Chapter 31

THE old man kept his promise. Every day to the prince's palace in Pi- Bast came crowds of slaves and long rows of asses bearing wheat, barley, dried meat, woven stuffs, and wine. Phoenician merchants brought gold and precious stones under inspection of Hiram's assistants.

In this manner the heir received in the course of five days the hundred talents promised. Hiram accounted a lower per cent to himself, one talent for four, in a year. He asked no pledge, but was satisfied with the receipt of the prince, certified before a tribunal.

The needs of the court were satisfied bountifully. Three favorites of the viceroy received new robes, a number of special perfumes, and female slaves of various colors. The servants had abundance of food and wine, the pharaoh's laborers received arrears of pay, unusual rations were issued to the army.

The court was delighted, the more since Tutmosis and other noble youths, at the command of Hiram, received rather large loans, while the nomarch of Habu and his higher officials received costly presents.

So feast followed feast and amusement amusement, though the heat increased always. Seeing this general delight, the viceroy was satisfied. He was troubled, however, by the bearing of Mefres and other priests. Ramses thought that those dignitaries would reproach him for having become so indebted to Hiram in spite of those lessons which he had received in the temple. Meanwhile the holy fathers were silent and did not even show themselves.

"What does this mean?" asked the prince one day of Tutmosis; "the priests do not reproach us? We have never indulged in such excesses before. Music is sounding from morning till evening; we drink, beginning with sunrise, and we fall asleep with women in our arms or pitchers at our heads."

"Why should they reproach us?" answered the indignant Tutmosis. "Are we not sojourning in the city of Astarte, [Astaroth] for whom amusement is the most pleasing service, and love the most coveted sacrifice? Moreover the priests understand that after such privations and fasts rest is due thee."

"Have they said anything?" asked the prince, with disquiet.

"Yes, more than once. Only yesterday the holy Mefres smiled, and said that amusement attracted a young man like thee more than religion or the labor of ruling a state."

Ramses fell to thinking,

"So the priests looked on him as a frivolous stripling, though he, thanks to Sarah, would become a father today or to-morrow. But they would have a surprise when he spoke to them in his own manner."

In truth the prince reproached himself somewhat. From the time that he left the temple of Hator he had not occupied himself one day with the affairs of Habu. The priests might suppose that he was either entirely satisfied with Pentuer's explanations, or that he was tired of interfering in government.

"So much the better!" whispered he. "So much the better!"

Under the influence of the endless intrigues of those around him, or suspicious of those intrigues, the instinct to deceive began in his young spirit to rouse itself. Ramses felt that the priests did not divine the subject of his conversation with Hiram, nor the plans which were forming in his head. It sufficed those blinded persons, that he was amusing himself; from this they inferred that the management of the state would remain in their hands forever.

"Have the gods so darkened their minds," thought Ramses, "that they do not even ask themselves why Hiram gave me a loan so considerable? And perhaps that crafty Tyrian has been able to lull their suspicious hearts? So much the better! So much the better!"

He had a marvelously agreeable feeling when he thought that the priests had blundered. He determined to keep them in that blunder for the future; hence he amused himself madly.

Indeed the priests were mistaken, both in Ramses and Hiram. The artful Tyrian gave himself out before them as very proud of his relations with Ramses, and the prince with no less success played the role of a riotous stripling.

Mefres was even convinced that the prince was thinking seriously of expelling the Phoenicians, that meanwhile he and his courtiers were contracting debts and would never pay them.

But the temple of Astaroth with its numerous courts and gardens was filled with devotees all the time. Every day, if not every hour, though the heat was excessive, some company of pilgrims to the great goddess arrived from the depth of Asia.

Those were strange pilgrims. Wearied, streaming with perspiration, covered with dust, they advanced with music, and dancing, and songs sometimes of a very lewd character. The day passed for them in unbridled license in honor of the goddess. It was possible not only to recognize every such company from afar, but to catch its odor, since those people always brought immense bouquets of fresh flowers in their hands, and in bundles all the male cats that had died in the course of the current year. The devotees gave these cats to dissectors in Pi-Bast to be stuffed or embalmed, and bore them home later on as valued relics.

On the first day of the month Mesori (May-June), Prince Hiram informed Ramses that he might appear at the temple of Astaroth that evening. When it had grown dark on the streets after sunset, the viceroy girded a short sword to his side, put on a mantle with a hood, and unobserved by any servant, slipped away to the house of Hiram.

