Tyre was never more splendidly arrayed than on the day set for the
coronation of King Rubaal. To one approaching from the sea the island
city seemed like a mighty ring studded with gems, so many were the
bright banners that flashed in the sunlight from its encircling walls;
while the centre of the city glowed with the golden roofs of the Temple
of Melkarth.
The day was perfect. The clear azure of the sky reflected itself in the
bending mirror of the waters,--an omen of the favor of Heaven upon the
plans of men. Even the rough sailors from other Phoenician cities, as
they turned their prows towards the Tyrian harbor, called the slight
motion of the graceful billows the nod of Baal; and when the waves broke
with pleasant murmur upon the outlying rocks, they cried, "Behold the
laughter of our gods!"
Although more than a year had passed since the reins of power had fallen
into the hands of Rubaal, many things had occurred to delay his formal
investiture with the regal dignity. Chief among these causes was the
refusal of the Great King, Artaxerxes, who was an unbeliever in the
religion of the Phoenicians, to grant his official recognition of the
miraculous taking-off of the late king. The court at Susa had insisted
upon better evidence than the word of the priests for the bodily
translation of Hiram to the unseen world.
Hanno, whose genius and zeal made him the chief man in Tyre, was
apparently most impatient at the delay; and, as was commonly believed,
had spent much time at the Persian capital, laboring to overcome the
scruples of the World Monarch. He had but lately returned, bearing, as
he asserted, the document that expressed the royal permission. Its great
seal had been seen by many, who had also read a separate decree
designating Hanno as agent of the Persian Government, and commanding
him, in the name of the Great King, to arrange for the speedy
restoration of the Tyrian throne to its legal dignities, under the
suzerainty of the empire. The Satrap of Syria had likewise been ordered
to send to Tyre a detachment of several thousand soldiers, who by their
pomp should represent the glory of Artaxerxes in the ceremonial, and by
their power should defend the royal will if it chanced to be opposed.
The Phoenician cities sent their princely delegations, whose vessels
fairly embroidered the coast with their gay pennants as they came from
far and near. Inland tribes were also represented. Sanballat of Samaria
sent a band of several hundred of his braves. And Manasseh, the high
priest of the Samaritan religion, accompanied them, gorgeously arrayed
in the vestments of his office. The hills of Galilee contributed a
company of men, under command of Elnathan of Giscala, whose stalwart
bearing compensated for their lack of martial finery.
The Great Square was transformed into a vast pavilion, beneath which
tens of thousands could gather and witness the ceremonies. On one side
of the pavilion was an immense dais, carpeted with the richest fabrics
from the looms and dyeing-vats of Tyre. On this stood the ancient throne
of bronze, with its lion-headed arms. Over it hung a canopy of purple,
which was also draped behind the royal seat, and, by its contrast, made
the silver dove with outspread wings seem like a veritable messenger
from Astarte, flashing its white light like a celestial blessing upon
the faces of the multitude. There were raised seats about the dais for
the members of the Great Council, and stalls for the leaders of the
various guilds of the hierarchy.
In the ancient palace of the kings of Tyre Rubaal waited impatiently for
the summons to join the grand procession. Proudly he paced the chambers
once occupied by King Hiram. Mirrors reflected his goodly form and
attire from every side, but not so flatteringly as his attendants echoed
his praise, and predicted the glory of his coming reign. His palanquin
waited at the palace gate.
By it passed first the trumpeters, sounding the popular joy to the very
sky with their melodious clangor. Dancing-women followed, keeping step
to the thumbing of their tambours. A thousand Persian horsemen clattered
next. Then came high officers of state and dignitaries of foreign
courts. Hanno strode at the head of the royal guard of honor, a band of
his own selection from among the noblest young men of Tyre. These halted
at the great portal of the palace, and gathered closely about the king's
palanquin. The gate of the royal residence swung wide and closed again.
Four men of gigantic stature, naked except at the loins and for the
rings that shone about their ankles and arms, lifted the palanquin to
their shoulders, its gorgeous curtains of silk screening the royal
personage from the gaze of the people, until he should stand before them
beneath the sparkle of his crown. The bands from Samaria and Galilee
were honored with the next position in the cortège. A litter that seemed
of beaten gold bore the noble prince Ezmunazar, son of King Tabnit of
Sidon, who represented that neighboring throne. Then followed Egbalus,
whose repute for sanctity and inspiration had led to his re-election to
the high priest's office for a second year. Priests of all grades and
divinities closed the procession.
