CHAPTER II The Caldeans were disposed to regard the planets as perverse sheep who had escaped from the fold of the stars to wander willfully in search of pasture. At first they were considered to be so many sovereign deities, without other function than that of running through the heavens and furnishing their predictions of the future. Afterwards two of them descended to the earth, and received upon it the homage of men, Ishtar from the inhabitants of the city of Dilbat, and Nibbo from those of Borsippa. Nibbo assumed the role of a soothsayer and a prophet. He knew and foresaw everything, and was ready to give his advice upon any subject. He was the inventor of the method of making clay tablets, and of riding upon them. Ishtar was a combination of contradictory characteristics. In southern Caldean she was worshipped under the name of Nanna, the supreme mistress. The identity of this lady of the gods, Belit Ilanit, the evening star, with Anunit, the morning star, was at first ignored, and hence two distinct goddesses were formed from the two-fold manifestations of a single deity. Having at length discovered their error the Caldeans merged these two beings in one, and their names became merely two different designations for the same star under a two-fold aspect. The double character, however, which had been attributed to them, continued to be attached to the single personality. The evening star had symbolized the goddess of love, who attracted the sexes toward one another, and bound them together by the chain of desire. The morning star, on the other hand, was regarded as the cold-blooded and cruel warrior who despised the pleasures of love and rejoiced in warfare. Ishtar thus combined in her person chastity and lasciviousness, kindness and ferocity, and a peaceful and warlike disposition, but this incongruity in her characteristics did not seem to disconsert the devotion of her worshippers. The three other planets would have had a wretched part to play in comparison with Nebo and Ishtar, if they had not been placed under new patronage. The secondary solar gods, Merodak, Ninib and Nurgle, led, if we examine their role carefully, but an incomplete existence. They were merely portions of the sun, while Shamash represented the entire orb. What became of them apart from the moment in the day and year in which they were actively engaged in their career? Where did they spend their nights, the hours during which Shamash had retired into the firmament and lay hidden behind the mountains of the north? As in Egypt the horuses identified at first with the sun became at length the rulers of the planets. So in Kaldia the three sons of Ninib, Merodak and Nurgle became respectively assimilated to Saturn, Jupiter and Mars, and this identification was all the more easy in the case of Saturn, as he had been considered from the beginning as a bull belonging to Shamash. Henceforward, therefore, there was a group of five powerful gods, distributed among the stars of heaven, and having abodes also in the cities of the earth, whose function it was to announce the destinies of the universe. Some, deceived by the size and brilliancy of Jupiter, gave the chief command to Merodak, and this opinion naturally found a welcome reception at Babylon, of which he was the feudal deity. Others, speaking into account only the preponderating influence exercised by the planets over the fortunes of men, accorded the primacy to Ninab, placing Merodak next, followed respectively by Ishtar, Nurgle and Nebo. The five planets, like the six triads, were not long before they took to themselves consorts, if indeed they had not already been married before they were brought together in a collective whole. Ninab chose for a wife, in the first place, Baal, the daughter of Anu, the mistress of Uru, highly venerated from the most remote times. Afterwards, Gula, the queen of physicians, whose wisdom alleviates the ills of humanity, and who was one of the goddesses sometimes placed in the harem of Shamash himself. Merodak associated with him Zerbanit, the fruitful, who secures from generation to generation the permanence and increase of living beings. Nurgle distributed his favors sometimes to Laz, and sometimes to Isharah, who was like himself warlike and always victorious in battle. Nebo provided himself with a mate in Tashmeet, the great bride, or even in Ishtar herself. But Ishtar could not be content with a single husband. After she had lost Demuzi Tammuz, the spouse of her youth, she gave herself freely to the impulses of her passions, distributing her favors to men as well as gods, and was sometimes subject to be repelled with contempt by the heroes upon whom she was inclined to bestow her love. The five planets came thus to be actually ten, and advantage was taken of these alliances to weave fresh schemes of affiliation. Nebo was proclaimed to be the son of Merodak and Zerbanit, Merodak the son of Ba, and Ninib the offspring of Bell and Isharah. There were two councils, one consisting of twelve members, the other of ten. The former was composed of the most popular gods of southern Kaldia, representing the essential elements of the world, while the latter consisted of the great deities of northern Kaldia, whose function it was to regulate or make known the destinies of men. The authors of this system, who belonged to southern Kaldia, naturally gave the position to their patron gods, and placed the twelve above the ten. It is well known that orientals display great respect for numbers, and attribute to them an almost irresistible power. We can thus understand how it was that the Kaldians applied them to designate their divine masters, and we may calculate from these numbers the estimation in which each of these masters was held. The goddesses had no value assigned to them in this celestial arithmetic. Ishtar accepted, who was not a mere duplication, more or less ingenious, of a previously existing deity, but possessed from the beginning an independent life, and could thus claim to be called goddess in her own right. The members of the two triads were arranged on a descending scale, Anu taking the highest place. The scale was considered to consist of a sauce of sixty units in length, and each of the deities who followed Anu was placed ten of these units below his predecessor. Bell at fifty units, Ea at forty, Sin at thirty, Shamash at twenty, Raman at ten, or six. The gods of the planets were not arranged in a regular series like those of the triads, but the numbers attached to them expressed their proportionate influence on terrestrial affairs. Tuninib was assigned the same number as had been given to Bell, fifty, to Meridoc, perhaps twenty-five, to Ishtar, fifteen, to Nurgle, twelve, and to Nebo, ten. The various spirits were also fractionally estimated, but this is a class and not as individuals. The priests would not have known how to have solved the problem if they had been obliged to ascribe values to the infinity of existences. As the heliapolitans were obliged to eliminate from the Aeneid many feudal divinities, so the Chaldeans had lucked out of account many of their sovereign deities, especially goddesses, Bao of Uru, Nanna of Uruk, and Allat, or if they did introduce them into their calculations it was by a subtervuge, by identifying them with other goddesses