Oh, the terror, the blind terror, which possessed the guilty, lustful
city that night! the stupid guards staggering from their wine-pots; the
priests, crazed with the lees, shrieking to Istar, to Bel, to Ramman,
their strengthless hands catching at useless weapons. What drunken
courage might do then was done. But of what avail? For treachery
was everywhere. The citadel was betrayed; Imgur-Bel and Nimitti-Bel
betrayed. The giant-built walls frowned down, but the massy gates were
wide open,—and through them streamed the foe. Right down the length of
broad Nana Street, under the shadow of the _ziggurats_ and the great
warehouses, had charged the Persian cuirassiers, the finest cavalry in
all the East. Through the Gate of Istar poured Harpagus and the Median
chivalry; through the Gate of the Chaldees swept Hystaspes with the
“Immortals,” Cyrus’s own life-guard, the stoutest spearmen in wide Iran.
They met files of tipsy sword-hands, men who fought without order,
without commanders. The howls of the slaves and women were on every hand.
The light of burning houses brightened the invaders’ pathway; and so the
Aryan host fought onward, brushing resistance from its way as the torrent
sweeps on the pebbles, all ranks straining toward one point, the palace;
for the hour of reckoning had come to the “City of the Lie.”
* * * * *
Atossa sat upon the dais, looking upon the scene below. The great
hall was still around her,—still the pictured walls, with the shadows
darkening upon their enamels, as the lamps and torches burned lower. The
tables were there, and the remnants of the feast; the floor was strewn
with torn garlands and trampled roses,—but the company, the wanton
dancing women, the sleek eunuchs, the lordly priests, the yet more lordly
captains, where were they? Fled,—all save the last,—to the innermost
palace, there to moan, while the noise of the avenger was nearing.
Atossa arose, shook herself, stared once more about the hall. At the
foot of the dais lay the dead charger. On a seat at her side sat Ruth,
her head bowed on her hands, her lithe form quivering with fear. Beside
his daughter was the old Hebrew, calm, steadfast, seemingly passionless,
looking straight before, as if his sight could pass through wall and
battlement, beholding the far-off peace of the upper heavens. But in the
outer palace what was not befalling? Never before had Atossa heard the
clangour of men at war; but she was a great king’s daughter. Should the
child of Cyrus fear when her own people knocked at the gate thus loudly?
The awful roar grew louder each instant. Louder the Aryan war-cry, “For
Ahura, for Atossa!” And still the despairing shout was answering, “Save,
O Marduk, save!” For the Babylonish lion, though at his death, must die
as a lion.
As the din surged in and out like some raging sea, the princess heard her
own name alone shouted. Dared she believe she knew the voice?
“Atossa? Atossa?”
Then a new crash that drowned all else, and the whirl of a thousand feet.
Men and women, cursing, howling, were rushing back into the hall. In an
instant the empty scene became a chaos of forms, all the gibbering palace
folk fleeing thither.
“Lost! The gate is carried! The palace is taken!”
So cried those not frenzied past all speech. But Atossa heard with an
awful gladness. This was the hour of her triumph; the destroyers were the
servants of her father, their leader the man she loved. Let, then, the
Babylonian hounds whine and cringe at doom. What cared she?
But the end had not yet come. Another voice was thundering in the
Chaldee, Belshazzar’s voice:—
“Rally again! All is not yet lost. We will defend the palace room by
room!”
“Forward, sons of Iran!” sped back the answer; and a shout followed it at
the very entrance of the hall.
“For Ahura, for Atossa!”
“Darius!” cried Atossa, “Darius! Here am I!”
Her scream was drowned in the chaos of battle. And then for the first
time fear smote the princess. Outside those doors fought the son of
Hystaspes, perilling himself in the press,—and for her sake. She could
contain herself no more.
“Darius,” she shrieked again, “I come! Save!”
She leaped from the dais; in her madness she would have plunged into the
riot below, when a heavy hand fell on her; she struggled, was helpless.
