II
THE VOW
Charmides, with a look of unusual curiosity in his face, left his postand crossed to the fireplace, seating himself upon the ground before it.During the story that followed, the shepherd's bright blue eyes soughtthe ruddiest depths of the leaping flames, while his expressive mouthresponded to every passing thought, and the narrator was fascinated bythe glory of his hair, which caught the firelight, and tossed off itsburning reflection in a thousand dazzling rays, till Charmides' head wassurrounded by such a halo as saint has never worn. Theron, Phalaris, andHeraia, who, however incredulous they might be, could not but be struckby the stranger's theme, gathered closer to him, and listened with anintensity flattering enough to spur Kabir to great efforts in hisnarrative. He, however, well aware that, at his best, he could neverdream of rivalling the Greek professional in this art of arts, choserather to treat his subject in the simplest possible manner.
"Two years ago, in the fourteenth year of the reign of Nabu-Nahid,King of Babylon,[3] men say that Istar, the great goddess--ourAstarte--Aphrodite to you--came in the flesh to Babylon. For three daysand three nights flames of white fire hung over the temples of Bel, ofMarduk, and of Nebo, while the images of the gods in their shrineschanted unceasingly in an unknown tongue. On the morning of the fourthday the hierodules attached to the temple of Istar, ascending herziggurat to the sanctuary on the seventh stage, found the goddessherself, asleep upon her golden couch.
"How she awoke, what she said to her priestesses, or in what manner shefirst descended to take up her abode in the temple below, I have neverheard. But before a month was past, all Babylon, and in three months allthe East, from Sidon to Gaza, and from Ur to Damascus, rang with thewonder of her divinity and her beauty. It is now long since I heard ofher, having been so many months away from my country. But formerly everycaravan that came from the great city held some that had seen her, orperhaps had heard her speak, and throngs would assemble in themarketplaces to listen to the least story of her personality. It wassaid--"
"Yes, yes. She was beautiful, you say? How beautiful? How did she look?"interrupted Charmides, in stumbling haste.
Kabir, noting the flush upon the shepherd's cheek, smiled a little tohimself. "She is the most fair of any goddess, yet none has ever beheldso much as her face quite clearly, it is said. Always she is surroundedby a dazzling white radiance, an aureole, which the strongest eyes havenot been able to pierce. Yet men declare that her face has the clearwhiteness of alabaster, her eyes are like the moon, and her hair like afloating, silken veil. More I cannot truthfully say.
"Her vestments have been offered her by the King himself and by thepriests of the great gods. They are such as Nitokris never wore andqueens might sigh over with envy. Yet they seem too coarse and poor toproffer to such a being.
"The first sign of Istar's divinity is the music that continuallyfollows her presence. They say that those who hear the sounds as shepasses are overcome, and fall upon the dust, or reel away like drunkenmen affected by fumes of wine. What this music is--bells or chords ofthe lyre or notes from the flute--no man has ever told, for when thesounds cease, every memory of them, save that of the ecstasy oflistening, leaves him who has heard. And at sunset every night, when thegoddess has retired to her sanctuary to commune with the great gods insolitude, there issue from the ziggurat sounds so marvellous that thepriestesses and hierodules flee the neighborhood of the tower in thefear that, hearing, they may lose their reason.
"Istar is possessed of all knowledge. She speaks to each man in hisnative tongue--Chaldaic, Aramaic, Hebrew, Phoenician, or Egyptian--and onfeast days she converses with the gods, her brothers, in that unknownlanguage spoken by their statues. Bel and Nebo come forth from theirshrines to receive her; Marduk and Shamash embrace her, their sister.Sin, her father, sends to her temple blood-offerings and heave-offeringsof oxen and of doves."
"And men," asked the shepherd, still staring into the flames--"what dothe men who have eyes to look upon her?"
"Of those that have dared, some become as children that know no morewhat they do. A few, it is said, have died, but these she raises fromthe kingdom of death and returns again to the world to fulfil theirrightful time. Others still have given their manhood in order to jointhe order of temple-servants attached to her sanctuary.
