly loved thee until now. God hathheard me, I think. But, oh! the long, rainy months! The endless days!The eternal nights! How have I prayed to die in them, prayed with myheart and with my lips to die."
He caught her the more convulsively in his arms. "And now?" he asked.
"Ah, now! Now is my strength restored within me! I have new courage. Ishall bear my trial now. Thou needst not fear. Suffering will be sweet,for I no longer dread the anger of Bel--of the one God."
"Istar, are we not now as God? Together shall we not defy all? Theeleven great gods, and--high Istar herself?"
Istar of Babylon looked dazedly into his eyes. "Do you not believe onme?" she asked, faintly.
"I believe in thy love. That is all my belief."
"But the divinity that was mine?"
He caught her a little closer. "Istar, art thou not a woman?" he asked,gently, but inexorably.
There was a silence. Istar was making her last struggle against fate. Atthe defeat her head fell heavily forward upon his breast. "Yea, I am awoman," she muttered, faintly.
Belshazzar's lips were pressed upon her forehead. Then suddenly helifted her in his arms and carried her over to the couch that stood atone end of the room. On this he laid her, and covered her over with oneof the heavy, silken shawls used for that purpose. Then he stood off andinspected her, to see that she was comfortable.
"Lie thou there," he said, "till I return within the hour with a litterborne by my household slaves. In thy trial I will be beside thee; thoushalt be in my house, protected by my name, lodged as my princess. Butone hour more, and then, for all time, we shall be together!"
He spoke with perfect confidence, and, having finished his explanation,would have departed had not Istar risen quickly from her couch and movedtowards him again.
"Gratitude be to my lord!" she said, with a faint smile. "Yet I may notleave this temple till the hour comes. There will be a day when Belshall cast me forth alone into the city. But, of myself, I may not leavethe house to which the All-Father intrusted me. Nor shall mine eyesagain behold thee here. Go forth in peace, Belshazzar. My great love isthine; and before many days I think that I must come to thee. But wemust patiently abide apart until the time. Now must thou leave me.Farewell!"
"Istar! What is this folly that you speak! You are mine--mine to carefor, to cherish. Your suffering is also mine. I go now, but to returnagain for you. Or shall I despatch one of your eunuchs to the palacewith my message? Yea, that will I do, and remain at your side till thelitter comes."
The impatient tone was such as he might have used to one of his wives,to Khamma, to any woman who by law belonged to him. Istar heard him, butfelt no anger at the words. Her manner showed only dispassionateself-possession.
"Belshazzar, I have spoken. Shall I say the words again? Go thou forthin peace. When my hour comes I will turn to thee. But we must wait thathour, for it is the will of the great Bel."
The prince royal was taken aback. This was not a woman's way, yetneither was it after the manner of men. He tried her again, this timemore gently, with reason, with persuasion, finally with undisguisedentreaty. She did not change. The dependent Istar, Istar thesupplicator, the woman, was gone. In her place was come the oracle ofthe mercy-seat. Belshazzar dared not be angered by her unchangingassurance. In the end he acknowledged himself defeated. He could onlykneel and implore that the hour of her home-coming be soon. Then, havingheld her for one moment more in his arms, he left her, wrapping themantle closely about him as he stepped forth again into the hot sunshineof his new and mysterious world.
As for Istar, with the answering of her prayer she entered the land ofheart's peace. God in high heaven had not forgotten her. Belshazzar, onearth below, waited her coming. She could feel that the day of hersuffering was close at hand, and she was fortifying herself to endureit. Thus ten days--ten days of the fair spring--passed by. Istar'sblack-veiled form was seen morning and evening on the temple platform,and she sat in the temple regularly at the mercy-hour, but did notascend the ziggurat. During this time she knew but ten uneasy moments.These were when, once each day, always, as it were, by chance, sheencountered the lean and bent figure of Daniel the Jew, who lurked,morning and evening, about this spot. His thin, vulture-like face, withits scrawny, gray-streaked beard, and his small, beady, piercing eyes,haunted Istar's thoughts, and remained with her as an omen of evil; andshe shrank from him even less for herself than for some unreasonable illthat he seemed to promise to Belshazzar, her earth-lover. Daniel neveraddressed her, never failed profoundly to salute her, never remainedlonger than a bare second within her sight. And she strove to put himfrom her mind, and to give all of her days and nights to carefulpreparation for the approaching hours of her trial.
* * * * *
On the morning of April 21st her attendants found her lying in a swoonon her bed. She was quickly revived, and awoke to the world with a lookof such happiness in her face that her women wondered silently, and wentback to their duties rejoicing. Istar attended the morning sacrifice--athing that she had not done for three months past. She drank a cupful ofmilk, watched the goat's flesh roasted on the altar, heard the prayersfor the morning, and extended the mercy-hour far into the afternoon. Thesun hung just above the horizon when she re-entered the court-yard ofher dwelling and called for her evening meal. With unquestioningsurprise it was brought her, and she ate of it. Then, in the mellowevening, she said her farewell to the consecrated home where she haddwelt so long.