to whom places had been already assigned. Bao was thus coupled with Ohila, Nanna with Ishtar, and Allat with Nino Beltis. If figures had been assigned to the latter proportionate to the importance of the parts they played, and the number of their votaries, how comes it that they were excluded from the cycle of the great gods? They were actually placed alongside rather than below the two councils, and without insistence upon the rank which they enjoyed in the hierarchy. But the confusion which soon arose among divinities of identical or analogous nature, opened the way for inserting all the neglected personalities in the framework already prepared for them. A sky god, like Dagan, would mingle naturally with Anu, and enjoy like honors with him. The gods of all ranks associated with the sun or fire, Nusku, Gimel, and Dumuzi, who had not been at first received among the privileged group, obtained a place there by virtue of their assimilation to Shamash, and his secondary forms, Bel, Merodak, Ninib, and Nurgal. Ishtar absorbed all her companions, and her name put in the plural, Ishtarati, the Ishtars, embraced all goddesses in general, just as the name Hani took in all the gods. Thanks to this compromise, the system flourished, and was widely accepted. Local vanity was always able to find a means for placing in a prominent place within it the feudal deity, and for reconciling his pretensions to the highest rank with the order of precedence laid down by the theologians of Uruk. The local god was always the king of the gods, the father of the gods, he who was worshipped above the others in every day life, and whose public cult constituted the religion of the state or city. The Ziggurat represented in its form the mountain of the world, and the halls ranged at its feet resembled approximately the accessory parts of the world. The temple of Merodak at Babylon comprised them all up to the chambers of fate, where the sun received every morning the tablets of destiny. The name often indicated the nature of the patron deity or one of his attributes. The temple of Shamash at Larsham, for instance, was called El-Barbara, the house of the sun, and that of Nibo at Borsipa, El-Zita, the eternal house. No matter where the sanctuary of a specific god might be placed, it always bore the same name. Shamash, for example, dwelt at Sipara as at Larsham in El-Barbara. In Kaldia, as in Egypt, the king or chief of the state was the priest Par Excellans, and the title of vice-gerent, so frequent in the early period, shows that the chief was regarded as representing the divinity among his own people. But a priestly body, partly hereditary, partly selected, fulfilled for him his daily sacerdotal functions, and secured the regularity of the services. A chief priest, Ish Shaku, was at their head, and his principal duty was the pouring out of the libation. Each temple had its Ish Shaku, but he who presided over the worship of the feudal deity took precedence of all others in the city, as in the case of the chief priest of Bel Merodok at Babylon, of Sin at Uru, and of Shamash at Larsham or Sipara. He presided over various categories of priests and priestesses whose titles and positions in the hierarchy are not well known. The Sangutu appeared to have occupied after him the most important place, as Chamberlains attached to the house of the god, and as his leechmen. To some of these was entrusted the management of the harem of the god, while others were overseers of the remaining departments of his palace. The Kippu and the Shatamu were especially charged with the management of his financial interests, while the Pashishu, anointed with holy and perfumed oil his statues of stone, metal, or wood. The votive stela set up in the chapels and the objects used in worship and sacrifice, such as the great basins, the seas of copper which contained in the water employed in the ritual ablutions, and the victims led to the altar. After these came a host of officials, butchers and their assistants, soothsayers, augers, prophets. In fact, all the attendants that the complicated rites, as numerous in Kaldiyah as in Egypt, required, not to speak of the bands of women and men who honored the god in meretricious rites. Occupation for this motley crowd was never lacking. Every day and almost every hour a fresh ceremony required the services of one or other member of the staff. On the monarch himself, or his deputy in the temple, down to the lowest sacristan. The twelfth of the month blue was set apart at Babylon for the worship of Bel and Beltas. The sovereign made a donation to them according as he was disposed, and then celebrated before them the customary sacrifices, and if he raised his hand to plead for any favour, he obtained it without fail. The thirteenth was dedicated to the moon, the supreme god, the fourteenth to Beltas and Nurgle, the fifteenth to Shamash. The sixteenth was a fast in honour of Merodak and Zurbaneet. The seventeenth was the annual festival of Nebo and Tashmeet. The eighteenth was devoted to the laudation of sin and Shamash, while the nineteenth was a white day for the great goddess Gula. The whole year was taken up in a way similar to this casual specimen from the calendar. The kings, in founding a temple, not only bestowed upon it the objects and furniture required for present exigencies, such as lambs and oxen, birds, fish, bread, liquors, incense, and odiferous essences, they assigned to it an annual income from the treasury, slaves and cultivated lands, and their royal successors were accustomed to renew these gifts or increase them on every opportunity. Every victorious campaign brought him his share in the spoils and captives. Every fortunate or unfortunate event which occurred in connection with the state or royal family meant an increase in the gifts to the gods, as an act of thanksgiving on the one hand for the divine favour, or as an offering on the other to appease the wrath of the god. Gold, silver, copper, lapis lazuli, gems and precious woods, accumulated in the sacred treasury, fields were added to fields, flocks to flocks, slaves to slaves, and the result of such increase would in a few generations have made the possessions of the god equal to those of the reigning sovereign if the attacks of neighbouring peoples had not, from time to time, issued in the loss of a part of it, or if the king himself had not, under financial pressure, replenished his treasury at the expense of the priests. To prevent such usurpations as far as possible, maledictions were hurled at every one who should dare to lay a sacrilegious hand on the least object belonging to the divine domain. It was predicted of such that he would be killed like an ox in the midst of his prosperity, and slaughtered like a wild urus in the fullness of his strength. May his name be effaced from his stelae in the temple of the god. May his god see pitilessly the disaster of his country. May the god ravage his land with the waters of heaven. Ravage it with the waters of the earth. May he be pursued as a nameless wretch, and his seed fall under servitude. May this man, like every one who acts adversely to his master, find nowhere a refuge, a far off, under the vault of the skies or in any abode of man whatsoever. These threats, terrible as they were, did not succeed in