"For all these reasons the temple of Istar has become more famous thanany other in the East, and the name of Istar, the living goddess, is inevery mouth. Many Egyptians from Memphis and Thebes have taken the longjourney to Babylon for the purpose of beholding her; and in the land ofthe Nile each man prays that Isis may show her people favor and appearbefore them incarnate. She has shaken the faith of the Jews in their oneGod. Phrygia and Lydia send yearly offerings to her in the great city.And in Tyre itself we were to build a new temple to Astarte, where a sixmonths' sacrifice and festival would be held, in the hope that our greatgoddess of fertility might appear before us in her double form. Andthat, O Charmides, is all that I can relate to you concerning the Ladyof Babylon."
"It seems that Charmides sleeps over the tale, or else that he isdrunken with the mere thought of the divine personage. Wake, rhapsode!Tune your lyre and sing for us the inspired ode that hangs upon yourlips!" cried Phalaris, rather ill-naturedly, and with a supercilioussmile at his brother.
Charmides did not stir. A thoughtful frown puckered his forehead, and heappeared oblivious of Phalaris' mockery. Theron, seeing that thePhoenician was a little crestfallen with the ill-success of his story,made haste to express his interest in it, and to ask a further questionor two upon the matter, without, however, infusing much enthusiasm intohis tone. Heraia followed her husband's lead with less effort. She hadin her the original strain of poetry that had been extended to heryounger son, but was entirely lacking in Theron and Phalaris. Therefore,being imaginative and a woman, Heraia had no difficulty in creditingKabir's words, and she also understood Charmides' present mood as noneof the others could.
Now ensued a pause extremely uncomfortable to three of the group. OnlyPhalaris was undisturbed by, and Charmides oblivious of, its distressinglength. The shepherd finally turned his head and shifted his gaze to thePhoenician's face, where his eyes remained fixed for two or three minutesin a contemplative scrutiny. Then he drew a long breath, returned intothe present, and, rising, moved slowly to the door again. From there heglanced at his mother, and was about to speak, when Phalaris reachedover to the chest near which he sat, drew forth from it a lyre inlaidwith ivory, and held it out to his brother.
"A hymn, Charmides, to Astarte. I can read one written in your eyes."
Charmides flushed scarlet. The eyes of the stranger were on him, and hefelt a sudden pang of inexpressible shame at the laughter of hisbrother's tone.
"Have no fear, little athlete!" he responded, slowly, "an ode will beready for you when you overthrow Theocles in the festival games. But Ithink I need not hurry in composing it. Morpheus attend you all. I amgoing to my bed." And, turning upon his heel, without looking at thestill proffered instrument, he strode off to the room which he was toshare with Phalaris and the stranger.
Charmides' anger always passed as rapidly as it rose. To-night, by thetime he had disrobed and made his prayer to Apollo and Father Zeus, hismind was once more in a state of truce with Phalaris, and he determinedto make peace with his brother as soon as he found opportunity; forPhalaris felt the sting of a sharp speech till it was healed by the balmof a very humble apology.
Once ready for the night the shepherd drew his light couch under the oneunshuttered window of the room, and laid him down so that his eyes mightrest upon the heavens before he slept, and where he could watch therising of the sun when he woke again. By this time the last shred of thestorm-cloud had disappeared from on high, and the moon, which was allbut in the full, flooded the night with silver. Its luminous radiancemelted over the shepherd's face and caused his locks to shine palely.Charmides lay watching the beams with wide-open eyes. In spite of hisvery unusual exertions of the afternoon, and
the nervous strain that hehad endured in watching for men from the wreck, he had never beenfurther from sleep than to-night. His mind was unusually active, and,try as he would, he could not turn his thoughts from one subject--thething that Phalaris had tried to shame away, the incredible tale told bythe Phoenician about the Aphrodite of the East. Charmides knew wellenough how his father and brother would laugh at him for allowinghimself to think seriously for one moment about that idealized being,who, in all probability, lived only in the depths of the trader'simagination. Nevertheless, Kabir's few words had conjured up toCharmides' quick fancy a singularly real shape, and in the solitarynight his thoughts played about her continually, now with eager delight,again reluctantly and irresistibly. Once, twice, thrice he tried toescape from her, but she refused to be banished. He saw her slippingdown towards him from a great height, on the path of a moonbeam. With asigh of renunciation he resolutely turned his head. Still she did notgo. Nay, flashing in an aureole of white light, her face veiled fromhim, divinity crying from every curve of her figure, she advanced moredefinitely than before, from the corners of the room. A quiver ofpainful delight stirred Charmides' heart. He closed his eyes. Then shecame out of the depths of his own brain, in a sea of rainbow mist, withfaint chimes of distant bells ringing around her, a veil of silken haircovering her beneath the mantle of light. At last he was quite beneathher spell. Fragments of hexameter, of great beauty and greatindistinctness, rose in his mind. And presently, lo! an ode, the firstof any depth that had ever come to him, became possible. Here were thefirst lines of it, lying ready to his tongue. He whispered them once tohimself, delightedly, and then banished them with resolution. He mustfirst obtain his form. The structure must be broad enough adequately toexpress the thought born in him by the secret inspiration of the night.