As Istar left her dwelling and walked slowly towards the foot of theziggurat, she saw that the whole city lay in a flood of gold. Her stepswere slow and fraught with pain. As she halted at the foot of the hightower to look upward, wondering how she should reach its top, a voicefrom another sphere spoke to her and bade her hasten her steps. It wasalmost seven months ago that her feet had last touched this pavement.Then she had not been physically weak, but mentally--! She sighed as sheremembered her terror of herself and of all her surroundings. At last,with a deep breath, she began her ascent. Up, up, and up, step by step,while the glorified light of day's death swam before her vision and theevening wind fanned her cheeks, while the sweet scent of the flowersthat covered the desert was borne to her by the breeze, she went, aprayer in her heart, a resolute determination to endure bravely holdingher thoughts. Up and up she mounted, till at last the empty summit ofthe tower was gained, and she stood again at the door of the room thathad seen her incarnation.
Here, on the height, Istar stopped to look out over Babylon. Itstretched around and below her like a mirage, like the vision of aholier city, wrapped all in clouds of blinding fire. A little to theeast, near enough so that the white designs on the shining turquoiseground-work were fairly distinct, rose, from the tufty green of thesurrounding park, the new palace built by Nabonidus, in which Belshazzarlived. Along the east side of this building ran the bright Euphrates,passing here the most imposing point in all its mighty course. Oppositethe new palace, on the other bank, were the two huge structures onceinhabited by Nabopollassar and his son, that greatest of Babylonishrulers. Across from Nebuchadrezzar's former home, connected withit by the great bridge, itself a triumph of engineering, was thepalace-crowned mound of the great one's Median queen, called bysubsequent generations "the hanging gardens." This alone of all theunused royal dwellings was kept in repair by the present ruler. And now,at the time of the day's highest glory, Istar's eyes eagerly sought itsfresh verdure, the tier on tier of leafy foliage that hid suchfragrances and such blossoms as she rarely saw. And while she gazed uponthe monument of a king's devotion, the lonely woman found it in herheart to wish that she might have been that queen whose sorrows andwhose earthly joys were now so comfortably ended, whose mortality hadcome to dust, whose soul enjoyed its just rewards.
Istar's eyes moved on down the river to the lower part of the city,which consisted of acre upon acre of low, brick building
s, hardlyrelieved by a single tower or raised roof, stretching in gray monotonyoff to where Imgur-Bel suddenly reared its gigantic height skyward. Overthis wall and the top of its still loftier brother, Nimitti-Bel, Istar,high as she stood, could not see. Her brick-weary eyes yearned for someglimpse of the quiet palm-groves that lined the river-bank beyondBabylon. Indeed, their fragrant freshness was borne up to her by theevening wind. Closing her eyes, she saw them as, nine months before, shehad watched them from her barge on the way to Erech. And thus, while shecontemplated many things, the sunset light began to fade, the shadowsmingled together over the gray roofs and bright towers of the city.Twilight deepened; and the moon was not yet risen. So at last Istarturned from the far-stretching scene and lifted up the curtain of herlong-unused shrine.
She was greeted by darkness. Evidently it was many weeks since any onehad entered the little room. A fine, white dust lay sifted over therugs, the table, the golden chair, the couch where Charmides last hadlain. Istar looked round with a sob in her heart--a sob of pitiableweakness and pain. It was impossible now for her to summon anyattendant. Neither had she strength to descend the ziggurat again.Leaving the curtain pulled wide open, that she might feel somecommunication with the world beyond, she went to the couch, removed thetop rug with all its dust, then let fall her veil, and offered up onelast prayer for pity and for strength before she lay down resignedly inthe night.
Twilight slowly passed across the earth and trailed away into thebeyond. Thereupon came terror of the dark, together with the first stabsof sharp pain. She had one swift, torturing moment, and a low cry at thestrangeness of it escaped her. Then calmness returned. She was prepared,she thought, for the rest. One moment, two, three, passed, in strainedexpectation. The darkness hung around her like a covering, but thesuffering did not return. Her lips moved continually, but her brainrefused to work. It seemed to her that the night must be passing. Soon,perhaps, she might sleep. Her eyes were closed; her mind was slippingaway into freedom, when--she started up again. It was once more uponher, this dreaded thing; and now she knew that there was no escape. Whenit had passed this time she waited, stiff and strong, hands clenched,breath coming and going rapidly, for the return.