The well-marshalled host entered the great pavilion, filing in order
past the dais and throne, and allowing the dignitaries to take the
places assigned them. The royal palanquin passed behind the purple
hangings.
A blare of trumpets rang out. Egbalus ascended the steps of the dais,
holding in his hands a cushion upon which lay the sceptre and ancient
crown of Tyre. Turning to the multitude, he addressed them, rehearsing
in stately speech the renown of the Tyrian monarchy through the
centuries since their city was founded by the divine Tyrus. He dwelt
upon the times of Hiram the Great, and then burst into rhapsodic
eloquence as he described the translation of that other Hiram who had
been taken to the gods.
"As surely as the beams of the sun-god shine this day, so surely does
the blessing of our King Hiram--our divine Hiram--fall upon us. Hail
him! Praise him for the voluntary sacrifice by which he has won forever
the favor of Baal for his people of Tyre! Think of him when the light
gleams into your homes, for Hiram is a beam of Baal! Adore him when it
flashes from the sea where he guides your ships! Worship him in the
fire-light of your sacrifices, for the flames are the bright rays from
the crown of our invisible king!"
As Egbalus paused, the priests led the multitude in cries of--
"Hail, Hiram the Blessed! the son of Baal!"
Egbalus resumed:
"Whither went the spirit of Hiram? O ye sons of men! I saw the spirit of
Hiram ascend into the dome of heaven. Again I saw it descend to the
earth. It entered the form of another--of your new-chosen king. Hail,
Rubaal!"
The crowd echoed the cry, "Hail, Rubaal! Rubaal Hiram!" until the
covering of the great pavilion shook and swayed as if lifted by the
wind.
Then the high priest turned towards the curtain behind the throne. He
prostrated himself upon the dais. Rising to his knees, and holding aloft
the cushion with the sceptre and crown, he cried in his most august
tones:
"Come forth, thou chosen of Baal!"
The curtain swayed aside. Egbalus stared an instant, as if stricken into
stone. He dropped the cushion. Attempting to rise, his limbs became
entangled in the profusion of his priestly drapery, which tripped him
backward, and tumbled him shrieking with fright, together with the
rattling crown and sceptre, down the steps of the dais.
The attendants did not pause to look at the high priest, for before them
stood KING HIRAM, his hand upon the back of the throne. His familiar
voice, sharp in its taunting sarcasm, rang through the pavilion--
"Lo! I have come forth, O priest of Baal!"
The great councillors of state climbed out of the balcony in which they
were seated, and scrambled with the baser crowd to get away from the
dreadful apparition. Men trod upon one another like a frightened herd.
Heads, legs and arms, trumpets, banners, swords, and sandals made a
confused mass of what a moment before had been as dignified an assembly
as ever king or pontiff had looked upon. The prepared places of egress
were not sufficient for the fleeing crowd, who tore away the canvas
sides of the pavilion, and broke its cords, until the mighty canopy hung
awry as if struck by a hurricane.
But the dominant passion of a crowd is curiosity. Many would risk an
annihilating glance from the eyes of the god if only in return they
could see what he looks like. Therefore, some, withdrawing a few paces,
turned again to face the awful mystery. The soldiers from Persia,
Samaria, and Galilee seemed not to have been sufficiently informed to
have any fear, and, obeying a quick command which Hanno gave them
through their officers, ranked deep about the dais to protect it.
A sharp hissing sound went like a flying serpent through the air, and an
arrow, shot by some one in the crowd, glanced clanging from the arm of
the throne. In another moment the thundering tramp of the squadron of
Persian horse shook the earth as they dashed around the pavilion,
sweeping priests and people into every open way, or trampling them
beneath the hoofs.
The square was cleared. The priests fled towards the temple. Thither the
soldiers pursued them, halting and penning them in the great court,
until further orders should come.
At the same time heralds flew everywhere throughout the city, crying,
"King Hiram has returned! Down with the villainy of the priests!" Great
placards were posted on the doors of the government-house and on the
corners of the streets, detailing in few words the facts.