An hour passed, and the white light of the moon crept slowly over theshepherd's head into the far corners of the room. Charmides lay withclosed eyes and lips compressed, the vision growing clearer and his taskmore intricate. Mere words began to be inadequate. How many men, howmany women, how many lifeless things, even, have been extolled inmatchless syllables? And how was he as far to surpass all these lines ashis subject surpassed the subjects of his predecessors? He grew more andmore troubled, and the labor of his mind was painful. Intoxication wasgone. The time of work, of unexalted concentration, was upon him. Intothe midst of this second stage, however, came Phalaris and Kabir,sleepy, yet talking pleasantly together in unsubdued tones. Charmidesclenched his hand, but did not unclose his eyes. For twenty minutes helay in an agony of broken thought. Then his self-control was rewarded.He was left alone once more in the night, with only the light, regularbreathing of two unconscious men to disturb his thoughts.
Through the misty hours sleep did not visit the shepherd, yet neitherdid he accomplish his desire. He watched the pale moon faint from thesky and the white stars melt, one by one, into the tender dawn. Sunrisefound him spent, exhausted, and bitter with disappointment; for theburning night had left no trace of its fever save in deep circles underhis eyes and a hungering anxiety over something that he could not name.
Theron and Phalaris were up betimes, and, before they had finished themorning libation, were joined by Charmides and Kabir. During breakfastthe stranger talked to Theron about the galley, and the length of timeit would take before she could be rendered fit to continue again uponher voyage.
"You were going home?" asked the Selinuntian.
"Yes. We should stop at the Sikelian cities as far as Syracuse, passingthen eastward through the islands, touching at Crete, Naxos, perhaps,and Cyprus. Our voyage had been too long already."
"Well, if you are ready," observed Theron, rising, "we will go down tothe shore at once to find out the condition of the galley. And while youremain in Selinous, Kabir, we beg that you will make our hearth yourhome."
The Phoenician gratefully expressed his thanks. Then, as Theron andPhalaris moved together towards the door, evidently expecting him tofollow them, Kabir turned to Charmides, who remained in the background.
"Do you not come with us?" he asked.
The Greek hurriedly shook his head. "I take the flock to pasture," heexplained; and so the Phoenician turned away.
By the time the three men reached the shore below the city, the sun wastwo hours high and the beach was lined with Selinuntians and Tyrians,all talking together about the best method for pulling the galley frombetween the two rocks where she still lay, fast wedged. As soon as Kabirmade his appearance a tall fellow, in a deep-red robe, hurried up to himwith expressions of delight. Kabir saluted him as an equal, andpresently brought him up to Theron and Phalaris, introducing him asEshmun, captain of the _Fish of Tyre_. Then followed among the four ofthem an earnest conversation as to the length of time needed for repairsafter the ship was once more in clear water.
"Prayers and libations to Melkart and Baal have been offered up,"observed Eshmun, piously, "and men in the city are already at workmaking new oars. Yonder on the beach are all the small boats, which areto be manned by our sailors and the young men of the city. They,proceeding to the _Fish_, will lay hold of her stern with ropes, and,all pulling in the same direction, by the aid of the gods we shall hopeto get her out."
"And the galley-slaves?" queried Kabir. "What has been done with them?"
"May Bacchus confound them! Last night, before leaving the ship, Ipersuaded Sydyk into loosening their chains, and when Sydyk, at sunrise,reached the galley, he found every man of them sprawled out on deck in adrunken sleep. They had used up four casks of the best Massilian wine!Sydyk had them whipped back to their places, where they are now chained,waiting to help push the ship off with their unbroken oars."
