There on the wall the letters glowed, right under the torch-holder;
glowed like ruddy fire, the whole dread inscription spreading in one
long, terrible line under the eyes of king and nobles. While Belshazzar
looked, his bronzed cheeks turned ashen. The awful hand had vanished the
instant the sentence was written,—gone—whither? The lord of the Chaldees
gazed upon his servants, and they—back at their master, while none spoke.
But the letters did not vanish; their steadfast light burned calmly on.
Then came another fearful deed; for Belshazzar caught the golden cup that
had fallen from his hand, and dashed it against the wall. A great square
of the plaster fell, but lo! the letters were burning still. Then new
silence, while every man heard the beatings of his heart and thought on
his unholy deeds.
But the stillness could not last forever. Belshazzar broke it. The pallor
was still on his face, his knees smote together, his voice quivered; but
he was kinglier than the rest, even in his fear,—he at least was brave
enough for speech.
“Ho! captains of Babylon! Why do we gape like purblind sheep? A notable
miracle from the gods! Some new favour, no doubt, vouchsafed by Marduk!”
No one answered; all strength had fled from the stoutest sword-hand.
Belshazzar’s voice rose to a sterner pitch, as he faced the array of
priests.
“What mean these letters? They are not the characters of the Chaldee.
Their meaning? Here are learned men, wise in every tongue. Translate to
us!”
Still no answer; and the king’s wrath now mastered all his fears.
“Fools!” his hand was on his sword-hilt; “Marduk has not added to
the miracle by smiting all dumb.” He confronted the “chief of the
omen-revealers,” who stood close to the dais.
“Here, Gamilu, this falls within your duties. Look on the writing.
Interpret without delay; or, as Marduk is god, another has your office!”
Gamilu, a venerable pontiff, lifted his head, and stared at the
inscription. He mumbled inaudibly, but the royal eye was on him. With
vain show of confidence he commenced:—
“Live forever, lord of the Chaldees! A fortunate sign, on a doubly
fortunate day! This is the word which Bel, the sovereign god, has sent to
his dearly loved son, the ever victorious king, Belshazzar—”
But here he stopped, bravado failing. Thrice he muttered wildly, then
grew still. The king’s rage was terrible. “Juggler! you shall learn to
mock me. Nabu destroy me too, if you are living at dawn!”
The luckless man fell on his knees, tearing his beard: his one groan was,
“Mercy.” Belshazzar heeded little. “You other priests,—you the chief
‘demon-ejector,’—do you speak! The meaning?”
A second wretch cast himself before the king. “Pity, Ocean of Generosity,
pity! I do not know.”
The king wasted no curse. “You, Kalduin, ‘master of the star-gazers,’ who
boast to be wisest astrologer in Babylon,—look on the writing. I declare
that if you, or any other, can read these letters, and make known to me
the interpretation, he shall be clothed in scarlet, and a chain of gold
put about his neck, and he shall be third ruler of the kingdom, next to
Avil and myself.”
But Kalduin also fell on his knees, groaning and moaning. Belshazzar
turned to Avil-Marduk, who had not spoken since the apparition, and
who was still exceeding pale. “Avil!” the accent of the king was icy
chill, “if you are truly the mouthpiece of your god, prove your power.
Interpret!”
Then came a wondrous thing, even on that night of wonders. For the chief
priest, to whom Babylon had cringed as almost to the king, cowered on the
rugs by the royal couch. “Lord! Lord!” he moaned in fear, “I know not. I
cannot tell. Mercy! Spare!”
Belshazzar shook his kingly head as might a desert lion, he alone
steadfast, while a thousand were trembling.
“And is there no man in all Babylon who can read this writing?” was his
thunder.
There was a rustling beside him. From her chair the aged queen-mother,
Tavat-Hasina, leaned forward. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, from pale
lips, “live forever. Let not your thoughts trouble you. There _is_ a man
in your kingdom in whom is the spirit of the holy gods.”
“What man?” demanded Belshazzar. Every eye was on the queen, who
continued:—
“In the days of your father, light and understanding like the wisdom
of the gods were found in him; and King Nebuchadnezzar made him master
of the magicians and soothsayers, because an excellent knowledge and
interpretation of dreams and dissolving of doubts was found in him.”
“Ay! The man! His name!” The king snatched her wrist roughly. Many voices
reëchoed, “The man! His name! Send for him! Send!”
The queen-mother looked steadily into Belshazzar’s eyes.
“The name of the man is Daniel, whom the king called Belteshazzar; now
let Daniel be called, and he will show the interpretation.”
But the words were like fire thrust into the king’s face. He recoiled
from her; the ashen gray came back to his cheeks. “Not Daniel! I will
never see him! I have sworn it! Not he! Not he!”
