The Temple of Melkarth, the impersonation of Baal as that god was
supposed to preside over the interests of Tyre, stood near the centre of
the city. It was imposing, not so much because of its architectural
lines, as for the enormous stones which made its foundation, each one of
which was believed to have been laid in human blood some time in remote
ages past. The space in front of the temple was a miniature paradise.
Tiny rills, supplied artificially from the great aqueduct on the
mainland, trickled over bright pebbles, and through the green grass.
Fountains splashed in their basins of porphyry, marble, and bronze.
Gay-plumed birds from distant countries, wing-clipped, that they might
not fly far away, perched in delusive freedom upon the trees, and, with
their various songs, replied to the challenge of lyre and flute that
floated from the recesses of the temple court.
But on the afternoon of the day whose events we have been narrating, a
vast multitude of people filled the little park, and drowned these
sweeter sounds in the clatter of their voices. The streets leading to
the temple were crowded with those who had leisure from labor to
indulge their curiosity. An unusual number of people thronged through
the great gates of the temple to make offerings upon the altars. The
simple heralding of religious revival is often the surest provocative of
its coming. Thus it happened that the order of the council, respecting
some stupendous rite that should be performed, awakened a popular
impulse for pietistic devotion.
The full coterie of temple officials was in attendance. There were
barbers who shaved the beards and clipped the long forelocks of the
worshippers, by offering which to the god they signalled their entrance
upon the virile state of manhood. There were venders of victims for
sacrifice, and votive objects of every variety; custodians of veils and
sacred furniture; priests to slay the animals, and others to supply the
sacred coals to any who would burn incense.
The devotees jostled one another in their eagerness to read and take
down upon their little tablets the exact tariff fixed by the temple code
for the services of priests, and prices of objects acceptable to the
god, as these were placarded upon the walls. Some were busy admiring the
memorial slabs or statuettes which had been presented by wealthy
Tyrians, and were often likenesses of the donors, erected in reverent
attempt to keep the divinity and their fellow-citizens perpetually
reminded of their pious munificence. A gaping group gazed at the two
columns, one of gold, the other of emerald, which gave a mysterious
light at night, and which stood, one at the end of each of the two
aisles of the temple flanking the central nave. These had been procured
at vast expense at some time of great deliverance, and were inscribed:
"To the Lord Melkarth, Master of Tyre: The offering of thy servants,
because he has listened to their voice. May he still bless us!"
Beyond these a crowd surveyed the altar of bronze, beaten by skilful
hands into delicate flower-work, from the centre of which rose the
perpetual flame in commemoration of the adventure of the goddess
Astarte, who once caught a shooting-star, and enshrined it among her
favorite Tyrians; or, as some of the priests said, to express the faith
of the people in the divinity of fire, which was the materialized
brightness of the face of Baal, the sun-god. A group stood near the
great gateway, watching an opportunity to steal a glance between the
swaying curtains, which screened the inner court from common eyes.
The most sacred precinct of the temple was an artificial lake. From the
midst of the water rose a single stone, perhaps ten cubits high, on the
top of which was the Maabed, or ark, enclosing a statue of the god,
together with some objects sacred in the history of Tyre, and believed,
therefore, to be the special delight of its divine protector.
The platform around the little lake was paved with variegated marbles,
white, yellow, red, brown, and rose-colored, which were wrought into
graceful patterns of mosaic work. A roof, blazing with tiles of gold,
sheltered the platform from rain and sun, and made it the rendezvous of
the priests.
Just as the sun was going down a group of priests gathered about Egbalus
in close consultation. They were dressed in white chitons, which clung
close to their forms, except for the fine fluting of the skirts. Scarfs
of violet ran over their shoulders and across their bodies diagonally.
Their feet were bare; their heads shaved, and protected by close-fitting
skull-caps, in some cases of gorgeous color, in others of knitted
hair-work, which mingled confusedly with the black beards of the
younger, and contrasted finely with the white beards of the more
venerable.
Egbalus was speaking. "The council has but begun the reform which is to
restore Tyre to its pre-eminence. It has decreed the sacrifice. It has
prescribed that the offerings shall be worthy and notable. But what
sacrifices shall be offered is not for the council to determine. This,
only we who are admitted to the secret council of the gods
themselves--we, the sacred order of priests--can declare. And woe to him
who, in this day of honor to Baal, shall thwart the will of his
priests!"
"Woe! Woe unto him!" echoed around the circle.