Up to this point Theron and his son stood beside Kabir, listeningattentively to the Phoenician tongue, which was just unfamiliar enough todemand close attention. But now Phalaris, seeing that the small boatswere being rapidly manned, went off to join one of them. Theron walkedleisurely after his son towards a group of elders, leaving Kabir withEshmun. For ten or fifteen minutes the Tyrians continued theirconversation, and then, the fleet of rowboats being ready to put off,the captain hurried away to take command of the operations, and hiscompanion was left alone upon the shore.
Kabir, as master-trader of the vessel, was under no obligation to doanything towards the assistance of the wreck. Few men, perhaps, wouldhave considered this freedom as a reason for actually taking no part inthe affair of the moment. But Kabir was one of these few. He was bynature a true Phoenician, and by cultivation a true merchant: thoroughlyindolent where his immediate advantage was not concerned; good-naturedbecause good-nature made men more pliable to his secret will; keen as aknife-blade, and quite indefatigable in any matter that concerned his orhis employer's profit; indifferent to the weal or woe of his nearestfriend, so long as by that woe or weal his own comfort was unconcerned.He stood now on the beach below the acropolis, content to be alone,sufficiently occupied with the scenes of beauty and activity before him.There, far to the south and east, stretched the sea, smooth and blue,sprinkled with sun-sparkles, a lolling roll half-concealed in itsmischievous depths, otherwise bearing not a trace of last night's spasmof rage. From the very edge of the beach out to a distance of twohundred yards from shore, was a jumble of brown rocks, large and small,between which the water ran in little, opalescent eddies, forming adangerous and threatening boundary to the west side of the otherwisepeaceful harbor. Between two of these horned rocks lay the barnacled,dismasted ship, which had ventured so far into distant, perilous seas,to be brought to bay at last, wounded and weary, by the shock of a merrySicilian thunderstorm. Half-way between ship and shore thirty smallboats, plied vigorously by friendly Greek and anxious Tyrian, weremaking a flashing progress to the galley's side; while all along theshore white-robed Selinuntian elders and fair-faced Doric women watchedwith high interest the movements of the boats.
Once and again Kabir overlooked the scene. Then, tired of standing, andundesirous of spending the whole morning inactively,
he turned andlooked around him, up the rocky height of the temple-crowned acropolis.An ascent into the city seemed the most feasible method of amusement.Therefore he proceeded leisurely towards the nearest upward path, when,somewhat to his amazement, he perceived the figure of Charmides comingrapidly towards him along the beach. The moment his eyes met those ofthe youth the shepherd's pace grew perceptibly slower.
"I will avoid him, then," thought the Phoenician, calmly, and thereupon,with a distant salutation, he started forward once more to the upwardpath. To his further surprise this act brought Charmides hastily to hisside.
"Where is thy flock, O rhapsode?" inquired Kabir, lightly, in the mannerof Phalaris.
"In care of Sardeis. I was seeking you."
"And your purpose? What may I do?"
"N--nothing. I thought you might desire, perhaps, to see the city. ShallI conduct you to the agora? Would you like to see our temples?--and thestatues?--and the new pediment that Eumenides is making for thebasilica?"
"Very much. I was, indeed, just about to go alone up to the city,"replied Kabir, courteously. But while the youth began abruptly to ascendthe path in front of him, Kabir was wondering, in rather a puzzled way,what could be the reason for the young Greek's sudden solicitude for hisamusement, and for the want of interest in what should have been hisfirst object of inquiry--the galley's rescue from the rocks.
The two of them passed in silence through the well-kept street that ledto the agora from the west, and had almost reached the height of theacropolis before a further word was spoken between them. Kabir'scuriosity was turning to amusement, and he was inclined to put theshepherd down as half-witted, when the boy turned on him and burst out,as if driven to the speech:
"Kabir, tell me, was that that you were saying last night--about thegoddess of Babylon--true or not? Is there such a being, or is she but aninvention of your mind? I conjure you, if you have pity, tell me thetruth!"