So cried the king. But from all the captains rose one clamour:—
“Send for Daniel! He is the only hope. He alone can reveal. Send! Send!”
Avil found courage to rise and whisper in the royal ear, “Let all Babylon
burn, ere the king craves one boon of this villanous Jew!”
“Never! I will not send,” cried Belshazzar. But as he saw again that
burning line, he grew yet paler.
“Daniel! Daniel! We are lost if the writing is longer hid! Send for the
Jew!”
The captains were waxing mutinous. Scabbards clattered. Would the feast
end in rebellion? Belshazzar addressed Mermaza. “Eunuch, go to the
innermost prison and bring Daniel hither without delay.”
“Hold!” cried Avil, at the top of his voice; “what god can speak through
_his_ lips? Is the king of Babylon sunk so low—”
“Read and interpret yourself, priest,” bawled an old officer; and from
fifty fellows rose the yell: “Away with Avil-Marduk. It is he who angers
heaven!”
“Shall I go, lord?” questioned Mermaza, and Belshazzar only nodded his
head.
Then there was silence once more, while monarch and servants watched
those letters burning on the wall. Presently—after how long!—there were
feet heard in the outer court, the clanking of chains; then right into
the glare and glitter came Mermaza, followed by two soldiers; and betwixt
these an old man, squalid, unkempt, clothed in rags, the fetters still
on wrist and ankle. But at sight of him a hundred knelt to worship.
“Help us, noble Jew! Make known the writing, that we may obey heaven, and
may not die!” One and all cried it. But Daniel heeded nothing until he
stood before the king.
As Belshazzar rose from his couch to speak, a cry broke forth from Ruth.
“My father! My father! Help me! Save me!” Almost she would have flown to
his arms, but he outstretched a manacled hand, beckoning away.
“Not now, daughter. On another errand have I come.” Then to the king,
“Your Majesty, I am here.”
Belshazzar tried vainly to meet the piercing eye of the Jew. His own
voice was metallic, while he groped for words.
“Are you that Daniel, of the captive Hebrews, whom Nebuchadnezzar brought
out of Judea?” Where were the king’s wits fled, that he asked this of the
man so long known and hated? A stately nod was his reply.
“I have heard that the spirit of the gods is in you, and light and
understanding and excellent wisdom. And now the wise men and astrologers
have been brought to read this writing, and to interpret, but they could
not. And I have heard that you can make interpretations and dissolve
doubts.” The king’s voice faltered; he would have given a thousand
talents not to be driven to speak the rest. “Now, if you are able to
read the writing, and make known the interpretation, you shall be clothed
in scarlet, and have a chain of gold about your neck, and be the third
ruler of the kingdom.”
No response: Daniel looked straight upon Belshazzar, and again Belshazzar
strove to shun the captive’s gaze.
“Will you not speak?” demanded the king. “Speak! or you are beaten to
death!”
Was it triumph or pity that lighted the old Jew’s face? “Death? My times
are in mightier hands than yours, O king. Answer truly—will you have me
speak? For this is not the word of Bel.”
All saw Avil leap up, as if in creature fear; but Belshazzar at least
faced Daniel steadily, with all save his eyes.
“Answer me truly—be it good or ill. But answer!”
The king stretched forth his hands to the Jew, imploring. The prophecy
was fulfilled; Belshazzar the king supplicated Daniel the captive! The
old man’s form straightened; he swept his gaze around that company, every
eye obedient to his. His voice was low, yet in that silence each whisper
swelled to loudness.
“Let your gifts be for another, O king; give your rewards to another, but
I will read the writing to the king, and make known the interpretation.”
Then he told the tale all Babylon knew so well, how when the mighty
Nebuchadnezzar hardened his heart in kingly pride, madness smote him,
and made him no better than the beasts, till after living seven years
thus humbled, he came to himself, and knew that the Most High was above
all kings. And by the time the tale was ended the silence was so great,
that even the sputtering torches were loud to hear. Daniel stood directly
before the dais; the chains rattled as he stretched forth a finger, and
pointed into the king’s face.
“But you, O Belshazzar, have not humbled your heart, though you knew
all this; but have lifted yourself up against the Lord of Heaven; and
they have brought the vessels of His house before you, and you, and your
lords, and your women have drunk wine in them; and you have praised the
gods of silver, of gold, of brass, iron, wood, and stone, which see not,
nor hear, nor know; and the God in whose hand your breath is, and whose
are all your ways, you have not glorified. Then was the hand sent from
Him, and this writing was written.”
The finger pointed toward the glowing characters upon the wall. “And
this is the writing that was written: ‘_Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin_.’