The old magnate was waiting for the viceroy.

"Well," said he, with a smile, "art Thou not afraid, prince, to enter a Phoenician temple where cruelty sits on the altar and perversity ministers?"

"Fear?" repeated Ramses, looking at him almost contemptuously. "Astaroth is not Baal, nor am I a child which they might throw into your god's red-hot belly."

"But does the prince believe this story?"

Ramses shrugged his shoulders.

"An eyewitness and a trustworthy person," answered he, "told me how ye sacrifice children. Once a storm wrecked a number of tens of your vessels. Immediately the Tyrian priests announced a religious ceremony at which throngs of people collected." The prince spoke with evident indignation. "Before the temple of Baal situated on a lofty place was an immense bronze statue with the head of a bull. Its belly was red hot. At command of your priests the foolish Phoenician mothers put their most beautiful children at the feet of this cruel divinity."

"Only boys," interrupted Hiram.

"Only boys," continued Ramses. "The priests sprinkled each boy with perfumes, decked him with flowers, and then the statue seized him with bronze hands, opened its jaws, and devoured the child, whose screams meanwhile were heaven piercing. Flames burst each time from the mouth of the deity."

Hiram laughed in silence.

"And dost Thou believe this, worthiness?"

"I repeat what a man told me who has never lied."

"He told what he saw. But did it not surprise him that no mother whose children they burned was weeping?"

"He was astonished, indeed, at such indifference in women, since they are always ready to shed tears even over a dead hen. But it shows great cruelty in your people."

The old Phoenician nodded.

"Was that long ago?" asked he.

"A few years."

"Well," said Hiram, deliberately, "shouldst Thou wish to visit Tyre some day, I shall have the honor to show thee a solemnity like that one."

"I have no wish to see it."

"After the ceremony we shall go to another court of the temple, where the prince will see a very fine school, and in it, healthy and gladsome, those very same boys who were burnt a few years ago."

"How is that?" exclaimed Ramses; "then did they not perish?"

"They are living, and growing up to be sturdy mariners. When Thou shalt be pharaoh, mayst Thou live through eternity! perhaps more than one of them will be sailing thy ships."

"Then ye deceive your people?" laughed the prince.

"We deceive no one," answered the Tyrian, with dignity. "Each man deceives himself when he does not seek the explanation of a solemnity which he does not understand."

"I am curious," said Ramses.

"In fact," continued Hiram, "we have a custom that indigent mothers wishing to assure their sons a good career give them to the service of the state. In reality, those children are taken across the statue of Baal, in which there is a heated stove. This ceremony does not mean that the children are really burnt, but that they have been given to the temple, and so are as much lost to their mothers as if they had fallen into fire.

"In truth, however, they do not go to the stove, but to nurses and women who rear them for some years. When they have grown up sufficiently, the school of priests of Baal receives and educates them. The most competent become priests or officials; the less gifted go to the navy and obtain great wealth frequently. Now I think the prince will not wonder that Tyrian mothers do not mourn for their children. I will say more: Thou wilt understand, lord, why there is no punishment for parents who kill their children, as there is in Egypt."

"Wretches are found in all lands," replied the prince.

"But there is no child murder in our country," continued Hiram, "for with us children, when their mothers are unable to support them, are taken to the temple by the state."

The prince fell to thinking; suddenly he embraced Hiram, and said with emotion,

"Ye are much better than those who tell tales of you. I am greatly rejoiced at this."

"Among us, too, there is no little evil," answered Hiram; "but we are all ready to be thy faithful servants shouldst Thou call us."

"Is this true?" asked the prince, looking him in the eyes.

The old man put his hand on his heart.

"I swear to thee, O heir to the throne of Egypt and future pharaoh, that if Thou begin at any time a struggle with our common enemy, Phoenicia will hasten as one man to assist thee. But receive this as a reminder of our conversation."

He drew from beneath his robe a gold medal covered with mysterious characters, and, muttering a prayer, hung it on the neck of Prince Ramses.

"With this amulet," continued Hiram, "Thou mayst travel the whole world through, and if Thou meet a Phoenician he will serve thee with advice, with gold, with his sword even. But now let us go."

Some hours had passed since sunset, but the night was clear, for the moon had risen. The terrible heat of the day had yielded to coolness. In the pure air was floating no longer that gray dust which bit the eyes and poisoned respiration. In the blue sky here and there twinkled stars which were lost in the deluge of moonbeams.