As he spoke, Charmides, from being very pale, had flushed crimson, andhis young eyes burned with unquenchable fire. A sudden, uniquerevelation was borne in upon the Phoenician, and he willingly passed overthe blunt suggestion in the shepherd's question, in the pleasure offinding what was, to him, an entirely novel bent of mind. While theyproceeded, then, on their way to the market-place, Kabir replied to thesubstance of Charmides' new queries.
"I told you the truth last evening, shepherd; as much truth, indeed, asI knew. I myself have never been in Babylon, and therefore have not,with mine own eyes, seen the goddess. But others, my friends, onreturning to Tyre from the great city, have been able to talk of nothingbut Istar, this living divinity. Yet it is many months since I was athome. By now she may have returned to the skies, from which, they say,she came. But that there was once such a being on earth I know; else Iand all men of the East are gone suddenly demented."
"But her face--how do you imagine it? Her form--is it like a woman's?Tell me, Kabir! Tell me more of her!"
"How can I, never having looked upon her? How shall I imagine what noman, seeing, knows?"
"Surely you know of the music that surrounds her. Whence does it appearto come? Is it the sound of lyre or flute; or perhaps of manyinstruments together? Perhaps some hint of its melody is--"
"Shepherd, shepherd! Have I not told you that I know nothing of it? SaidI not last night that that music drove mad those that listened? Lyres!Flutes! How could I know? How should I guess?"
"It is unbearable, this yearning. I am kept from sleep. I cannot eat. Iam haunted by a face that I cannot see, lines that will not rise out ofthe chaos in which they lie. And no man will tell me what he knows. Noman--no man."
The shepherd muttered these words to himself so incoherently that Kabircould scarcely distinguish one from another. Suddenly, however,Charmides lifted his head and looked at the Phoenician with a deepsadness in his eyes. "Kabir!" he exclaimed, softly, "I am possessed!"
"Truly, I think you are!" growled the trader to himself. But withCharmides he abruptly changed the subject of conversation, and said, ina very different tone, with a phlegmatic smile: "It is my turn forquestioning now. We are here in the agora, and you have told me as yetnothing of the temples, which are, so far as I can judge, most worthy oftheir gods."
Charmides restrained a sigh of impatience, but his disappointment showedplainly in his face. However, his native courtesy and his training inhospitality did not desert him, and for the next hour he devoted himselfto his task so successfully that Kabir was well pleased with him. Theboy's effort to keep his mind fixed upon immediate matters did notescape the Phoenician, who, before the morning was over, conceived a verydifferent idea of the shepherd's character. On the whole, the last halfof the morning was much more enjoyable to him than the first.
At this time, in the spring of the five hundred and thirty-ninth yearbefore the birth of Christ, the Hyblean city was in the height of itsprosperity as an independent Doric colony; and its citizens had taken agenerous and a reverent pride in the adornment of their acropolis and ofthe opposite hill, both of which were wreathed with temples which, inconception and erection, will never be surpassed. Kabir lookedappreciatively at the agora, surrounded as it was with the flutedcolumns of the sanctuaries of Demeter, Apollo, and Zeus, and thesomewhat too square basilica. The market-place teemed with life. Asacrifice and prayer to Father Zeus was in progress, and white-robedpriests passed to and fro among the youths and maids of the open school,the slaves who came for water from the central fountain, or the vendersof grains, fruit, and flowers that accosted one at every step. Passingout of the agora, after a considerable time spent in viewing itspleasant gayety, the stranger and his shepherd guide went back toexamine the stone fort which rendered this eminence utterly impregnableupon its north side; and then they followed the high stone wallsouthward along the edge of the cliff till they reached the southeasterngate of Hystaspes. Through this Charmides passed rapidly, and led theway along well-paved streets down into the valley of the Hypsas River,which separated the acropolis from the east hill. Crossing the littlebridge on foot, the two began their second ascent up the eminence wherestood Charmides' home, near which were three other temples--one toHecate, one to Hera, and the third, half finished, dedicated to thepatron god of the city, Apollo, and destined to be the largest temple ofthem all and the third largest in the Greek world.