And this is the interpretation: ‘_Mene_’—God has numbered your kingdom
and finished it. ‘_Tekel_’—you are weighed in the balances and are found
wanting. ‘_Upharsin_’ which is otherwise ‘_Peres_’—your kingdom is
divided and given to the Medes and the Persians.”...
... A fearful cry was rising; captains were on their faces, groaning to
Samas, to Istar, to Ramman: “Save! Save from the wrath of Jehovah!” The
workings of Belshazzar’s features were terrible to behold. Thrice he
strove to speak,—his lips moved dumbly. Then, as the king looked, lo!
another wonder. The fiery words were gone, and only the shattered plaster
showed where they had burned. “Woe! Woe!” all were moaning; but the
vanishing of the letters gave back to Avil his courage. He leaned over,
whispering to the king. In an instant Belshazzar uttered a hideous laugh.
“Good! By Istar, the Jew has me fairly on the hip! Clever jugglery, I
swear, to contrive a trick that could chase the blood from the cheeks
of the stoutest captains of the Chaldees! Show me the conjurer; I will
pardon and reward. A clever jest, my princes, a clever jest.”
The shout died away in profound silence. The king grasped a goblet once
more. “By Nabu, the jest is so well played, you still wander for wits.
Daniel must have reward. Ho! Mermaza; the robe of honour and the chain of
gold. Off with these rags and fetters. Behold in Daniel the third prince
of the kingdom. Set a new seat on the dais. A health to his Highness!”
He drained the cup, then in a darker tone, directly at the Hebrew: “This
is the promised reward. But when at midnight I quit the feast, if your
prophecy is not fulfilled, you die the perjurer’s death, for mocking thus
your king.”
Daniel answered nothing. The eunuchs pried off his fetters, put on
him the robe and the golden chain. They set him in a chair beside
Belshazzar, offering a jewelled goblet. He took it, tasting only once.
Avil had risen, in vain effort to fuse the company with the same mad
merriment affected by himself and the king.
“I congratulate Prince Daniel, my colleague in government! Another health
to him, and to our ‘ever-to-be-adored’ Queen Atossa. Strike up, harpers;
raise the triumph hymn to Bel once more.”
With reluctant fingers the musicians smote harp and zither, the choir of
priests and maidens lifted quavering voices,—sang a few measures,—the
weak notes died away into ghastly stillness. Every eye crept furtively
up to the square of shattered plaster. Then, as if in desperation, and
bound to hide his mastering fears, a “captain of a hundred” motioned to a
eunuch.
“Wine, fellow, wine, heady enough to chase these black imps away! Let us
drink ourselves to sleep, and forget the portent by the morning.”
“Wine!” echoed all, “more wine! Surely the Jew has lied. Forget him!”
The revels were resumed. The torches flared above the king of the
Chaldees and all his lords draining their liquor,—beaker on beaker,—in
one mad, vain hope—to drown out their own dark thoughts. The fiery
apparition had vanished from the plaster only to glow before the
uncertain vision of each and all. Soon rose drunken laughter, more
fearful than any scream or moaning.
Avil at least kept sober. Once he turned to Mermaza.
“What are these flashes? The lamps cast shadow. And this rumbling?”
“A storm approaches, though still far off.”
“Foul omen at this season!” answered Avil, and under breath—scoffer that
he was—he muttered a spell against the “rain-fiends.”
Atossa sat on her own high seat, watching, waiting, wondering. One can
hardly say whether she had hopes or fears. She had not spoken since the
miracle. What followed she remembered as she would recall a dim memory
of long ago. Daniel was sitting by her side. Once she ventured, despite
Belshazzar’s frown, to speak to him.
“My father, the spirit of the holy Ahura is on you. Tell me, shall we be
saved, you, and Ruth and I, from the power of these ‘Lovers of Night’?”
And Daniel, calm, unblenching, sober, amid a hundred gibbering drunkards,
answered with a confidence not of this world: “My child, we shall be
saved. Doubt it not; but whether we be saved in this body, or depart to
see Jehovah’s face, He knoweth, not I. But His will is ever good.”
The king interrupted boisterously, with unveiled mockery:—
“Give wisdom, noble Daniel. Shall I rebuild the walls of Uruk or spend
the money on new canals at Sippar?”
The Hebrew made the king wince once more, as he looked on him,
“Lord of Babylon, think no more on walls and cities. Think of your past
deeds. Think of the Just Spirit before whom you must stand.”
“Verily, Jew,” sneered Avil, “you will play your mad game to the end.”
“To the end,” was all the answer; but neither king nor pontiff made mock
of Daniel again.