Above her towered Khatin.
“It is commanded, lady,” quoth the headsman, gruffly, “that you abide
here, till the king order otherwise.”
“Fool!” she cried, shrinking at his impure touch, “do you seek death? A
moment more and your life is in my power. Release, and you shall live.”
“Ah, my bright-eyed rabbit,” answered he, dryly, unmoved by all
the terrors about, “I have sent too many better men than I to the
‘world-mountain’ to dread myself the journey thither. All the Chaldees
have not turned traitor, nor have I. Wait.”
He forced her back upon her seat, and stood guard beside her. Drunk or
sober, the nobles of Babylon proved their lordly birth that night. Twice
Atossa’s heart sank when a triumphant cry rang through the palace:—
“Glory to Marduk! Drive them forth! Victory!”
But each time the Persians swept back to the charge; and still the
clamour rose. Well that all the death was hid from Atossa, or, king’s
daughter though she was, her woman’s heart would have broken. How long
might this last? The swarm of frenzied palace folk was growing denser.
They sprang upon the dais, threatening Atossa, in their witless fear, but
gave back at sight of Khatin’s bared sword-blade. Then forth rushed a
single man, Avil-Marduk, his face blanched, his teeth a-chatter, and cast
himself at Daniel’s feet.
“Save, generous lord! Save me from death! For you are merciful, and the
Persians will hear you! Beseech your Jehovah that He may not let me die!”
Before the Jew could answer Khatin dragged the suppliant from his knees.
“Peace, babbler; if Marduk is a great god, let _him_ save; if not, die
like a man. But take not even life from one you have reviled, like the
God of Daniel!”
“But I am sinful, unfit to stand before Ea and his awful throne. I shall
die in my iniquity!”
“I only know you are no fitter to live than to die,” answered the
implacable headsman; and he cast the priest headlong from the dais. Ruth
had lifted her head, and stared about vacantly, till her gaze lit on the
Persian. Then she flung herself into the arms of Atossa.
“Ah! lady,” she cried, the hot tears falling fast, “I see all as in a
frightful dream! When will this tumult end? I can bear no more!”
But Atossa answered in her queenly pride:—
“Peace, Jewess, be strong. For this is the hour for which we cried to
Ahura together. He is trampling down the ‘People of the Lie,’ and this
sound arises from the men we love.”
But as she spoke the mob below swayed with new terror. For a third time
the great palace quaked. The door was again darkened by many men—and in
their midst they saw the king....
Belshazzar was covered with blood, whether his own or the foeman’s, who
might say? His mantle was in tatters, the tiara smitten from his head, on
his arm a shivered shield. The king staggered, then the sight of Atossa
upon the dais seemed to dart new power through his veins. He steadied,
swept his weapon around in command to the officers who pressed by.
“Rally again!” cried the king; “we have still thousands around the walls
and throughout the city. Prolong the defence till dawn, and we may yet
conquer!” His majesty and presence stayed the panic-stricken captains,
who had been streaming past him into the wide hall.
The king surveyed the room one instant.
“We can defend this hall until the garrison may rally. There is still
hope; drive forth this rabble, and barricade the doors!”
The guardsmen swept the eunuchs and women from the hall. They fled, the
thunders of the gale, now at its height, drowning their moanings. Ever
and anon the dying torches cast shadow while the lightnings glared. Then
came the crash of the hail and rain, beating down the canopy, quenching
half the lights, and adding gloom to terror. All this in less time than
the telling. Belshazzar himself aided in piling the tables and couches
in heaps against all the doors save one, through which the Chaldees were
sullenly retreating, marking their pathway by the Persian dead. Once
again Atossa leaped from her seat; despite her brave words to Ruth, more
of this chaos would strike her mad. She slipped from the grasp of Khatin,
and flew toward the entrance. For the instant all were too intent on
their fearful tasks to heed.
“Darius! I come!” cried she, in her Persian, and a shout without was
answering, when a clutch, mighty as Khatin’s, halted her. She was in
Belshazzar’s own hands.