In little groups, or one by one, the more venturous or the less
credulous of the people re-entered the pavilion. Hiram had taken his
throne. There was no mistaking his person. He wore the conical cap with
the uræus, the scarf across his bare breast, the short chiton and heavy
sandals, by which his form was familiar to even the boys as well as to
the great councillors of Tyre.
As Hiram gazed at the returning people an old man came tottering to the
foot of the dais. He threw himself upon the lowest step. He was
Ahimelek.
"Rise, Ahimelek, Councillor of Tyre!" said the king.
But he moved not. An attendant approached him. He was dead.
A commotion was made at the rear of the pavilion. Two men, the captain
of the Samaritans and the captain of the men of Galilee, brought before
the king the limp form of Egbalus. The miserable man turned to flee, but
his captors kept his face to the throne. At length he gathered strength.
That tremendous will which had so often dominated others asserted its
mastery over himself. He looked Hiram squarely in the eyes.
"Thou hast conquered, O infidel king! But thou shalt not have me to
grace thy triumph."
Before his guards were aware of his purpose, he had plunged his priest's
knife to his heart.
"Take him away!" coolly said the king.
In the meantime men had gone to the king's palace, where Rubaal and a
few of his favorites had awaited the summons to join the coronation
procession. Wearied by the delay, they had ventured to the door, but
found it fastened. Their cries for help were answered by the shouts
which shook the city. But now the gates were flung open. Rough soldiers
thrust Rubaal into a common palanquin, such as was cheaply hired at the
docks, and bore him to the pavilion. There the carriage was opened.
Rubaal crouched within it like a rat in a trap.
The soldiers dragged him out. His brave apparel, royal from purple
mantle to diamond-set sandals, was as strange a contrast with the simple
garb of the real king as the kingly look of Hiram was with the mean and
cowardly aspect of Rubaal.
"Harm him not," said the king. "There is a drop of royal blood somewhere
in his body. You might spill that drop if you spilled more. All royalty
is safe to-day. Come, cousin, sit in my chair if you like. We have
played together in the same crib. Ah! in ill-humor again! Just so you
were as a child."
The wretched man slunk away, and sat with averted face on the edge of
the dais.
The king stepped down from his throne, and stood a moment over the dead
body of Ahimelek.
"The gods pardon him! Carry him to his house, and prepare him for the
tomb, where we will ourselves accompany him; for he was the father of
Zillah."
Reascending the dais, he turned to Hanno, who during these scenes had
stood almost motionless, watching everything, and alert lest his plan
should miscarry in the least--
"Now, Hanno, for the coronation!"
A silver trumpet sounded sweetly. The curtain back of the throne moved,
and through the opening Zillah came. Radiant with sparkling jewels, she
was more radiant with the beauty of her queenly soul that shone through
her features and dignified her every movement. Her joy in her husband's
triumph, her consciousness of having shared with him his misfortunes,
and of her daring to share with him the dangers that still pressed about
him, gave her a royalty of appearance that even a crown could not
augment.
"My Queen!" said Hiram, as he took her hand, and seated her upon the
throne. He raised the crown and placed it upon her brow.
"Behold the Queen of Tyre!"
APPENDIX.
"Hiram, King of Tyre, to Manasseh, son of Ioiada, son of Eliashib, High
Priest of Jehovah in Samaria: Greeting!
"Health and the blessing of thy God be with thee! Our hearts are cheered
by the tidings of thy prosperity. May thy temple rise speedily from the
heights of Gerizim! Gado, the bearer of this letter, is most famed among
our architects. He bears our royal commission to abide with thee so long
as his skill pleases thy purpose. He carries with him a thousand minas,
a contribution from our treasury to the worship of thy God. He will also
present to thee a fabric of our finest workmanship, which has been
wrought upon by the hands of Zillah, our Queen beloved, in which she
desires that thou shalt enwrap the copy of thy Law, as thou art thyself
enwrapped in our affection."
Should the reader desire to know more of the affairs of Manasseh, let
him read the histories of one Josephus the Jew. And should his interest
be great to learn of the subsequent career of Hiram and his beautiful
queen, the faithful chronicler would refer him to the source whence he
himself has derived his information. In the Museum of the Louvre is a
stone coffin, in which once lay the body of Ezmunazar, King of Sidon.