deterring the daring, and the mighty men of the time were willing to brave them when their interests promoted them. Gulkishar, lord of the land of the sea, had vowed a wheat-field to Nina, his lady, near the town of Derry, on the Tigris. Seven hundred years later, in the reign of Bel Nadinibal, Akerakai's governor of Betsin Majur took possession of it, and added it to the provincial possessions, contrary to all equity. The priest of the goddess appealed to the king, and prostrating himself before the throne with many prayers and mystic formulas begged for the restitution of the alienated land. Bel Nadinibal acceded to the request, and renewed the implications which had been inserted in the original deed of gift. If ever in the course of days, the man of law, or the governor of a suzerain who will superintend the town of Betsin Majur, fears the vengeance of the god Zukim or the goddess Nina, may then Zukim and Nina, the mistress of the goddesses, come to him with the benediction of the prince of the gods, may they grant to him the destiny of a happy life, and may they accord to him days of old age and years of uprightness. But as for thee who hast to mind to change this, step not across its limits. Do not covet the land, hate evil and love justice. If all sovereigns were not so accommodating in their benevolence as Bel Nadinibal, the piety of private individuals, stimulated by fear, would be enough to repair the loss, and frequent legacies would soon make up for the detriment caused to the temple possessions by the enemy's sword or the rapacity of an unscrupulous lord. The residue, after the vicissitudes of revolutions, was increased and diminished from time to time, to form at length in the city an indestructible fife whose administration was a function of the chief priest for life, and whose revenue furnished means and abundance for the personal exigencies of the gods as well as the support of his ministers. There was nothing more than justice would prescribe. A loyal and universal faith would not only acknowledge the whole world to be the creation of the gods, but also their unalienable domain. It belonged to them at the beginning, every one in the state of which the god was the sovereign lord. All those, whether nobles or serfs, vice-gerents or kings, who claimed to have any possession in it, were but ephemeral lease-holders of portions of which they fancied themselves the owners. Donations to the temples were, therefore, nothing more than voluntary restitutions, which the gods consented to accept graciously, deigning to be well pleased with the givers, when, after all, they might have considered the gifts as merely displays of strict honesty, which merited neither recognition nor thanks. They allowed, however, the best part of their patrimony to remain in the hands of strangers, and they contented themselves with what the pretended generosity of the faithful might see fit to assign to them. Of their lands some were directly cultivated by the priests themselves, others were leased to people of every rank, who took off the shoulders of the priesthood all the burden of managing them, while rendering at the same time the profit that accrued from them. Others were let at a fixed rent according to contract. The tribute of dates, corn, and fruit, which was rendered to the temples to celebrate certain commemorative ceremonies in the honor of this or that deity, were fixed charges upon certain lands, which at length usually fell entirely into the hands of the priesthood as mortemain possessions. These were the sources of the fixed revenues of the gods, by means of which they and their people were able to live, if not luxuriously, at least in a manner befitting their dignity. The offerings and sacrifices were a kind of windfall, of which the quantity varied strangely with the seasons. At certain times few were received, while at other times there was a superabundance. The greatest portion of them was consumed on the spot by the officials of the sanctuary. The part which could be preserved without injury was added to the produce of the domain, and constituted a kind of reserve for a rainy day, or was used to produce more of its kind. The priests made great profit out of corn and metals, and the skill with which they conducted commercial operations in silver was so notorious that no private person hesitated to entrust them with the management of his capital. They were the intermediaries between lenders and borrowers, and the commissions which they obtained in these transactions was not the smallest or the least certain of their profits. They maintained troops of slaves, laborers, gardeners, workmen, and even women singers and sacred courtesans of which mention has been made above, all of whom either worked directly for them in their several trades, or were let out to those who needed their services. The god was not only the greatest cultivator in the state after the king, sometimes even excelling him in this respect, but he was also the most active manufacturer, and many of the utensils in daily use, as well as articles of luxury, proceeded from his workshops. His possessions secured for him a paramount authority in the city, and also an influence in the councils of the king. The priests who represented him on earth thus became mixed up in state affairs, and exercised authority on his behalf in the same measure as the officers of the crown. He had indeed as much need of riches and renown as the least of his clients. As he was subject to all human failings, and experienced all the appetites of mankind, he had to be nourished, clothed, and amused, and this could be done only at great expense.  The images of the gods were clothed investments. They were anointed with odiferous oils, covered with jewels, served with food and drink, and during these operations the divinities themselves, above in the heaven, or down in the abyss, or in the bosom of the earth, were arrayed in garments, their bodies were perfumed with ungents, and their appetites fully satisfied. All that was further required for this purpose was the offering of sacrifices together with prayers and prescribed rites. The priests began by solemnly inviting the gods to the feast. As soon as they sniffed from afar the smell of the good cheer that awaited them, they ran like a swarm of flies and prepared themselves to partake of it. CHAPTER II. THE TEMPOLS AND THE GODS OF KALDIA, PART XI. The supplications having been heard, water was brought to the gods for the necessary ablutions before a repass. Wash thy hands, cleanse thy hands, may the gods thy brothers wash their hands. From a clean dish eat a pure repast. From a clean cup drink pure water. The statue, from the rigidity of the material out of which it was carved, was at a loss how to profit by the exquisite things which had been lavished upon it. The difficulty was removed by the opening of its mouth at the moment of consecration, thus enabling it to take part of the good fare to its satisfaction. The banquet lasted a long time, and consisted of every delicacy which the culinary skill of the time could prepare. The courses consisted of dates, wheat and flour, honey, butter, various kinds of wines, and fruits, together with roast and boiled meats. In the most ancient times it would appear that even human sacrifices