While these scenes were being witnessed in the streets of the city, King
Hiram, left alone by the departure of his friend Hanno, enacted within
his own soul a tragedy scarcely less terrible than that he feared. From
his impending fate he saw no way of escape. Die he must. He queried with
himself, what would it signify if he resented, even fought against, this
monstrous cruelty? What if he died by his own hand, or by the blows of
his captors? This would only throw over his memory a damning disgrace in
the estimate of the superstitious people. His name would be hissed with
imprecations, and become a by-word for impiety towards the gods, and for
selfish, cowardly indifference to the welfare of his country. Though he
were right in his views of religion, he would not be understood.
Posterity, except in remote ages, perhaps, would attribute to him, and
to his shrinking from the altar, all the misfortunes that might come
upon Tyre. Should he risk this? Did consistency require it of him?
Should he not submit to the inevitable with outward grace, if not with
the grace of a submissive spirit?
Then he thought of Egbalus. He seemed to see the sharp, triumphing eyes
of the high priest, gloating over this fulfilment of his prediction that
the god would draw the king to voluntary obedience. He saw the hands of
this plotter binding the people more slavishly to his will through his
victory over the only man who had ever yet dared to dispute the priestly
rule in Tyre.
"No! Let me die by my own hand first! Thou, hated priest, shalt never
conquer through me!"
He felt the point of his dagger.
Then a gentler emotion swayed him; perhaps it was the natural reaction
from the strain of excitement. He thought, "And may there not be gods in
spite of my doubts? I am but one man against a multitude. God cannot be
Moloch, for such a god is less noble than man. But surely there is some
One who is the mystery of existence; and does He not demand sacrifices?
The Jews have no idols, but have altars. The Greeks, even Herodotus, who
has taught me to doubt, worshipped his gods with sacrifice. If the god
is good, then surely we have offended him. If the god is not good, then
he is capricious, passionate, vindictive, and we had best humor him. O
Baal! or Jove! or Jehovah! accept my life, which I offer to thee! I
fling it forth into the great darkness. If there be light anywhere, may
I enter it! If there be no light, let the darkness blot me out of
existence. I give myself to god, or to oblivion."
He buried his head in the cushions of the divan. The sleepless night and
the unintermitting intensity of his mental struggle overcame even his
marvellous powers of physical endurance. He fainted or fell into a
dreamless sleep; he knew not which.
When he came to himself, he recognized by the nearly emptied globe of
the water-clock that it was late in the afternoon. He was surprised that
no one had called him. His servants had prepared no meals. How did they
know that he did not need them? He glanced into the mirror of polished
brass. How changed his features! He was pale and haggard as one of the
Galli.
Startled by his own apparition, he passed from his sleeping-apartment
into its anteroom. It seemed to be filled with the statues of men. Was
he demented? They moved towards him. One by one they fell to the floor.
Then the statue nearest to him raised its head and pronounced, in tones
of deepest awe,
"O holy sacrifice! Seven times blessed! Chosen of men! Accepted of our
Lord Baal!"
Then this one's head dropped to the floor. Each head was raised in turn,
and repeated the same words.
All the statues then rose. One of them was clothed in a long black
robe-- Could he mistake that figure? It was Egbalus. Bowing low, the
high priest spoke:
"The holy spell has been upon thee, O royal son of Tyre, son of Baal! As
thou wast lying on thy couch I saw a wondrous thing. All the souls of
the ancient kings of Tyre came again from their abodes in the world of
the dead. Each was like a shooting-star. They came from the dark bosom
of the night. They flashed across my vision and entered thy body. One by
one these starry kings came, until the last, thine own father. In thee,
O blessed Hiram! is all the royalty of Tyre. I saw, too, the great
spirit of Baal, like a globe of light, brighter than the sun himself.
Baal came and enclosed thee. The divine light penetrated thee, purified
thee, until thy body was light itself; bright even as the brightness of
Baal. This was thy consecration for the sacrifice. The flames cannot
harm thee, since thou art become light itself. But one duty awaits thee.
Come thou, O divine king, and consecrate with thy presence the temple,
the holy place of Melkarth. Then shalt thou enter the life of which Baal
is the fulness. Come!"
Hiram knew not whether this were a dream or a mocking reality. But it
mattered little which, since he had determined to outwardly obey and,
with Hanno, to watch.
"As thou wilt, O servant of our Lord Baal!" he replied: and, preceded by
Egbalus and followed by the attendant priests, he passed from his
palace.
The royal palanquin awaited him in the court. It had been covered with a
white cloth canopy and curtains which completely enveloped it, and
concealed his person from all eyes. The priests became his bearers. A
line of them marched ahead, playing lugubrious notes on pipes of reed,
above which rose the words of a chant. As the procession wound its way
across the Great Square the multitudes prostrated themselves on either
hand, murmuring prayers and benedictions upon the royal deliverer of
Tyre. At the temple gate the popular reverence and awe were evinced by
intense silence. Not a form swayed, not a foot was lifted, not a word
was spoken. Only the slow-timed tramp of the bearers of the royal victim
broke the stillness as the cortège passed between the massive gates,
which slowly swung upon their hinges and closed again.
For three days King Hiram remained alone in the chief chamber, that
which opened upon the corridor of the sacred lake. Priests incessantly
patrolled back and forth, saying nothing except their prayers. They
brought him food in golden dishes, and left it, removing the remnants in
the same reverential manner in which they would have served at the
altar.
As the silence of the day turned into the deeper silence of the night,
and back again to silent day, the solitude became unendurable. Only
royal pride prevented Hiram asking some question of his obsequious
custodians. When would the sacrifice be accomplished? Was there no
communication for him from Zillah? Could he bribe any of these bigots to
confer with Captain Hanno? Now he was tempted to rush upon one of the
priests, seize his sacrificial knife, plunge it into the man's heart,
and then into his own. He was once in this latter mood, and on the very
point of executing his purpose, when the priest who would have been his
victim began to mumble his prayers.
"I will wait until the wretch has got through that. He will need all his
prayers for his last breath," muttered the king.
The man beat upon his breast and tore his hair, as if in some sacred
frenzy. He came nearer to Hiram's chamber entrance, and paused in his
walking, with his back to the king.
"The gods favor me for once," thought Hiram. "Now to throttle him and to
strike!"
The priest raised his voice in praying, so that Hiram caught the words
"Take heart! Be watchful!" A sudden glance at the half-turned face
revealed the familiar features of Hanno. All Hiram's self-possession was
needed to restrain a cry of recognition. The next day the eccentric
priest appeared again, and paused to pray at the same spot. He stretched
out his hands towards the Maabed, and, as if addressing the deity
enshrined in the midst of the water, prayed thus:
"O Baal Hiram, King of Tyre! keep thine eyes open for the mark of a
circle, and follow it. O Baal Melkarth! O Astarte, Queen of Heaven! send
prosperity!"