“Back, girl! I am still the king, and I command!”
But Atossa struggled desperately. “Away! Take me away!” rang her plea.
“Slay this instant if you will, but I can bear no more!”
“Take her to the dais,” shouted the king to two guardsmen; “watch her
preciously; her life is dearer to us now than gold.”
The two had need of their strength, but she was thrust again to her hated
station. This time cords were knotted around her arms, and she was held
fast. She looked to Daniel. There he sat, serene and silent, the only
calm object in that scene of furies.
“Father,” she moaned, “pray to Khatin, to any, that they strike once,
and let me die! All the _dævas_ are loose and drive me mad!”
“Peace, my child,” he spoke mildly, yet amid all that storm she heard
him; “we shall full soon know what is the will of God!”
But she had started despite the bands. The last Babylonians had been
brushed from the portal, a rush of feet, a battle-cry the loudest of the
night; and right in the entrance, sword in hand and looking upon Atossa,
was the son of Hystaspes, at his side Isaiah, at his back the stoutest
veterans of Cyrus the conqueror.
There was silence for an instant, while the foes glared on one another.
Then the Babylonish officers by sheer force drew their king behind them,
and formed in close array before the dais. The last stand!
“Stand fast, Chaldees!” rang the voice of Igas-Ramman; “let them touch
the king only across our bodies. While he lives Babylon is not truly
lost.”
The Persians were entering slowly, grimly. Their prey was in their
clutch; they were too old in war to let him slip by untimely triumph. The
rain beat down in one continuous roar, amid ceaseless peals of thunder.
Yet despite the elements they heard the clamour of distant conflict; at
the temple of Bel, at the palace of Nabupolassar, the fight was still
desperate.
“While your Majesty lives,” muttered Igas in the royal ear, “there may be
yet rally and rescue. Let us fight to the end.”
Darius had advanced from his company, halfway across the hall, as if he
alone would walk upon the swords of the Chaldees. He addressed the king.
“Live forever, Lord of Babylon! Live forever. I have bayed a fairer game,
this night, than an aurochs or a lion; but I have brought him to the net
at last. Too noble, truly, to slay. Let him be wise; he will find my
master merciful.”
“Yield to Cyrus? Let the dogs eat first our bodies!” so cried Igas, and
all the Babylonians yelled like answer.
Darius did not retire. “We Persians honour kings, though once our foes.
Crœsus the Lydian is Cyrus’s friend. Be wise,—Bel your god may not save
you. Craft and strength alike have failed. Yield on fair quarter. Do not
sacrifice these gallant men—”
But he ended swiftly, for the king had leaped upon the dais, and his
voice sounded amid the thunder. “Look! with all your eyes look, Persians!
Behold the daughter of Cyrus.” Atossa had been upborne upon his strong
arms and those of Khatin, and stood upon the royal couch before the gaze
of all. And at sight of her a tremor thrilled through the Persians.
“The princess in Belshazzar’s clutch! Woe! Ahura deliver!” groaned many a
grizzled sword-hand, who had slain his man that night; but the king swept
on: “I say to you, that as the first arrow flies, or sword-stroke falls,
the blade enters the breast of the child of Cyrus. Get you gone, and
that instantly, if you would not see her die!”
They saw the steel glancing in Khatin’s hand, no idle threat. And for
a moment longer, Persian and Chaldee looked on one another, while the
storm screamed its wild music. But now Atossa spoke, her voice clear as
Belshazzar’s:—
“And I, daughter of your king, command that you hold back in nothing for
my sake. For to an Aryan maid of pure heart death is no great thing, when
she knows behind it speeds the vengeance.”
“Not so! We may not!” moaned Persian to Persian; and Darius sprang back
among his men.
“Lord,” cried a captain from the rear, “the garrison is rallying. A
little longer, and many companies come to Belshazzar’s aid. We may yet be
undone!”
