Istar of Babylon: A Phantasy

by Margaret Horton Potter

While the Greek still stood, dazed and stupid, his head swimming with the delight of knowing her actually to be, the procession passed, and a great multitude of people swept along at its heels towards the temple square. Any attempt to force a passage through that packed throng would have been useless. This Charmides perceived at once, and presently, as the crowd melted away from where he stood, he turned and began to walk slowly towards the north, along the Â-Ibur-Sabû. In the street there were not a few people who, like himself, had felt it useless to try for a place to see the sacrifice, and, the procession over, were on the way home, perhaps to some family festival. But Charmides saw little enough of those around him. His feet moved mechanically while his thoughts soared.

He had seen her—he had seen Istar. The object of his journey was over; and yet—to leave Babylon now, without knowing more of her, was impossible. He felt that while Babylon was the shrine of such a being, in Babylon he must worship. Sicily, his friends, his mother, were now become things of another life—things fair and dear to think upon, but for which he no longer yearned. Istar, far above his reach as she was, yet made his interest, his religion—in fine, his home—in this new land.

It was while such thoughts as these were mingling in his heart that the Greek found himself brought to a halt. He had come to the end of the famous street that terminated in a square nearly two miles north of the temples of Nebo and his son and the square of the gods. On the edge of the new square Charmides paused and looked around him. Beside him, to the right and to the left, were two large buildings of the usual brick, low-roofed, and surrounded by walls in which the great wrought bronze gates were shut. Through their bars he caught glimpses of fair gardens filled with flowers of brilliant hues and shaded by flowering bushes and tall date-palms. But in these places there was no sign of life; nor was any living creature to be seen on the flat roofs that served, in Babylon, the purpose of summer living-rooms. On the right-hand side of the square stood what was unmistakably a temple. Here, on the top of the broad platform, and again on the steps ascending it, and about the open doors of the holy house, several people moved, while others were dotted on the broad incline that ran around the outside of the ziggurat, or tower, without which no holy building was complete, and which stood, campanile-like, to the left of the temple itself.

Glad of company, even that of total strangers, and seeing that the platform stair offered opportunity for a much-needed rest, Charmides moved wearily across the square, mounted a step or two, and sat down with a long sigh of relief. Near him were three or four people—venders of various commodities suited to the place. An old man held between his knees a basket of small, clay bricks, inscribed with Accadian prayers. Close to him was a scribe of a semi-religious order, ready provided with cuneiform iron and a supply of kneaded clay. A little beyond, a street water-carrier had stopped to rest, with his heavy pigskin beside him. Nearest of all was a young girl, holding on her lap a basket of nosegays. The picture in itself was pleasing; but Charmides soon discovered about it something that interested him much more. This was the sight of half a wheaten loaf and a handful of dates that lay, nearly covered with a bit of cloth, in a corner of the flower-basket.

The nourishment in Charmides' early breakfast of goat's milk had not served to keep up his strength so long as this, and now the sight of solid food made him faint for it. He hesitated a little what to do; for he could not be sure whether what he saw were the girl's noonday meal or the remains of it. Having gazed long and eagerly, however, at the loaf, he suddenly lifted his eyes to encounter her own—very pretty ones they were—fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Thereupon courage born of hunger came upon the rhapsode with a mighty rush. He rose and went over to the side of the flower-girl, and, taking from his bag the coppers given him by Baba, he proffered them all to the flower-seller. Smiling till she showed a very pretty set of small, white teeth, she picked up all her remaining bouquets and held them up to him in both hands. Charmides looked at them lovingly, but shook his head. With surprise written in her face, the girl put them down again and seemed to wait for him to speak. Thereupon Charmides seated himself carefully on the other side of the basket, put one finger on the wheaten loaf, pointed to his mouth, and looked inquiringly at his new friend. She understood instantly, and, laughing, took up the food and set it before the Greek.

While he ate they talked—in the universal language of primitive sounds and gestures. And so skilful at this occupation did the two of them find themselves, that Charmides shortly learned how the girl had partaken of her noon meal some time before, and that he was quite welcome to what was left of it. Hereupon the rhapsode spread out all his se, nine of them, in a neat row, and suggested that she take as many as the bread and fruit were worth. The maiden hesitated over this part of the affair, but, as Charmides was quite firm, she finally picked out three of the coppers and put them in a little pouch hanging from her girdle; and Charmides perceived, without much thinking about it, that this pouch was the counterpart of that from which Baba had that morning extracted his change.

During his meal, which Charmides caused to last for some time, his eyes were much employed. He was making a careful scrutiny of his new companion—one so very careful that, in the interest of it, the awe and fiery enthusiasm excited in him by the sight of Istar was gradually dispelled. Thus he came gracefully down to human interests, and discovered that this Babylonian maid was rather more to his taste than any Doric Sicilian he could remember.

In very truth, Ramûa of Beltani's house, the flower-girl of the temple of the great goddess, was a goodly sight for tired eyes. Young and fresh of color, sweet of voice, and modest of demeanor she always was. To be sure, her long tunic was colorless, old, and much patched. Her pretty feet were bare, and her only head-covering the long, silken hair that was plaited and coiled round and round her shapely head. But it had been a pity to hide those glossy locks under the rarest of coronets. No jewels that she could have worn would have rivalled her eyes in brilliancy; and as for the small, brown feet—Charmides surveyed them covertly with unique enjoyment, and could not remember to have seen a sandal fit to grace them.

Musing in this profitable fashion, the rhapsode finished his meal, and invested another se in the purchase of a cup of water from the water-seller. This he proffered first to the girl, who refused it with exceeding grace, and a very definite hope in her eyes that the sunny Greek would not yet depart. Evidently he had ideas of so doing, for, returning to her side, but not sitting down, he once more pronounced his pass-word:

"Istar?"