were offered, but this custom was obsolete except on rare occasions, and lambs, oxen, sometimes swine's flesh formed the usual elements of the sacrifice. The gods seized as it arose from the altar the anxious smoke, and fed on it with a delight. When they had finished their repast, the supplication of a favour was adroitly added, to which they gave a favourable hearing. Services were frequent in the temples, there was one in the morning and another in the evening on ordinary days, in addition to those which private individuals might require at any hour of the day. The festivals assigned to the local God and his colleagues, together with the acts of praise in which the whole nation joined, such as that of the New Year, required an abundance of extravagant sacrifices, in which the blood of the victims flowed like water. Days of sorrow and mourning alternated with these days of joy, during which the people and the magnets gave themselves up to severe fasting and acts of penitence. The Chaldeans had a lively sense of human frailty and of the risks entailed upon the sinner by disobedience to the gods. The dread of sinning haunted them during their whole life. They continually subjected the motives of their actions to a strict scrutiny, and once self-examination had revealed to them the shadow of an evil intent, they were accustomed to implore pardon for it in a humble manner. Lord, my sins are many. Great are my misdeeds. Oh, my God, my sins are many. Great my misdeeds. Oh, my Goddess, my sins are many. Great my misdeeds. I have committed faults and I knew them not. I have committed sin and I knew it not. I have fed upon misdeeds and I knew them not. I have walked in omissions and I knew them not. The Lord, in the anger of his heart, he has stricken me. The God, in the wrath of his heart, has abandoned me. Ishtar is enraged against me and has treated me harshly. I make an effort and no one offers me a hand. I weep and no one comes to me. I cry aloud and no one hears me. I sink under affliction. I am overwhelmed. I can no longer raise up my head. I turn to my merciful God to call upon him and I groan. Lord, reject not thy servant, and if he is hurled into the roaring waters, stretch to him thy hand. The sins I have committed have mercy upon them. The misdeeds I have committed scattered them to the winds, and my numerous faults tear them to pieces like a garment. Sin in the eyes of the Chaldean was not, as with us, an infirmity of the soul. It assaulted the body like an actual virus, and the fear of physical suffering or death engendered by it inspired these complaints with a note of sincerity which cannot be mistaken. Every individual is placed from the moment of his birth under the protection of a God and Goddess, of whom he is the servant, or rather the son, and whom he never addresses otherwise than as his God and his Goddess. These deities accompany him night and day, not so much to protect him from visible dangers as to guard him from the invisible beings which ceaselessly hover round him, and attack him on every side. If he is devout, piously disposed towards his divine patrons and the deities of his country, if he observes the prescribed rites, recites the prayers, performs the sacrifices, in a word, if he acts rightly, their aid is never lacking. They bestow upon him a numerous posterity, a happy old age, prolonged to the term fixed by fate, when he must resign himself to close his eyes forever to the light of day. If on the contrary he is wicked, violent, one whose word cannot be trusted, his God cuts him down like a reed, extirpates his grace, shortens his days, delivers him over to demons who possess themselves of his body and afflict it with sicknesses before finally dispatching him. Penitence is of avail against the evil of sin, and serves to re-establish a right course of life, but its efficacy is not permanent, and the moment at last arrives in which death, getting the upper hand, carries its victim away. The Chaldeans had not such clear ideas as to what awaited them in the other world as the Egyptians possessed, whilst the tomb, the mummy, the perpetuity of the funeral revenues, and the safety of the double, were the engrossing subjects in Egypt, the Chaldean texts are almost entirely silent as to the condition of the soul, and the living seem to have had no further concern about the dead than to get rid of them as quickly and as completely as possible. They did not believe that everything was over at the last breath, but they did not on that account think that the fate of that which survived was indissolubly associated with the perishable part, and that the disembodied soul was either annihilated or survived, according as the flesh in which it was sustained was annihilated or survived in the tomb. The soul was doubtless, not utterly unconcerned about the fate of the larvae it had quitted. Its pains were intensified on being despoiled of its earthly case if the latter were mutilated or left without supple-cure, a prey to the fowls of the air. This feeling, however, was not sufficiently developed to create a desire for escape from corruption entirely, and to cause a resort to the mummifying process of the Egyptians. The Chaldeans did not subject the body, therefore, to those injections, to those prolonged baths in preserving fluids, to that laborious swaddling which rendered it indestructible. Whilst the family wept and lamented, bold women who exercised the sad function of mourners washed the dead body, perfumed it, clad it in its best apparel, painted its cheeks, blackened its eyelids, placed a collar on its neck, rings on its fingers, arranged its arms upon its breast, and stretched it on a bed, setting up at its head a little altar for the customary offerings of water, incense, and cakes. Evil spirits prowled incessantly around the dead bodies of the Chaldeans, either to feed upon them or to use them in their sorcery.  The Chaldeans were therefore accustomed to invite by prayers beneficent genie and gods to watch over the dead. Two of these would take their invisible places at the head and foot of the bed, and wave their hands in the act of blessing. These were the vassals of Ea, and like their master were usually clad in fish-skins. Others placed themselves in the sepulchre chamber, and stood ready to strike any one who dared to enter. These had human figures, or lion's heads joined to the bodies of men. Others, moreover, hovered over the house in order to drive off the specters, who might endeavor to enter through the roof. During the last hours in which the dead body remained among its kindred, it reposed under the protection of a legion of gods. We must not expect to find on the plains of the Euphrates the rock-cut tombs, the mastabas or pyramids of Egypt. No mountain chain ran on either side of the river, formed of rock soft enough to be cut and hollowed easily into chambers or sepulchre halls, and at the same time sufficiently hard to prevent the tunnels, once cut from falling in. The alluvial soil upon which the Chaldean cities were built, far from preserving the dead body, rapidly decomposed it under the influence of heat and moisture. Vaults constructed in it would soon be invaded by water in spite of masonry. Paintings and sculpture would soon be eaten away by a neater, and the funerial