Darius had flung away his target; his hands had snatched something—a
quiver, a bow. He leaped before them all, while Belshazzar’s voice again
was rising:—
“Back, Persians; or as Bel is god of Babylon, the maid dies, and you are
her murderers!” He sprang down from beside her, leaving Khatin standing.
But the prince drew the shaft to the head, and sent his eye along the
arrow. Did he level at Atossa’s own breast? So thought she, with all the
others, and her cry rang shrilly:—
“Shoot! In Ahura’s great name, shoot! Death at your hands is sweet!”
They saw her close her eyes, and strong men turned away their faces. One
deed to slay a peer, in heat of battle; another, to see a lover strike
down his bride! But Belshazzar, looking on his foe, was startled,—_he had
seen him shoot before_.
“Strike!” he commanded Khatin, “swiftly!”
They saw the long blade move, and heard the whiz of the arrow. Right
through the headsman’s wrist sped the shaft, just as the stroke fell.
The sword turned in impotent fingers, and fell upon the floor. And still
Atossa stood.
She trembled, moved, made to spring from her station: but Darius’s voice
in turn was thunder:—
“Move not! There alone is safety, where I cover you! And now—on them, men
of Iran!”
There, lifted up above them all, remained Atossa, the arrow of the “King
of the Bow” upon her, and no Chaldee so lustful after death as to leap
beside her, and to strike.
The Persians had sprung upon their prey and never relaxed their death
grip; but the Babylonians ringed round their king with a living wall, and
fought in silence, for all was near the end. Then the rush of numbers
forced the defenders away from the dais. Atossa saw the arrow of Darius
sink, saw him bounding forward, but saw no more; for in mercy sense
forsook her,—she felt two strong arms, and then for long lay motionless
as the dead.
The prince laid her upon the royal couch at the extremity of the dais;
beside her he set Ruth, who had long since ceased crying, through very
weight of fear. Back to the combat then, and the last agony of the
king, when from under the shivered tables crawled one who groaned, and
kissed his feet—Avil-Marduk. Darius spurned him; the next instant two
tall Medians were hauling the wretch away—a noble spectacle he would
be for triumphing Ecbatana, before they crucified. But a nobler spoil
remained. Darius flung himself upon the Chaldee nobles. Igas-Ramman was
down, and Khatin, whose left arm had smitten many a foe while his right
hung helpless. The king still fought, ten swords seeking his life, and
he parrying all,—none of his conqueror race more royal than he in this
his hour of doom. Suddenly the desperate defenders turned at bay, and
charged their foes with a mad fury that made even the stoutest Aryans
give ground. One final lull, in which they heard the beating of the rain.
Then right betwixt raging Persian and raging Chaldee sprang a figure,—an
old man in hoary majesty, Daniel the Jew.
“Peace!” and for that instant every man hearkened. “Your god is helpless,
O Belshazzar, your idol mute. Your power is sped, but bow to the will of
the Most High. He will still pity the penitent. Do not cast your life
away.”
But at the word the king lifted his last javelin.
“Be this my answer to your god!”
The missile brushed the white lock on the old man’s forehead, and fell
harmless.
The Babylonians retreated sullenly to the wall, set their backs against
it. Then, with death in the face of each, with the shattered plaster
frowning down on them, those men who had fought so long and well to save
their king and city, raised their song,—the pæan of the vanquished, to
the god whose power that night had passed:—
“Bel-Marduk, sovereign of archers,
Bel-Marduk, spoiler of cities,
Bel-Marduk, lord of all gods,
Bel-Marduk, who rulest forever,
Thee, thee we praise!”
At the last note the Persians closed around them, and each Chaldee as he
stood fought to the end, selling his life full dear; but about the king
the strife raged fiercest, for Darius had commanded, “Slay not! Take
living!” Long after the last of his servants had sped from the fury of
man, Belshazzar beat back all who pressed him. The spirit of his fallen
god seemed to possess the king; he fought with Bel’s own power. But the
sword was beaten from his grasp. Twenty hands stretched out to seize him;
he buffeted all away, leaped to one side, and, before any could hinder,
drew the dagger from his girdle and sheathed it in his own breast. He
staggered. Isaiah upbore him. The king saw in whose arms he was, then his
eyes went up to the shivered plaster. The Hebrew felt a spasm of agony
pass through Belshazzar’s frame.