The walk had proved long, and the last part of the way was difficult.Kabir was glad enough to sit and rest in the portico of Hera's shrine,looking out over the brow of the hill down to the rocky harbor where thegalley still obstinately stuck. Charmides had ceased to talk, and hiscompanion asked no more questions about the city. It was in perfectamicability, yet in perfect silence, that the two finished their shortwalk to Theron's house. The young Greek had fallen into a reverie fromwhich it would have been difficult to rouse him; and he moved with hiseyes fixed sometimes in the clouds, more often on the ground, while hismouth drooped and his expression grew more and more grave. Kabir glancedoccasionally at his companion, needing no interpreter to determine thesubject of his thoughts, but himself far more interested in the questionas to whether there would be meat, or merely bread, cheese, wine, andfruit at the noon meal to which they were going.
As it turned out, there was mutton, well spitted, and done to a turn, adouble portion of which was easily obtainable, for Phalaris did not comeup from the harbor, and Charmides sat staring absently into space, whileTheron, Heraia, and their guest ate and discussed the events of themorning. The galley, it appeared, had been moved a little, but was notyet completely out of the clutches of the rocks. It was hoped, however,that by nightfall she would, by the combined strength of the oars andthe small boats, be got off and safely beached in a spot where thecarpenters could begin work upon her crushed sides and torn bottom.
"It will be a matter of fifteen days, however, before she can continueher voyage. There is far more to be done upon her than we thought atfirst. Meantime, O Kabir, our dwelling is yours."
"May the gods duly requite your hospitality, good fri
ends!" returnedKabir, as the four of them rose from the table.
After the meal Kabir went down into the harbor with his host, andCharmides sought the fields with his flock, not returning till an hourafter sunset. The family was seated at supper when he appeared. Hisunusual tardiness elicited a remark or two from his father; but Heraia,reading the weariness in his eyes, forbore to question him. It requiredforbearance, indeed, for she found something in the shepherd's face thathad not been there before; and on the meaning of it she speculated invain.
In spite of the fact that he had eaten little at noon, and that hisafternoon had been unusually long, Charmides took nothing to-night.Kabir watched him discreetly, interested in his state, the cause ofwhich he alone so much as suspected. Phalaris was weary after his longday at the oars, and showed his displeasure with his brother for makingno inquiry as to the galley's progress by utterly ignoring Charmidesafter the first word of greeting. The rather uncomfortable meal at anend, Heraia ventured a customary request.
"Come, Charmides, get thy lyre or flute, and play to us. The sheep havebeen hearing thee all afternoon. Give us, also, music to-night."
None of the others echoed the request. Theron rarely encouraged eitherson in his chosen profession, though he was as interested in theirsuccess as they themselves. Phalaris still sulked, unnoticed; and thePhoenician was too anxious for an opportunity of judging his newprotege's ability to risk protest by undue urging. He was fortunate inchoosing the passive course. At his mother's request, Charmides rose atonce and brought out his well-strung lyre. Seating himself in a cornerof the open door-way, and looking out upon the night, he struck two orthree thin, minor chords. Then, in a voice whose limpid tenor Kabir hadnever heard equalled, he sang. It was a melody well known to all Greeks,but transposed from the major to the minor key. The words wereCharmides' own--of exquisite simplicity--twenty lines on the grief andweariness of a lost Pleiad. It rose gradually to a plaintive climax, andended in a tired pianissimo. There was no applause. None of his audienceand neither of the slaves cared to break silence as the shepherd roseand returned the instrument to its place. Kabir thirsted for more; andpresently Theron, with a little effort, asked, softly:
"Why do you stop?"
"Father, I am tired. Grant me permission to go to my bed."
"Permission need not be asked. Get thee away, and the gods send youdreamless sleep."
Half an hour later Phalaris and the Phoenician followed the shepherd'sexample, and Theron and his wife also sought a willing rest. The athletemade quick work of preparing for the night, and, almost upon the instantof his lying down, fell fast asleep. Kabir was slower. He had disrobedas promptly as his companion, but he did not immediately lay him down.As on the previous evening, the window was open, and the moonlightstreamed over Charmides' bed. Kabir stole across the room to look outupon the night, moving noiselessly, that he might not disturb theshepherd, who, since the others entered the room, had lain motionless.The Phoenician, standing over him, brought his eyes slowly from the moonto the fair face below him, and gave a quick, unfeigned start to findCharmides' eyes wide open, staring up at him. Neither of them spoke.Kabir, in unaccountable confusion, quickly returned to his own couch andlay down upon it, far wider awake than he had been ten minutes before.