The high priest continued his harangue: "In the ancient days of Tyrian
glory, when there was no power on land or sea to dispute our sway or
rival our commerce; when ships returning from their voyages hung anchors
of solid silver from their prows, having room only for more precious
merchandise within--then Tyre gave great abundance to Baal-Melkarth, and
offered its most distinguished citizens upon the altar. But how long, O
Baal of Tyre! since thou hast had a princely offering? What are gems and
beasts to the god who is offended with men? What are the babes which
poverty gives because it cannot feed them, when kings have insulted the
majesty of Heaven? And what--"
The old priest had either wrought himself up to a divine frenzy, or
superbly acted the part of one who was supposed to be "filled with the
god." His countenance became livid and white by turns. The great blue
veins were swollen at his temples. His face seemed to expand. His neck
thickened. His eyes fixedly glared towards a patch of sunlight that
gleamed on the top of the wall. His form was rigid, except for a
convulsive twitching of the fingers.
The attendant priests crowded close to their leader, and stared into his
eyes, as if to catch the gleam of some coming revelation. The old
priest's lips moved, but at first without articulation. He raised his
hand, and, with unbent arm, pointed to the glint of sunlight, which
seemed to hold him by some fatal fascination. At length his words became
audible, very slowly uttered, and with oracular hoarseness:
"Baal permits me to know his will. Yonder light is no more surely from
the sun-god than is a light that burns within me."
A slight zephyr at this moment ruffled the surface of the sacred water.
"It is the breath of Baal!" said one.
"See! See! The Maabed itself shook! It is the sign of the god! A
miracle! A miracle!"
"A miracle!" they murmured, and prostrated themselves, crying, "O Baal,
hear us! O Baal, guide us!"
Egbalus had remained standing, in unchanged attitude, watching the
sunlight. He now whispered, impressing into his tones the simulation of
awe:
"I see a mighty altar. On it lies one enrobed as a king. By it stands,
august and venerable, a kingly priest, and--slays the victim. But hark!
a voice! It is that of Melkarth himself, who bids me remember how, in
our sacred traditions, it is recorded that the mighty god El, when a
dire calamity had come upon his favorite city of Gebal, took his own
son, adorned him in the robes of royalty, carried him to the altar, slew
him, and so brought blessings for ages upon his people. Hear, O ye
priests of Baal!"
He lowered his voice, either through sense of the awful solemnity of
what he was about to utter, or fear of being overheard by others than
those whom he owned, body and soul, as he did his infatuated band of
priests. His followers arose from their prostrate positions, and drew
close to him. This they heard: "Tyre must offer to Baal its king!"
A deep hush followed. Egbalus glanced nervously from one to another.
Had he mistaken his men?
"The king?" said one, in a tone that might have been regarded as either
assent or surprised interrogation.
"We have another king," was Egbalus's quick and altogether unghostly
response.
"Baal save us!" cried one.
"The will of Baal be done!" was the sharp rejoinder of another--Mattan,
a man of ferocious severity of countenance, whose body showed more scars
from self-inflicted wounds than could be counted in half the circle
besides.
Egbalus suddenly dropped all his mysteriousness of manner, with keen
eyes searched their faces, by his very look challenging each one to dare
resistance. He was now less high priest than he was politician and
leader; seemingly forgetting his spiritual, he asserted his secular,
power. Satisfied with what he saw in the half-cowed superstition or the
crafty ambition of his followers, he boldly declared:
"It must be. Woe to the priest who, at this crisis of our order, dares
to betray it!"
He drew his long knife, such as was used in sacrificing--"This for the
heart of the first faithless priest!"
"And this!"
"And this!"
Half a score of gleaming blades were raised.
Egbalus continued: "King Hiram believes not in the gods; would destroy
them, and us with them. Rubaal must be king. It is the will of Baal, and
it is the wisdom of men."
He allowed a silence to follow, that his suggestion might work. He did
not for an instant, however, cease his search for any dissenting look
upon a single face. He was correct in his judgment of them, and now knew
that when the critical moment came there was not a man but would assault
the king in any way that he commanded. Indeed, he had, during the few
months he had held the high priest's office, gathered about himself, in
the inner circle of priests who shared his counsels, only those who were
desperate in their religious bigotry, or who were known to have some
secret hatred towards the king.
"Let the god answer through our breasts!" at length he said, resuming
his pietistic tone.
The priests bowed their heads until they touched the pavement. They then
resumed a sitting posture, each with his eyes fixed upon his breast, as
if listening to his own heart-beats for the articulation of the will of
the god who possessed him.
"Baal speaks!" muttered one.
"He speaks!"
"He speaks!" was echoed from the circle.
"Baal has spoken through the lips of his high priest," said Mattan,
rising.
One by one the others rose, and repeated, "Baal has spoken through the
lips of his high priest. So let it be! and dies the man who says not
so!"
The sun-glint had left the temple wall. Dark shadows dropped upon the
corridors about the sacred lake, and in the gathering night the cabal of
priests broke up.