Deeper the drinking, madder the revelling. From the outer palace rose
the laughter of soldiers and the city folk. The priests of Bel at length
gathered courage from their wine. They roared out their hymn, and the
dancing girls caught up red torches,—brandishing, shrieking, dancing,
one lurid whirl of uncaged demons. The officers put forth their hands
time and again for the beakers which the eunuchs could not fill too fast.
In the reaction after the portent, the scene became an orgy. The king’s
cheek was flushed, his voice was loud and high. Tavat, the queen-mother,
quitted the feast; and Atossa would have given all she possessed—how
little!—to be suffered to follow. She had hardly tasted the cups pressed
on her. She was utterly weary. The gold and jewels on her head seemed an
intolerable weight. Oh, to be away,—to have that scene blotted out, even
by death’s long slumber! Her head fell forward. Ahura was kind. Did she
sleep? Suddenly Belshazzar’s voice aroused her.
“Midnight, the feast ends; and you, O Jew, have lost!”
The king was standing. The lamps were smoking low; the noise of the
feasters failing, as the wine accomplished its work. The tipsy priests
had quavered out their last triumph song:—
“Bel-Marduk, who rulest forever,
Thee, thee we praise!”
Belshazzar addressed Mermaza. “Eunuch, deliver Daniel the Jew to Khatin
for instant death. His mummery turns to his own ruin. _Now_ truly let his
weak god save!”
Even as he spoke there was a strange clamour rising in the palace
without: a headlong gallop, a shouting, not of mirth but of alarm. None
yet heeded.
“Your Majesty,” Daniel was answering steadily, “suffer me only this: let
me embrace my daughter Ruth.”
The king nodded. “Be brief, for you have vexed me long!” Then, turning to
Atossa: “Ah! lady, Queen,—at last! to the harem! you are my wife!”
Atossa knew she was being taken by the hand; she saw all things dimly as
through darkened glass. Nearer the gallop without, louder the shouting,
and through it and behind a jar and a crashing,—not of the elements
surely! Daniel had clasped Ruth to his breast. His words were heard only
by her and by Another. The king gestured impatiently. “Enough! Away!—”
But no more; there was a panic cry at the portal, the howl of fifty
voices in dismay; and right into the great hall, over the priceless
carpets, through that revelling throng, spurred a rider in armour, two
arrows sticking in target, blood on crest, blood streaming from the
great wound in the horse’s side. Up to the very dais he thundered; and
there, in sight of all, the beast staggered, fell, while Igas-Ramman, the
captain, struggled from beneath and stood before the king.
“_All is lost, lord of the Chaldees!_” and then he gasped for breath. But
already in the outer palace was a fearful shout. “Arms! Rescue! The foe!”
Belshazzar tottered as he stood, caught the arm of the throne. His face
was not ashen, but black as the clouds on high. “What is this, fool?” he
called. And Igas answered, “O king, Sirusur and Bilsandan are traitors.
The retreat of Cyrus was a ruse. By night his host has returned.
Imbi-Ilu, the exile, has tampered with the priests of Nabu, and they have
opened the Borsippa water-gate. Sirusur has withdrawn the garrisons from
the chief defences; Bilsandan has released the Persian prisoners and with
them overpowered the guard at the Northern Citadel. Prince Darius is
speeding to the palace.”
“And you, where did you fight?” demanded the king.
“We made shift to defend an inner gate. Treachery is all about. We were
attacked in the rear. I fled with the tidings. The Persians carry all
before them,—hear!” and hear they did; “the foe will come and none to
stay!”
“None shall stay? Twenty thousand men of war in Babylon, and Belshazzar
be snared as a bird in his own palace?” The king drew his sword, flinging
far the scabbard.
“Up, princes of the Chaldees, up!” he trumpeted, above the shriekings all
around. “All is not lost! We will still prove the Jew the liar! Whosoever
dares, follow me! All Babylon is not turned traitor. We will make our
streets the Persian’s grave!”
Yet while he cried it a second messenger panted into the great hall.
“The outer defences of the palace are forced, O king! The foe are
everywhere!”
But Belshazzar leaped down from the dais, and sped about one lightning
glance.
“Here, Khatin, stand by these women and this Jew! See that they do not
flee. I will yet live to teach them fear.”
A crash without made the casements shiver. Belshazzar sprang forward. “At
them, men of Babylon; all is not yet lost!”
And, spurred by his example, the feasters rushed after. The cups lay on
the tables, the lamps flickered overhead, the storm wind was shaking the
broad canopy, but Atossa knew only one thing—the raging din that ever
swelled louder. Then a second crash, mightier than the first; and out of
it a shout in her own tongue of Iran.
“For Ahura, for Atossa!”
The battle-cry of the Persians—and Atossa knew that Darius, son of
Hystaspes, was not far away.
[Illustration: “BEL IS DEAD”]