"That last thou hast said well. Yet it, too, is a false god."
"But thou, O Istar, I know--"
"I am no goddess, Belti-shar-utsur."
The prince started nervously to his feet. "You are not mortal?"
"No. I think, indeed, that I am not. Yet I am not sure. You came to earth a baby, born of woman--is it not so?"
"Like all men."
"And I descended from the highest void through space, till I touched earth almost upon this spot, a woman as I am now, clothed in my silver garment. It was by the command of god, the great Bel, the One, the True, that I came hither from the upper realms of the great kingdom. I was what they call archetype. I was decreed to pass through the fire of the world and return not to my home till the hearts of men were bare before my eyes, till I learned the secret of the creation. Yet how these things are to be shown to me I do not know. Thy heart, O Belshazzar--what is it?"
"It is thine, Lady of All."
"Open it to me that I may read."
The pleading simplicity of the tone made Belshazzar look at her sharply, and in a new way. Still his eyes failed to pierce the wave of baffling light that flowed about her; and still her purpose was enigmatical to him. She had become more incomprehensible than ever.
"The hearts of men, Istar, are not always known to themselves. Mine I could not show you."
Istar thought for a little while in troubled silence. Then she asked once more, not hopefully: "Your loves and hates, your joys and sorrows, your hopes and fears--knowing these, could I not understand them and you?"
"It may be. I do not know."
"Then let me hear, that I may judge."
"All of them, Istar--love, hate, hope, fear, joy, sorrow--are woven around my city, Babylon, the gate of god. My love is for her and my fear for her enemies. As she is the greatest of all cities, so is she the most loved and the most hated. In her lie all my joy and sorrow. In her dwell many that I love, some that I hate, one that I fear. But this--"
"This will not open to me your secret heart, Belshazzar. It is an affectation."
"By the power of the twelve great gods--it is not!"
"Then there are two lives in you: this one, and another that is hidden."
Belshazzar looked at her again strangely. "It is true," he said, at length, a curious smile curving his lips.
"It is of this second life that you must tell me."
"I cannot!" he said, quickly.
"Wherefore?"
"It is too ignoble for your ears."
"Too ignoble? What should be that for me? Nay, prince of the city, my earth-life is weary and long, because that I am kept away from life. I am set apart, worshipped as one afar off, and true life is not laid before me. To teach your race the secret of the one god is forbidden. It is I that come hither to learn; yet I am given no way of learning. What am I? Whither am I to go, that I may learn truth from the hearts of men?"
"Hearts, Divine One, may read each other. But no immortal that cannot feel the world may understand them."
"Let me, then, become mortal, O God!"
The cry rang out louder than it had been spoken, and seemed to echo forth, to vibrate through the room, to flow out and away into the distant sky. The two in the sanctuary listened to it in silence, wondering. Then Istar, tremulous, and wavering with light, arose.
"Leave me, Belshazzar!" she cried, suddenly. "Leave me alone here! I fear you!"
"Fear me?" He spoke softly, taking the attitude of prayer. "You are the goddess of Babylon. It is I that fear. I beseech thee, lady, spare me thy wrath. As a reed shalt thou bend me. As a twig shall I be broken before the strength of thy will. Divine One, grant me favor! Lady Belit, have pity upon my mortality!"
As he spoke she stood looking at him, shrinkingly, uncertainly, trying to fathom the false ring of the conventional phrases. His attitude, his expression, his demeanor, were perfectly sincere; yet, whether he himself were conscious of it or not, the words were not honest. She perceived it instantly. After the little pause of thought she repeated, faintly:
"Depart from me!" adding, afterwards, "You mock at me."
The prince drew a quick breath that sounded like a gasp. Then, coming forward, he sank to his knees, took the hem of her fiery garment, and held it for a moment to his lips. Its flame did not harm. Rather, it sent through his whole being a shock of vitality. Rising hurriedly after the obeisance, he inclined himself again before her and swept away, as she had commanded, leaving her alone in her sanctuary.