Now ensued a period of silence and of uneasiness. The shepherd, his formflooded with silver light, lay immovable, eyes still unclosed, handsclenched, brain on fire, listening mechanically to the regular breathingof Phalaris, and waiting eagerly, anxiously, tensely, for the same soundfrom the couch of the Phoenician. His nerves, too highly strung, twitchedand pulled. His body gradually grew numb. And still, while he waited,ears pricked, eyes brilliant, Kabir refused to sleep. The moon rode inmid-heavens before the sign came. At last the faint snores sounded likemuffled drum-taps, one--two--three--four--five. A long sigh escapedCharmides' lips. For one blessed instant his muscles relaxed. Then herose swiftly, drew on his day tunic, threw about him the chlamys thatPhalaris had worn, and slipped noiselessly from the room. For a momentafter his disappearance everything remained quiet behind him. Then,suddenly, Kabir's snores ceased, and he sat cautiously up. Yes,Charmides was really gone. The Phoenician rose and passed over to thedoor. The living-room was empty and the outer door open to the night.Throwing on as much clothing as he needed in the mild air, the traderhurried outside and looked about him, first towards the sea, then alongthe path to the city. Upon this, walking swiftly, and already far on hismoonlit way, went the shepherd. Kabir, with a kind of wonderment at hisown curiosity, started at a half-run to follow.
Evidently Charmides was bound for a definite spot. He moved straightalong through the rank grass, gorse, and wild onion that here took theplace of near-growing daisies and sweet alyssum, and, looking neither tothe right nor left, passed along the path to the acropolis.
The shepherd was acting on what was hardly an impulse. His strangeaction had been irresistibly impelled by some force emanating from hisown mind, and yet _not_ of himself. He wished to be upon consecratedground, in the precincts of a temple, where, it seemed to him, theburning thirst of his imagination might be quenched. In obedience to hisguiding voice, he left behind him the temples of the hill on which helived, and made his way towards the abode of his patron god of theSilver Bow, who had for years been worshipped on the acropolis, andwhose immense temple on the other hill was still unfinished. Charmideshad brought with him his lyre, again obeying the impulse, though withoutany idea of how he was to use it. He accomplished most of his journey,indeed, without thought of any kind; and not till the last, sharp ascentup the acropolis road was begun did it occur to him that, at this hourof the night, he might not pass the guard at the gate. The thought, whenit came, scarcely troubled him. He would go at least as far as he could.He passed rapidly up the steep slope, Kabir following noiselessly; and,as they drew near the gate of Dawn, the southeastern opening in thedefending wall, Charmides saw a strange thing. The guard, one of along-trained company for whom discovered slumber at his post meantdeath, sat squat upon the ground, his helmeted head bowed between hisknees, sunk in a deep sleep. The passage into the agora was open.Charmides and the other passed into the empty square, finally pausingbefore the portico of the temple of Apollo.
A scene of supernal beauty confronted them. The great market-place,filled from dawn to dusk with murmurous life of the city, was robed bynight in ineffable stillness. All around, the white columns rose inshadowy beauty to their high architraves; while the ground below wasbarred with fluted shadows. The warm, perfume-laden air was heavy withthe essence of spring. Below, on the sides of the hill, the city layasleep; and the only sound that broke the universal silence was thedistant, musical swish of the rising tide.
In the midst of this Charmides stood, half panting, his overwrought mindin a state of blankness. Then, still passively obeying his guidingimpulse, he ascended the two steps that led into the portico of thetemple of Apollo, and, after hesitating for a moment, entered the opendoor-way. By the light of the two sacred torches that burned throughoutthe night by the altar of the god, the youth made his way to thehigh-walled fane, within which was the celebrated statue of the Patronof Selinous. Here, in the dim, bluish light, with the cool stillnessabove and around him, and the divine presence very near, the shepherdfell upon one knee and bowed his head in a prayer, the words of whichrose to his lips without any effort of thought on his part, and weremore beautiful than any that he had ever heard spoken by priest or poet.