“Bel is dead!” he cried, his voice never louder.
“_Bel is dead! O God of the Jews, Thou hast conquered!_”
Then came a dazzling bolt. The wide canopy fell. The rush of rain drowned
every torch, and all was blackness.
Darius groped his way beside Belshazzar, and spread his mantle across the
king’s face to shield it from the rain.
“Cruel and ‘Lover of the Lie,’” spoke the prince, “he was yet a brave man
and a king; therefore let us do the dead all honour!”
Soon the great court was empty, the victors gone, the vanquished cold and
still. But till dawn the tempest held its carnival above the towers of
the palace. And the winds had one cry, the beat of the rain one burden,
to those who were wise to hear, a burden heavy with long years of wrong:—
“Babylon the Great is fallen, is fallen, is fallen! The Lady of Kingdoms
is fallen, is fallen, is fallen! She will oppress the weak no more, will
slay the innocent no more, will blaspheme God no more! Fallen is Babylon,
the Chaldees’ crown and glory.”
* * * * *
In a greater Book than this is written how Cyrus the Persian made
good his vow to Isaiah, and restored the Hebrews to their own land,
raising Jerusalem out of her dust and ashes. Elsewhere also is told how
Darius and Atossa fared together onward until the son of Hystaspes sat
on Cyrus’s own throne and gave law to all the nations. And to Isaiah
Jehovah granted that he should become a mighty prophet among his people,
and see rapt visions of the “King-who-was-to-be.” But as for Babylon the
Great, the traveller who wanders through the desert beside the brimming
Euphrates looks upon the mounds of sand and of rubbish, then thinks on
the word of the Hebrew poet and prophet of long ago:—
“And Babylon, the glory of the kingdoms,
Shall be as when God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah.
It shall never be inhabited,
Neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there;
Neither shall shepherds make their fold there;
But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there,
And owls shall dwell there,
And satyrs shall dance there,
And wild beasts of the islands
Shall cry in their desolate houses;
Her days shall not be prolonged.”
FOOTNOTES
[1] The chief god of Babylon, properly named Bel-Marduk, was often called
indifferently simply Bel or Marduk.
[2] Twenty per cent annually.
[3] Such copy-books have been actually preserved to us.
[4] The _gur_ was about eight bushels.
[5] The Babylonians observed a seventh day as sacred, much after the
Jewish fashion. It was likewise called “The Sabbath.”
[6] Often, though incorrectly, written “Zoroaster.”
[7] The Persian “hell,” conceived of as in the extreme north; a land of
pitiless cold.
[8] Sirius.
[9] Ten P.M.
[10] Saturn.
[11] About three bushel.
NOTE TO THE READER
The author has not been unmindful that certain record tablets give a
narrative of the capture of Babylon, in some points differing from the
Bible account in the Book of Daniel. The reasons for preferring the
latter to the profane narrative are too many to be discussed here; but it
is not improper to point out that the “Chronicle Tablets” were written
with a political end to serve,—to soothe the feelings of the conquered
Babylonians, by representing that Babylon surrendered voluntarily to
Cyrus. This is hardly likely; but it is very probable that the city was
taken by treachery among the priests and not by assault.
I have ventured to give the name of Isaiah to the great “Prophet of the
Captivity,” whose writings are found in the last half of our present
“Book of Isaiah.” It has been well conjectured that his name was also
Isaiah, which resulted in the combining of the two independent prophecies
into one book.
VALUE OF MONEY
(according to Sayce)
Shekel $ 0.75
Maneh 45.00
Talent (silver) 2700.00
Gold was worth ten times as much as silver, weight for weight.