Movement had stopped on the streets, but the roofs of all the houses were filled with people occupied in amusement. Pi-Bast seemed from edge to edge to be one hall filled with music, singing, laughter, and the sound of goblets.

The prince and the Phoenician went speedily to the suburbs, choosing the less lighted sides of the streets. Still, people feasting on terraces saw them at intervals, and invited them up, or cast flowers down on their heads.

"Hei, ye strollers!" cried they, from the roofs. "If ye are not thieves called out by the night to snatch booty, come hither, come up to us. We have good wine and gladsome women."

The two wanderers made no answer to those hospitable invitations; they hurried on in their own way. At last they came to a quarter where the houses were fewer, the gardens more frequent, the trees, thanks to damp sea-breezes, more luxuriant and higher than in the southern provinces of Egypt.

"It is not far now," said Hiram.

The prince raised his eyes, and over the dense green of trees he saw a square tower of blue color; on it a more slender tower, which was white. This was the temple of Astaroth. Soon they entered the garden, whence they could take in at a glance the whole building.

It was composed of a number of stories. The top of the lowest was a square platform with sides four hundred yards long; its walls were a few meters high, and all of black color. At the eastern side was a projection to which came two wide stairways. Along the other three sides of this first story were small towers, ten on each side; between each pair of towers were five windows.

More or less in the centre of this lowest platform rose a quadrangular building with sides two hundred yards long. This had a single stairway, towers at the comers, and was purple. On the top of this building was another of golden color, and above it, one upon the other, two towers one blue, the other white.

The whole building looked as if some power had placed on the earth one enormous black dice, on it a smaller one of purple, on that a golden one, on that a blue, and, highest of all, a silver dice. To each of these elevations stairs led, either double flights along the sides or single front stairs, always on the eastern walls.

At the sides of the stairs and doors stood, alternately, great Egyptian sphinxes, or winged Assyrian human-headed bulls.

The viceroy looked with delight at this edifice, which in the moonlight and against the background of rich vegetation had an aspect of marvelous beauty. It was built in Chaldean style, and differed essentially from the temples of Egypt, first, by the system of stories, second, by the perpendicular walls.

Among the Egyptians every great building had sloping sides receding inward as they rose.

The garden was not empty. At various points small villas and houses were visible, lights were flashing, songs and music were heard. From time to time among trees appeared shadows of loving couples.

All at once an old priest approached them, exchanged a few words with Hiram, and said to the prince with a low obeisance,

"Be pleased, lord, to come with me."

"And may the gods watch over thee, worthiness," added Hiram, as he left him.

Ramses followed the priest. Somewhat aside from the temple, in the thickest of the grove, was a stone bench, and perhaps a hundred rods from it a villa of no great size at which was heard singing.

"Are people praying there?" asked the prince.

"No," answered the priest, without concealing his dislike; "at that house assemble the worshippers of Kama, our priestess who guards the fire before the altar of Astaroth."

"Whom does she receive today?"

"No one at any time," answered the guide, offended. "Were the priestess of the fire not to observe her vow of chastity she would have to die."

"A cruel law," observed Ramses.

"Be pleased, lord, to wait at this bench," said the Phoenician priest, coldly; "but on hearing three blows against the bronze plate, go to the temple, ascend to the first platform, and thence to the purple story."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

The prince sat down on the bench, in the shadow of an olive tree, and heard the laughter of women in the villa.

"Kama," thought he, "is a pretty name. She must be young, and perhaps beautiful, and those dull Phoenicians threaten her with death. Do they wish in this way to assure themselves even a few virgins in the whole country?"

He laughed, but was sad. It was uncertain why he pitied that unknown woman for whom love would be a passage to the grave.

"I can imagine to myself Tutmosis if he were appointed priestess of Astaroth," thought Ramses. "He would have to die, poor fellow, before he could light one lamp before the face of the goddess."

At that moment a flute was heard in the villa, and some one played a plaintive air, which was accompanied by female singers, "Aha-a! aha-a!" as in the lullaby of infants.

The flute stopped, the women were silent, and a splendid male voice was heard, in the Greek language:

"When thy robe gleams on the terrace, the stars pale and the nightingales cease to sing, but in my heart there is stillness like that which is on earth when the clear dawn salutes it."