The sarcophagus bears this imprecation: "I adjure every royal personage
that he open not this chamber, nor remove this coffin, lest the holy
gods destroy that royal personage and his offspring forever." They who
esteem themselves wise in such matters tell us that this prophetic curse
was recently fulfilled in the misfortunes that fell upon the house of
the late Emperor of the French, Napoleon III., in the reign of which
"royal personage" this coffin was robbed of its contents and brought to
Paris. But though the body of Ezmunazar is no longer in it, if one will
listen intently at the ear-hole in the coffin, one will find it as full
of historic suggestions as a conch-shell is of news from the bottom of
the sea.
THE END.
ADVERTISEMENTS
THE CAPTAIN OF THE JANIZARIES.
A Tale of the Times of Scanderbeg and the Fall of Constantinople.
By JAMES M. LUDLOW, D.D., Litt.D. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50.
The author writes clearly and easily; his descriptions are often of much
brilliancy, while the whole setting of the story is of that rich
Oriental character which fires the fancy.--_Boston Courier._
Strong in its central historical character, abounding in incident, rapid
and stirring in action, animated and often brilliant in
style.--_Christian Union_, N. Y.
Something new and striking interests us in almost every chapter. The
peasantry of the Balkans, the training and government of the Janizaries,
the interior of Christian and Moslem camps, the horrors of raids and
battles, the violence of the Sultan, the tricks of spies, the exploits
of heroes, engage Mr. Ludlow's fluent pen.--_N. Y. Tribune._
Dr. Ludlow's style is a constant reminder of Walter Scott, and the book
is to retain a permanent place in literature.--_Observer_, N. Y.
An altogether admirable piece of work--picturesque, truthful, and
dramatic.--_Newark Advertiser._
A most romantic, enjoyable tale.... As affording views of inner life in
the East as long ago as the middle of the fifteenth century, this tale
ought to have a charm for many; but it is full enough of incident,
wherever the theatre of its action might be found, to do this.--_Troy
Press._
The author has used his material with skill, weaving the facts of
history into a story crowded with stirring incidents and unexpected
situations, and a golden thread of love-making, under extreme
difficulties, runs through the narrative to a happy issue.--_Examiner_,
N. Y.
One of the strongest and most fascinating historical novels of the last
quarter of a century.--_Boston Pilot._
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of
the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._
BY MARY E. WILKINS.
A NEW ENGLAND NUN, and Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.
A HUMBLE ROMANCE, and Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Extra, $1 25.
Only an artistic hand could have written these stories, and they will
make delightful reading.--_Evangelist_, N. Y.
The simplicity, purity, and quaintness of these stories set them apart
in a niche of distinction where they have no rivals.--_Literary World_,
Boston.
The reader who buys this book and reads it will find treble his money's
worth in every one of the delightful stories.--_Chicago Journal._
Miss Wilkins is a writer who has a gift for the rare art of creating the
short story which shall be a character study and a bit of graphic
picturing in one; and all who enjoy the bright and fascinating short
story will welcome this volume.--_Boston Traveller._
The author has the unusual gift of writing a short story which is
complete in itself, having a real _beginning_, a _middle_, and an _end_.
The volume is an excellent one--_Observer_, N. Y.
A gallery of striking studies in the humblest quarters of American
country life. No one has dealt with this kind of life better than Miss
Wilkins. Nowhere are there to be found such faithful, delicately drawn,
sympathetic, tenderly humorous pictures.--_N. Y. Tribune._
The charm of Miss Wilkins's stories is in her intimate acquaintance and
comprehension of humble life, and the sweet human interest she feels and
makes her readers partake of, in the simple, common, homely people she
draws.--_Springfield Republican._
There is no attempt at fine writing or structural effect, but the tender
treatment of the sympathies, emotions, and passions of no very
extraordinary people gives to these little stories a pathos and human
feeling quite their own.--_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser._
The author has given us studies from real life which must be the result
of a lifetime of patient, sympathetic observation.... No one has done
the same kind of work so lovingly and so well.--_Christian Register_,
Boston.
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_The above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of
the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._