When he had finished he did not rise. It seemed to him that, if he butdared to lift his eyes, he should see the Lord of the Silver Bow abovehim, in all his blinding radiance. Charmides' head swam. A cloud offaintest incense enveloped him. His parted lips drank in air thataffected him like rare old wine. A fine intoxication stole upon all hissenses. He waited, breathlessly, for that which he knew at last was tocome. Yet in the beginning of the miracle his heart for a long momentceased to beat, and he swayed forward till he lay prone upon the marblepavement.
A sound, a long note,
thin and bright and finely drawn as silver wire,was quivering down from the dusk of the uppermost vault. On it spun, andon, over the head of the listener, whose every nerve quivered beneaththe spell of its vibration. Time had ceased for him, and he did not knowwhether it was a moment or an hour before the single note became two,then three, and gradually many more, which mingled and melted togetherin a stream of delicious harmony, so strange, so marvellous, that theshepherd strained ears and brain in an agony lest he should fail tocatch a single tone. But the low AEolian chimes grew fainter after alittle while; and then, at the pianissimo, there entered into theirmidst something that no man of earth had as yet dreamed of--a mightyorgan note, that rose and swelled through the moving air in a peal ofsuch majesty that Charmides, trembling with his temerity, rose to hisfeet and looked up. Nothing unusual was to be seen in the temple room.Half-way down, between the frescoed columns, burned the two torchesbefore the empty altar. Yes, and there, in the shadow of the wall, stoodKabir, the Phoenician, watching quietly the movements of the shepherd.Charmides perceived him, but failed to wonder at his presence. It wasnatural that any one should wish to be here to-night. Yet how could anyliving man stand unmoved in the midst of such a glory of sound aswhirled about him now? The lyre music rose anew to a great fortissimo,high above the deeply resonant chords of the sky-organ. Flutes andtrumpets, and the minor notes of myriad plaintive flageolets, and ahigh-pealing chime of silver-throated bells joined in swinging harmony,finally resolving into such a paean of praise that Charmides was carriedback to the memories of many a former dream. Shaking the dripping sweatfrom his forehead, he stepped forward a pace or two, and, lifting hislyre, joined its tones and those of his pygmy voice to the mightyorchestra. Though he was unaware of it, he had never sung like thisbefore. The inspiration of his surroundings was upon him. His voice rangforth, clear as a trumpet-call. Strange and beautiful words poured fromhis lips; words that he had always known, yet uttered now for the firsttime. He was drawn far from life. He was on the threshold of anotherworld, into which he could see dimly. There, before him, poised inether, shining ever more distinctly through the rosy cloud thatenveloped her, was the statue-like, veil-swathed form of a woman. Tall,lithe, round was the shape that he beheld--the body of a woman of earth,and yet more, and less, than that. Neither feature nor flesh could heperceive through the radiance that surrounded and emanated from her. Heknew, in his heart, that this was a goddess, she whom his soul sought.
"Ishtar! Ishtar! Ishtar ka Babilu!"
Once, twice, thrice he cried her name, in descending minor thirds, whileall the bells of heaven pealed round them both.
"Ishtar of Babilu, I come to seek your city! Where you are, there Ishall find you. Great Apollo, Lord of the Silver Bow, son of Latona andof Father Zeus, hear me and heed my words: I will seek the livinggoddess where she dwells in the land of the rising sun. To her I willproffer my homage ere the year be gone. If I fulfil not this vow, madehere within thy holy temple, take thou my body for the dogs to feedupon, and let my spirit cross the river into the darkest cavern ofHades. Lord Son of Latona, hear my vow!"
With the last words Charmides sank again upon his knees, his face stilluplifted to the spot whence his vision had faded into blackness. Thecelestial music ceased. The passionate ecstasy was gone. Weak andexhausted in body and mind, the shepherd rose, trembling, and began tomove towards the entrance of the temple. The light from the sinking moonstreamed white through the open door. Presently, from the shadows behindhim, Kabir glided gently up to the youth, who was groping blindlyforward.
"I heard the vow," said the Phoenician, almost in a whisper. "Will you,then, sail with us when we depart again in our galley, to Tyre, on yourway into Babylon of the East?"
For a moment Charmides stared at the man in wonderment. He was comingback to life. Then he nodded slowly, and with dry lips answered:
"You heard the vow. You have said it."
Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy Page 6