It came once again, and yet again, more and more swiftly, more and moreterribly. She made no sound now. Her eyes stared straight into theblackness with the gaze of one that does not see. Here was somethingthat, with all her months of preparation, she was not prepared for. Noimagination could have painted this; and her loneliness but added to herterror. From the night a thousand malignant eyes seemed fixed upon herwith the look of Daniel the Jew. Yet presently she discovered that theseeyes were stars--fair, silver stars that shone, far away, through theopen door-way. A little later the night grew luminous, and the hideousdarkness was softened and smoothed away. Pale, yellow rays shot up thesky, dimming the stars' white radiance, banishing their gaze. It was themoon, the blessed moon, Istar's father, who, entering the heavens, puther tormentors to flight. The woman's thoughts were growing incoherent.She was a little delirious. Her body was racked and torn and bruised.The agony, too great to be realized and endured, drove her into numbunconsciousness--an unconsciousness that was hideous with subconsciousunderstanding. The one thought to which she clung through all the hoursof anguish was of the morning--the merciless daylight, when thesearching sun, the discerning, prying sun, must come upon her here, mustsee, must know--must disclose all to the wondering world.
The fair moonlight sickened her now. Her eyes swam and her head reeledwith its bluish light. She prayed for clouds--and rain. Rain! Water! Thethought reached her suddenly, out of the aching void. If there were onlysome one--one only creature, to put water to her dying lips! She burned,she parched, she scorched with thirst. Ah, if some one were at hand! Shetried to think of a name to call. And presently one recurred to her. Shedid not stop to think over it. The syllables hung ready on herlips--were said in a voice so faint and weak that one standing in thedoor-way could not have heard them. It was a liquid word, one easy tohear, and the only one that her mind, in its strange plight, retained.
"Allaraine!" she whispered.
A breath of cool air poured into the little room, and borne upon it wasa rosy beam that gradually suffused the bed in a delicate radiance. Withthe first shedding of this light, Istar's pain suddenly ceased. Herspirit was uplifted with the mighty relief. Her fast-shut eyes openedagain. Above and about her was open space. The roof of the shrine wasgone, and its walls also. All around there floated a vast concourse ofdimly outlined forms--millions of archetypes, borne on their outspreadwings. A chord of distant music rang down the shaft of light, and Istarknew from whom it came. Gravely the goddess greeted her companions; yetnone returned the greeting, or seemed to recognize her presence. Shetried to go to them, but the bed remained beneath her. She was still aprisoner. After some moments of waiting in the midst of this familiarscene, the rainbow path into her room palpitated with fresh, livinglight. The bells rang louder in her ears. One form had separated itselffrom the confused mass, and became distinct to her eyes. Allarainedropped out of the high space, and was presently standing at herbedside. The room closed in again. The pink light disappeared. Once morethe moonlight stole upon her. The night was sweet with the perfume ofthe lotus, and Istar wept with delight. She was there alone withAllaraine, her brother of the skies.
Through the long hours he ministered to her, holding the cup of water toher lips, plaiting up the heavy masses of hair that swept the floor ather side. And when the last agony came upon her, his voice held her fastto the thread of her strange existence. Finally, at the night's end, itwas he who put into her arms the living one whom she had brought intothe world.
Bending over them both, the god blessed the child and kissed themother's brows before he went his way out into space, leaving behind hima trail of song that was sweeter than the perfume of the jasmine. There,from the spot into which he flew, the day broke, and the moon fainted onthe western horizon. Istar's heart throbbed with a great, new peace anda human love. Life was no longer strange to her. The bringing of itforth brought her understanding of its richness. And, as the child onher breast lay sleeping, so at last her own eyes closed, until, whilethe light brightened and the great city woke again, the soul of Istarwas at peace.
At sunrise a flood of yellow beams poured into the little room,illuminating everything in it, throwing a halo over the motionlessfigures of the mother and child on their well-ordered couch. Suddenlythe smooth light was broken by a shadow that darkened the door-way. Aman stood there on the threshold, peering into the room. His bright,black eyes travelled swiftly over the scene, resting last on the bed. Hegave then a sudden, swift start. Glancing quickly behind him to makesure that he was alone, he took a single noiseless step inside, and,inch by inch, moved to the couch, bending over it till the end of hisgrizzled beard all but touched the cheek of Istar.
As if the glance of the intruder could be felt through the unconsciousnessof sleep, Istar stirred restlessly. The infant on her breast gave forth a faint cry and opened its deep eyes upon the morningworld. Thereat the Jew, in timely fright, turned and scurried hastilyfrom the room, escaping Istar's glance by no more than three seconds.And as Istar, deeply disturbed, looked out upon the world, she suddenlycaught her little one close to her in her protecting arms, murmuringgently:
"O God! O God! I give Thee praise! Spare me this inestimable gift! Leaveme for my joy this little life of mine--and take all that Thou hastgiven else, great Father!"