furniture and the coffin quickly destroyed. The dwelling-house of the Chaldean dead could not, therefore, properly be called, as those of Egypt, an eternal house. It was constructed of dried or burnt brick, and it's formed varied much from the most ancient times. Sometimes it was a great vaulted chamber, the courses forming the roof being arranged corbel-wise, and contained the remains of one or two bodies walled up within it. At other times it consisted merely of an earthen jar in which the corpse had been inserted in a bent-up posture, or was composed of two enormous cylindrical jars which, when united and cemented with bitumen, formed a kind of a barrel around the body. Other tombs are represented by wretched structures, sometimes oval and sometimes round in shape, placed upon a brick base and covered by a flat or domed roof. The interior was not of large dimensions, and to enter it was necessary to stoop to a creeping posture. The occupant of the smallest chambers was content to have with him his linen, his ornaments, some bronze arrow-heads, and metal or clay vessels. Others contained furniture which, though not as complete as that found in Egyptian sepulchres, must have ministered to all the needs of the spirit. The body was stretched, fully clothed, upon a mat impregnated with bitumen, the head supported by a cushion or flat brick, the arms laid across the breast, and the shroud adjusted by bands to the loins and legs. Sometimes the corpse was placed on a slept side, with the legs slightly bent, and the right hand extending over the left shoulder was inserted into a vase as if to convey the contents to the mouth. Clay jars and dishes arranged around the body contained the food and drink required for the dead man's daily fare, his favorite wine, dates, fish, fowl, game, and occasionally also a boar's head, and even stone representations of provisions, which, like those of Egypt, were lasting substitutes for the reality. The dead man required weapons also to enable him to protect his food store, and his lance, javelins, and baton of office were placed alongside him, together with the cylinder bearing his name, which he had employed as his seal in his lifetime. Beside the body of a woman or young girl was arranged an abundance of spare ornaments, flowers, scent bottles, combs, cosmetic pencils, and cakes of the black paste with which they were accustomed to paint the eye brows and the edges of the eyelids. The funeral pile was constructed at some distance from the town, on a specially reserved area in the middle of the marshes. The body, wrapped up in coarse matting, was placed upon a heap of reeds and rushes saturated with bitumen. A brick wall, coated with moist clay, was built around this to circumscribe the action of the flames, and the customary prayers having been recited, the pile was set on fire. Masses of fresh material, together with the funerary furniture and the usual viacticum, being added to the pyre. When the work of cremation was considered to be complete, the fire was extinguished, and an examination made of the residue. It frequently happened that only the most accessible and most easily destroyed parts of the body had been attacked by the flames, and that there remained a black and disfigured mass which the fire had not consumed. The previously prepared coating of mud was then made to furnish a clay covering for the body, so as to conceal the sickening spectacle from the view of the relatives and spectators. Sometimes, however, the furnace accomplished its work satisfactorily, and there was nothing to be seen at the end but greasy ashes and scraps of calcined bones. The remains were frequently left where they were, and the funeral pile became their tomb. They were, however, often collected and disposed of in a manner which varied with their more or less complete combustion. Bodies insufficiently burnt were interred in graves or in public chapels, while the ashes of those fully cremated, together with the scraps of bones and the debris of the offerings, were placed in long urns. The heat had contorted the weapons and half melted the vessels of copper, and the deceased was thus obliged to be content with the fragments only of the things provided for him. These were, however, sufficient for the purpose, and his possessions, once put to the test of flames, now accompanied him whither he went. Water alone was lacking, but provision was made for this by the construction on the spot of cisterns to collect it. For this purpose several cylinders of pottery, some twenty inches broad, were inserted in the ground one above the other, from a depth of ten to twelve feet, and the last cylinder, reaching to the level of the ground, was provided with a narrow neck, through which the rainwater or infiltrations from the river flowed into this novel cistern. Many examples of these are found in one in the same chamber, thus giving the soul opportunity to find water in one or other of them. The tombs at Uruk, arranged closely together with coterminous walls, and gradually covered by the sand or by the accumulation and debris of new tombs, came at length to form an actual mound. In cities where space was less valuable, and where they were free to extend, the tombs quickly disappeared without leaving any vestiges above the surface, and it would now be necessary to turn up a great deal of rubbish before discovering their remains. The caldea of today presents the singular aspect of a country almost without cemeteries, and one would be inclined to think that its ancient inhabitants had taken pains to hide them. The sepulcher of royal personages alone furnishes us with monuments of which we can determine the site. At Babylon these were found in the ancient palaces in which the living were no longer inclined to dwell. That of Sargina, for instance, furnished a burying place for kings more than two thousand years after the death of its founder. The chronicles devoutly indicate the spot where each monarch, when his earthly reign was over, found a last resting place, and where, as the subject of a ceremonial worship similar to that of Egypt, his memory was preserved from the oblivion which had overtaken most of his illustrious subjects. The dead man, or rather that part of him which survived, his ikkumu, dwelt in the tomb, and it was for his comfort that there were provided, at the time of sepulcher or cremation, the provisions and clothing, the ornaments and weapons, of which he was considered to stand in need. Furnished with these necessities by his children and heirs, he preserved for the donors the same affection which he had felt for them in his lifetime, and gave evidence of it in every way he could, watching over their welfare and protecting them from the line influences. If they abandoned or forgot him, he avenged himself for their neglect by returning to torment them in their homes, by letting sickness attack them, and by ruining them with his implications. He became thus no less hurtful than the luminous ghost of the Egyptians, and if he were accidentally deprived of sepulcher he would not merely be a plague to his relations but a danger to the entire city. The dead who were unable to earn an honest living showed little pity to those who were in the same position as themselves. When a newcomer arrived among them without prayers, libations or offerings, they declined to receive him, and would not give him so much as a piece of bread out of their meager store. The spirit of the unburied dead man, having neither place of repose nor means of subsistence, wandered through the town and country, occupied with no other thought than that of attacking and robbing the living. He it was, who gliding into the house during the night, revealed himself to its inhabitants with such a frightful visage as to drive them distracted with terror.  