Istar remained where he left her, lying back in the chair, one hand supporting her cheek, her thoughts chaotic and troubled as never before.
For many months past she had felt, vaguely, that which had just definitely come home to her. Her time on earth was passing uselessly away. She was now no closer to mankind than she had been before her descent. She was treated with such reverent awe as utterly precluded anything like familiar intercourse with any one. The very prayers were addressed to her in terms as florid and as general as possible. Her personal attendants performed their duties in silent reverence. The priesthood treated her with the impenetrable respect that they showed towards the graven images of the gods. And now, for the first time, the significance of all these things came to her definitely. She perceived how they were baffling her purpose, and the thought caused her deep disquiet. There seemed to be but one way of opening life to her immortal vision. It was through the person of Belshazzar, who dared, before her, to keep his individuality. This way, however, as she had told him, she feared. What the fear was, when it had come or why, who could tell? Not Istar. Now, for so long a time the prince had been part of her wearisome, objective existence that, up to to-night, she had been more inclined to regard him as something spiritual than as a man. Mentally she reviewed him and his personality, and she found therein much that was beyond her undeveloped powers of appreciation and analysis. His deep eyes--how was it that they looked on her? She had not seemed to him so awe-inspiring a thing as others found her. Why? His continual presence before her--was it all from a sense of pure religion? Yet, if it were not, what was the motive? Istar did not, could not, know. He did not pray to her--quite. His attitude was peculiar--distant--reverent--yet at times there was something other than reverence in his face. What it was--the look that seemed to burn through her veil--Istar could not tell. Yet it was that look that had made her fear.
How long she sat, passive and quiet-browed within her sanctuary, thinking of these many things, she did not know. But when finally she straightened, the clouds in the east were pink with the reflected light of the setting sun.
The sky was singularly beautiful to her. It held in its far depths the mystery of her birth. She regarded it sometimes with yearning, sometimes with an unfathomable wisdom held in her inmost being. Now the curtain hid it from her gaze, and, with an oppressive sadness in her heart, she crossed to the door-way and lifted the curtain-folds, to encounter the piercing gaze of a man who stood more than half-way across the sanctuary threshold. Thin, pallid, hook-nosed, bearded, and wretchedly clothed, he stood over her radiant person and seemed to peer into her very soul--this child of the West, Beltishazzar the Jew.
Istar gasped and shrank quickly back into the room, without letting go her hold on the curtain. Daniel pressed his advantage and intruded farther, till he also was inside. Her face was indistinguishable to him, for the light-waves had quickened protectively round her whole body, till she swam in glory. Seemingly unabashed, the Jew addressed her:
"Istar of Babylon, grant me an hour wherein I may hold speech with you--here, or without--upon the ziggurat."
There was less of entreaty than of command in the tone; and Istar, unduly affected by the fanatical appearance of the man, put his presence on a level with her own personality, and, replying to his speech in Hebrew, his language, said:
"Then enter here, O Daniel, and I will listen to you."
"You know me!" he said, quickly.
"I know men's names."
"And their hearts?"
"Their hearts! You have said it! Their hearts! Oh, thou man of Jerusalem, canst thou give me knowledge as to them?"
He looked at her closely, as if to make sure of her meaning. Then, taking courage, he replied: "Men's hearts! Who, in truth, but Yaveh, the one God, shall know them?"
Istar made no answer to the question, but once more motioned the Jew to enter the faintly lighted room. This he did without hesitation.
Thereupon she covered the door-way with its curtain, turned without any sign of haste, and seated herself once more on the high throne, but left the Jew to stand before her. Finally, before the words he had framed could leave his lips, she swayed forward slightly and asked:
"What have you, the child of Yaveh, to gain from me?"
"Much--or nothing."
"It is no answer, Daniel."
Beltishazzar bent his head and folded his arms over his breast. So he stood for many minutes, silent and motionless, while Istar waited serenely for him to speak; and, when he spoke, she was not startled by his words and their blunt directness.