"Aha-a! aha-a!" continued the women. The flute played again.

"When Thou goest to the temple, violets surround thee in a cloud of fragrance, butterflies circle near thy lips, palms bend their heads to thy beauty."

"aha-a! aha-a!"

"When Thou art not before me, I look to the skies to recall the sweet calm of thy features. Vain labor! The heavens have no calm like thine, and their heat is cold when compared with the flame which is turning my heart into ashes."

"Aha-a! aha-a!"

"One day I stood among roses, which the gleam of thy glances clothe in white, gold, and scarlet. Each leaf of them reminded me of one hour, each blossom of one month passed at thy feet. The drops of dew are my tears, which are drunk by the merciless wind of the desert.

"Give a sign; I will seize thee, I will bear thee away to my birthplace, beloved. The sea will divide us from pursuers, myrtle groves will conceal our fondling, and gods, more compassionate toward lovers, will watch over our happiness."

"Aha-a! aha-a!"

The prince dropped his eyelids and imagined. Through his drooping lashes he could not see the garden, he saw only the flood of moonlight in which were mingled shadows and the song of the unknown man to the unknown woman. At instants that song seized him to such a degree, and forced itself into his spirit so deeply, that Ramses wished to ask: "Am I not the singer myself? nay, am I not that love song?"

At this moment his title, his power, the burdensome problems of state, all seemed to him mean, insignificant in comparison with that moonlight and those calls of a heart which is enamored. If the choice had been given him to take the whole power of the pharaoh, or that spiritual condition in which he then found himself, he would have preferred that dreaming, in which the whole world, he himself, even time, disappeared, leaving nothing behind but desire, which was now rushing forth to infinity borne on the wings of song and of music.

Meanwhile the prince recovered, the song had ended, the lights in the villa had vanished, the white walls, the dark vacant windows were sharply outlined. One might have thought that no person had ever been in that house there. The garden was deserted and silent, even the slight breath of air stirred the leaves no longer.

One! two! three! From the temple were heard three mighty sounds from bronze.

"Ah! I must go," thought the prince, not knowing well whither he was to go or for what purpose.

He turned, however, in the direction of the temple, the silver tower of which rose above the trees as if summoning him.

He went as in a trance, filled with strange wishes. Among the trees it was narrow for him; he wished to ascend to the top of that tower, to draw breath, to take in with his glance some wider horizon. Again he remembered that it was the month Mesori, that a year had passed since the maneuvers; he felt a yearning for the desert. How gladly would he mount his light chariot drawn by two horses, and fly away to some place where it was not so stifling, and trees did not hide the horizon!

He was at the steps of the temple, so he mounted to the platform. It was quiet and empty there, as if all had died; but from afar the water of a fountain was murmuring. At the second stairway he threw aside his burnous and sword; once more he looked at the garden, as if he were sorry to leave the moonlight behind, and entered the temple. There were three stories above him.

The bronze doors were open; at both sides of the entrance stood winged figures of bulls with human heads; on the faces of these was dignified calmness.

"Those are kings of Assyria," thought the prince, looking at their beards plaited in tiny tresses.

The interior of the temple was as black as night when 't is blackest. The darkness was intensified more by white streaks of moonlight falling in through narrow high windows.

In the depth of the temple two lamps were burning before the statue of Astaroth. Some strange illumination from above caused the statue to be perfectly visible. Ramses gazed at it. That was a gigantic woman with the wings of an ostrich. She wore a long robe in folds; on her head was a pointed cap, in her right hand she held a pair of doves. On her beautiful face and in her downcast eyes was an expression of such sweetness and innocence that astonishment seized the prince, for she was the patroness of revenge and of license the most unbridled.

"Phoenicia has shown me one more of her secrets. A strange people," thought Ramses. "Their man-eating gods do not eat, and their lewdness is guarded by virgin priestesses and by a goddess with an innocent face."

Thereupon he felt that something had slipped across his feet quickly, as it were a great serpent. Ramses drew back and stood in the streak of moonlight.

"A vision!" said he to himself.

Almost at that moment he heard a whisper,

"Ramses! Ramses!"

It was impossible to discover whether that was a man's or a woman's voice, or whence it issued.

"Ramses! Ramses!" was heard a whisper, as if from the ceiling.

The prince went to an un-illuminated place and, while looking, bent down.