He who has been thus attacked, whether man or beast, would undoubtedly perish if magic were not able to furnish its all-powerful defense against this deadly embrace. This human survival, who is so forcibly represented in both his good and evil aspects, was nevertheless nothing more than a sort of vague and fluid existence, a double, in fact, analogous in appearance to that of the Egyptians. With the faculty of roaming at will through space and of going from and returning to his abode, it was impossible to regard him as condemned always to dwell in the case of Terracotta in which his body lay mouldering. He was transferred, therefore, or rather he transferred himself into the dark land, the Oralu, situated very far away, according to some, beneath the surface of the earth, according to others, in the eastern or northern extremities of the universe. A river which opens into this region and separates it from the sunlit earth finds its source in the primordial waters into whose bosom this world of ours is plunged. This dark country is surrounded by seven high walls, and is approached through seven gates, each of which is guarded by a pitiless water. Two deities rule within it, Nurgle, the lord of the great city, and Beltus Allat, the lady of the great land, wither everything which has breathed in this world descends after death. A legend relates that Allat, called in Sumerian Arish Kigal, reigned alone in Hades, and was invited by the gods to a feast which they had prepared in heaven. Owing to her hatred of the light, she sent a refusal by her messenger Nartar, who acquitted himself on this mission with such a bad grace that Anne and Ia were incensed against his mistress, and commissioned Nurgle to descend and chastise her.  The nature of Nurgle fitted him well to play the part of a prince of the departed, for he was the destroying son of Sumer, and the genius of pestilence and battle. His functions, however, in heaven and earth took up so much of his time that he had little leisure to visit his nether kingdom, and he was consequently obliged to content himself with the role of providing subjects for it by dispatching thither the thousands of recruits which he gathered daily from the abodes of men, or from the field of battle. Allat was the actual sovereign of the country. She was represented with the body of a woman, ill-formed and shaggy, the grinning muzzle of a lion, and the claws of a bird of prey.  Her children were two lions, which she has represented as suckling, and she passed through her empire, not seated in the saddle, but standing upright or kneeling on the back of a horse, which seems oppressed by her weight. Sometimes she set out on an expedition upon the river which communicated with the countries of light, in order to meet the procession of newly arrived souls ceaselessly dispatched to her. She embarked in this case upon an enchanted vessel, which made its way without sail or oars, its prow projecting like the beak of a bird, and its sterned terminating in the head of an ox. She overcomes all resistance, and nothing can escape her. The gods themselves can pass into her empire only on the condition of submitting to death like mortals, and of humbly avowing themselves her slaves. END OF PART TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER II The Warders of the Gates despoiled the newcomers of everything which they had brought with them, and conducted them in a naked condition before Allat, who pronounced sentence upon them, and assigned to each his place in the netherworld. The good or evil committed on earth by such souls was of little moment in determining the sentence. To secure the favour of the judge it was of far greater importance to have exhibited devotion to the gods and to Allat herself, to have lavished sacrifices and offerings upon them, and to have enriched their temples. The souls which could not justify themselves were subjected to horrible punishment, leprosy consumed them to the end of time, and the most painful maladies attacked them, to torture them ceaselessly without any hope of release.  They were continually suffering from the pangs of thirst and hunger, and found nothing to satisfy their appetites but dust and clay. They shivered with cold, and they obtained no other garment to protect them than mantles of feathers, the great silent wings of the nightbirds, invested with which they fluttered about and filled the air with their screens. This gloomy and cruel conception of ordinary life in this strange kingdom was still worse than the idea formed of the existence in the tomb to which it succeeded. In the cemetery the soul was, at least, alone with the dead body. In the house of Allat, on the contrary, it was lost, as it were, among spirits as much afflicted as itself, and among the genie born of darkness. None of these genie had a simple form or approached the human figure in shape. Each individual was a hideous melody of human and animal parts, in which the most repellent features were artistically combined. Lion's head stood out from the bodies of scorpion-tailed jackals, whose feet were armed with eagle's claws, and among such monsters the genie of pestilence, fever, and the southwest wind took the chief place. When once the dead had become naturalized among this terrible population, they could not escape from their condition, unless by the exceptional mandate of the gods above. They possessed no recollection of what they had done upon earth. Domestic affection, friendships, and the memory of good offices rendered to one another all were afaced from their minds. Nothing remained there but an inexpressible regret at having been exiled from the world of light, and an excruciating desire to reach it once more. The threshold of Allat's palace stood upon a spring which had the property of restoring to life all who bathed in it or drank of its waters. They gushed forth as soon as the stone was raised, but the earth spirits guarded it with a jealous care, and kept at a distance all who attempted to appropriate a drop of it. They permitted access to it only by order of Ia himself, or one of the supreme gods, and even then with a rebellious heart at seeing their prey escape them. Ancient legends related how the shepherd Dumuzi, son of Ia and Damkina, having excited the love of Ishtar while he was pasturing his flocks under the mysterious tree of Iridu, which covers the earth with its shade, was chosen by the goddess from among all others to be the spouse of her youth, and how, being mortally wounded by a wild boar, he was cast into the kingdom of Allat. One means remained by which he might be restored to the light of day. His wounds must be washed in the waters of this wonderful spring, and Ishtar resolved to go in quest of this marvelous liquid. The undertaking was fraught