All at once he felt two delicate hands on his head.

He sprang up to grasp them, but caught only air.

"Ramses!" was whispered from above.

He raised his head, and felt on his lips a lotus flower; and when he stretched his hands to it some one leaned on his arm lightly.

"Ramses!" called a voice from the altar.

The prince turned and was astounded. In the streak of light, a couple of steps distant, stood a most beautiful man, absolutely like the heir to the throne of Egypt. The same face, eyes, youthful stature, the same posture, movements, and dress.

The prince thought for a while that he was before some great mirror, such a mirror as even the pharaoh could not have. But soon he convinced himself that his second was a living man, not a picture.

At that moment he felt a kiss on his neck. Again he turned, but there was no one; meanwhile his second self vanished.

"Who is here? I wish to know!" cried the angry prince.

"It is I 'Kama," answered a sweet voice.

And in the strip of light appeared a most beautiful woman, naked, with a golden girdle around her waist.

Ramses ran up and seized her by the hands. She did not flee.

"Art Thou Kama? No, Thou art Yes, Dagon sent thee on a time, but then Thou didst call thyself Fondling."

"But I am Fondling, too," replied she, naively.

"Is it Thou who hast touched me with thy hands?"

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"How?"

"Ao! in this way," answered she, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.

Ramses seized her in his arms, but she tore herself free with a force which no one could have suspected in such a slight figure.

"Art Thou then the priestess Kama? Was it to thee that that Greek sang to-night?" asked the prince, pressing her hands passionately. "What sort of man is that singer?"

Kama shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.

"He is attached to our temple," was the answer.

Ramses' eyes flamed, his nostrils dilated, there was a roaring in his head. That same woman a few months before had made on him only a slight impression; but today he was ready to commit some mad deed because of her. He envied the Greek, and felt also indescribable sorrow at the thought that if she became his she must perish.

"How beautiful Thou art," said he. "Where dost Thou dwell? Ah, I know; in that villa. Is it possible to visit thee? Of course it is. If Thou receive singers, Thou must receive me. Art Thou really the priestess guarding the fire of this temple?"

"I am."

"And are the laws so severe that they do not permit thee to love? Ei, those are threats! For me Thou wilt make exception."

"All Phoenicia would curse me; the gods would take vengeance," replied she, with a smile.

Ramses drew her again toward him; again she tore herself free.

"Have a care, prince," said she, with a challenging look. "Phoenicia is mighty, and her gods."

"What care I for thy gods or Phoenicia? Were a hair to fall from thy head, I would trample Phoenicia as I might a foul reptile."

"Kama! Kama!" called a voice from the statue.

She was frightened.

"Thou seest they call me. They may have heard thy blaspheming."

"They may have heard my anger."

"The anger of the gods is more terrible."

She tore away and vanished in the darkness of the temple. Ramses rushed after her, but was pushed back on a sudden. The whole temple between him and the altar was filled with an immense bloody flame, in which monstrous figures appeared, huge bats, reptiles with human heads, shades.

The flame advanced toward him directly across the whole width of the building; and, amazed by this sight, which was new to him, the prince retreated. All at once fresh air was around him. He turned his head he was outside the temple, and that instant the bronze doors closed with a crash behind.

He rubbed his eyes, he looked around. The moon from the highest point in the heavens had lowered toward the west. At the side of the column Ramses found his sword and burnous. He raised them, and moved down the steps like a drunken man.

When he returned to his palace at a late hour, Tutmosis, on seeing his pale face and troubled look, cried with alarm,

"By the gods! where hast Thou been, Erpatr? Thy whole court is alarmed and sleepless."

"I was looking at the city. The night is beautiful."

"Dost Thou know," added Tutmosis, hurriedly, as if fearing that some one else might anticipate him, "that Sarah has given thee a son?"

"Indeed? I wish no one in the retinue to be alarmed when I go out to walk."

"Alone?"

"If I could not go out alone when it pleases me, I should be the most wretched slave in Egypt," said Ramses, bitterly.

He gave his sword and burnous to Tutmosis, and went to his bedroom without calling any one. Yesterday the birth of a son would have filled him with gladness; but at that moment he received the news with indifference. His whole soul was occupied with the thought of that evening, the most wonderful in all his life experience. He still saw the light of the moon; in his ears the song of the Greek was still sounding. But that temple of Astaroth!

He could not sleep till morning.