with danger, for no one might travel to the infernal regions without having previously gone through the extreme terrors of death, and even the gods themselves could not transgress this fatal law. To the land without return, to the land which thou knowest, Ishtar, the daughter of sin, turned her thoughts. She, the daughter of sin, turned her thoughts. To the house of darkness, the abode of Urkala. To the house from which he who enters can never emerge. To the path upon which he who goes shall never come back. To the house into which he who enters bids farewell to the light. The place where dust is nourishment and clay is food. The light is not seen. Darkness is the dwelling where the garments are the wings of birds, where dust accumulates on door and bolt. Ishtar arrives at the porch. She knocks at it. She addresses the guardian in an imperious voice. Guardian of the waters, open thy gate. Open thy gate that I may enter, even I. If thou openest not the door that I may enter, even I, I will burst open the door. I will break the bars. I will break the threshold. I will burst in the panels. I will excite the dead that they may eat the living, and the dead shall be more numerous than the living. The guardian opened his mouth and spake. He announced to the mighty Ishtar, Stop, O Lady, and do not overturn the door until I go and apprise the Queen Allat of thy name. Allat hesitates and then gives him permission to receive the goddess. Go, guardian, open the gate to her, but treat her according to the ancient laws. The palace enter naked into the world, and naked they must leave it, and since Ishtar has decided to accept their lot, she too must be prepared to divest herself of her garments. The guardian went. He opened his mouth. Enter, my lady, and may Kutha rejoice. May the palace and the land without return exult in thy presence. He causes her to pass through the first gate, divests her, removes the great crown from her head. Why, guardian, does thou remove the great crown from my head? Enter, my lady, such is the law of Allat. The second gate he causes her to pass through it. He divests her, removes the rings from her ears. Why, guardian, does thou remove the rings from my ears? Enter, my lady, such is the law of Allat. And from gate to gate he removes some ornament from the distressed lady. Now her necklace with its attached amulets. Now the tunic which covers her bosom. Now her enameled girdle, her bracelets, and the rings on her ankles. And at length, at the seventh gate, takes from her her last covering. Then she at length arrives in the presence of Allat. She throws herself upon her in order to rest from her in a terrible struggle the life of Dumuzi. But Allat sends for Namtar, her messenger of misfortune, to punish the rebellious Ishtar.  Strike her loins with the affliction of the loins. Strike her feet with the affliction of the feet. Strike her heart with the affliction of the heart.  Strike violently at her, whole body. While Ishtar was suffering the torments of the infernal regions, the world of the living was wearing mourning on account of her death. In the absence of the goddess of love, the rites of love could no longer be performed. The passions of animals and men were suspended. If she did not return quickly to the daylight, the races of men and animals would become extinct, the earth would become a desert, and the gods would have neither votaries nor offerings. Papsukul, the servant of the great gods, tore his face before Shamash, clothed in mourning, filled with sorrow. Shamash went. He wept in the presence of sin, his father, and his tears flowed in the presence of Ia, the king. Ishtar has gone down into the earth, and she has not come up again. And ever since Ishtar has descended into the land without return, the passions of men and beasts have been suspended. The master goes to sleep while giving his command. The servant goes to sleep on his duty. The resurrection of the goddess is the only remedy for such ills, but this is dependent upon the resurrection of Damuzi. Ishtar will never consent to reappear in the world if she cannot bring back her husband with her. Ia, the supreme god, the infallible executor of the divine will, he who alone can modify the laws imposed upon creation, at length decides to accord her what she desires. Ia, in the wisdom of his heart, formed a male being, formed Urushunamir, the servant of the gods. Go then, Urushunamir, turn thy face towards the gate of the land without return. The seven gates of the land without return. May they become open at thine presence. May Allat behold thee, and rejoice in thy presence. When her heart shall be calm and her wrath appeased, charm her in the name of the great gods, turn thy thoughts to the spring. May the spring, my lady, give me of its waters that I may drink of them. Allat broke out into a terrible rage, when she saw herself obliged to yield to her rival. She beat her sides, she nod her fingers. She broke out into curses against the messenger of misfortune. Thou has expressed to me a wish which should not be made. Fly, Urushunamir, or I will shut thee up in the great prison. The mud of the drains of the city shall be thy food. The gutters of the town shall be thy drink. The shadow of the walls shall be thy abode. The thresholds shall be thy habitation. Confinement and isolation shall weaken thy strength. She is obliged to obey, notwithstanding. She calls her messenger Namtar and commands him to make all the preparations for resuscitating the goddess. It was necessary to break the threshold of the palace in order to get at the spring, and its waters would have their full effect only in presence of the Anunas. Namtar went. He rent-opened the eternal place. He twisted the upright so that the stones of the threshold trembled. He made the Anunnaki come forth, and seated them on thrones of gold. He poured upon Ishtar the waters of life, and brought her away. She received again at each gate the articles of apparel she had abandoned in her passage across the seven circles of hell. As soon as she saw the daylight once more, it was revealed to her that the fate of her husband was hence-forward in her own hands.  Whilst her priestesses entoned their doful chants and tore their breasts in sorrow, his heart would then take fresh life and his youth flourish once more, from springtime to springtime as long as she should celebrate on his behalf the ceremonies already prescribed by the deities of the infernal world. Dhamuzi was a god, the lover moreover of a goddess, and the deities succeeded where mortals failed. Ia, Nebo, Gula, Ishtar, and their fellows possessed, no doubt, the faculty of recalling the dead to life, but they rarely made use of it on behalf of their creatures, and their most pious votaries pleaded in vain from temple to temple for the resurrection of their dead friends. They could never obtain the favor which had been granted by Ali Tidmuzi. When the dead god was once placed in the tomb, it rose up no more. It could no more be reinstated in the place in the household it had lost. It never could begin once more a new earthly existence. The necromancers, indeed, might snatch away death's prey for a few moments. The earth gaped at the words of their invocations. The soul burst forth like a puff of wind and answered gloomily the questions proposed to it. But when the charm was once broken, it had to retrace its steps to the country without return, to be plunged once more in darkness. The prospect of a dreary and joyless eternity was not so terrifying to the Chaldeans as it was to the Egyptians. The few years of their earthly existence were a far more concerned to them than the endless ages which were to begin their monotonous course on the morrow of their funeral. The sum of good and evil fortune assigned to them by destiny they preferred to spend continuously in the light of day on the fair plains of the Euphrates and Tigris. If they were to economize during this period with the view of laying up a posthumous treasure of felicity, their store would have no current value beyond the tomb, and would thus become so much waste. The gods, therefore, whom they served faithfully, would recoup them here in their native city, with present prosperity, with health, riches, power, glory, and enumerous offspring, for the offerings of their devotion. While if they irritated the deities by their shortcomings, they had nothing to expect but overwhelming calamities and sufferings. The gods would cut them down like a reed, and their names would be annihilated, their seed destroyed. They would end their days in affliction and hunger, their dead bodies would be at the mercy of chance and would receive no sepulcher. They were content to resign themselves, therefore, to the dreary lot of eternal misery which awaited them after death, provided they enjoyed in this world a long and prosperous existence. Some of them felt and rebelled against the injustice of the idea, which assigned one and the same fate, without discrimination, to the coward and the hero killed on the battlefield, to the tyrant and the mild ruler of his people, to the wicked and the righteous. These therefore supposed that the gods would make distinctions, that they would separate such heroes from the common herd, welcome them in a fertile, sunlit island, separated from the abode of men by the waters of death, the impassable river which leads to the house of Allat. The tree of life flourished there, the spring of life poured forth there its reviving waters. Thither Ea transferred Zisustroth after the deluge. Gilgamesh saw the shores of this island and returned from it, strong and healthy as in the days of his youth. The side of this region of delights was at first placed in the center of the marshes of the Euphrates, where this river flows into the sea. Afterwards, when the country became better known, it was transferred beyond the ocean. In proportion as the limits of the Caldean horizon were thrust further and further away by mercantile or warlike expeditions, this mysterious island was placed more and more to the east, afterwards to the north, and at length a distance so great that it tended to vanish altogether. As a final resource, the gods of heaven themselves became the hosts, and welcomed into their own kingdom the purified souls of the heroes. Chapter 2 The Temples and the Gods of Caldea, Part 14 These souls were not so securely isolated from humanity that the inhabitants of the world were not at times tempted to rejoin them before their last hour had come. Just as Gilgamesh had dared of old the dangers of the desert and the ocean in order to discover the island of Qasasadra, so Atana darted through the air in order to ascend to the sky of Anu, to become incorporated while still living in the choir of the Blessed. The legend gives an account of his friendship with the eagle of Shamash, and of the many favors he had obtained from and rendered to the bird. It happened at last that his wife could not bring forth the sun which laid her womb. The hero, addressing himself to the eagle, asked from her the plant which alleviates the birth pangs of women and facilitates their delivery. This was only to be found, however, in the heaven of Anu, and how could anyone run the risk of mounting so high, without being destroyed on the way by the anger of the gods? The eagle takes pity upon the sorrow of his comrade, and resolves to attempt the enterprise with him. Friend, she says, banish the cloud from thy face. Come, and I will carry thee to the heaven of the God Anu. Place thy breast against my breast. Place thy two hands upon the pinions of my wings. Place thy side against my side. He places his breast against the breast of the eagle. He places his two hands upon the pinions of the wings. He places his side against her side. He adjusts himself firmly, and his weight was great. The Caldean artists have more than once represented the departure of the hero. They exhibit him closely attached to the body of his ally, and holding her in a strong embrace. A first flight has already lifted them above the earth, and the shepherds scattered over the country are stupefied at the unaccustomed sight. One announces the prodigy to another, while their dogs, seated at their feet, extend their muzzles as if in the act of howling with terror. For the space of a double hour the eagle bore him. Then the eagle spake to him. To him, Etana. Behold, my friend, the earth what it is. Regard the sea which the ocean contains. See, the earth is no more than a mountain, and the sea is no more than a lake. The space of a second double hour she bore him. Then the eagle spake to him. To him, Etana. Behold, my friend, the earth what it is. The sea appears as the girdle of the earth. The space of a third double hour she bore him. Then the eagle spake to him. To him, Etana. See, my friend, the earth what it is. The sea is no more than the rivulet made by a gardener. They at length arrive at the heaven of Anu, and rest there for a moment. Etana sees around him nothing but empty space. No living thing within it, not even a bird. He is struck with terror, but the eagle reassures him, and tells him to proceed on his way to the heaven of Ishtar. Come, my friend, let me bear thee to Ishtar. And I will place thee near Ishtar the lady. And at the feet of Ishtar the lady thou shalt throw thyself. Place thy side against my side. Place thy hands on the pinions of my wings. The space of a double hour she bore them. Friend, behold the earth what it is. The face of the earth stretches out quite flat. The sea is no greater than a mirror. The space of a second double hour she bore him. Friend, behold the earth what it is. The earth is no more than a square plot in a garden, and the great sea not greater than a puddle of water. At the third hour Etana lost courage and cried, Stop! and the eagle immediately descended again. But Etana's strength being exhausted he let go his hold, and was dashed to pieces on the ground. The eagle escaped unhurt this time, but she soon suffered a more painful death than that of Etana. She was at war with the serpent, though the records which we as yet possessed do not vouchsafe the reason, when she discovered in the roots of a tree the nest in which her enemy concealed its brood. She immediately proposed to her young ones to pounce down upon the growing snakes. One of her eaglets, wiser than the rest, reminded her that they were under the protection of Shamas, the great rider of roms, and cautioned her against any transgression of the divine laws. The old eagle felt herself wiser than her son, and rebuked him after the manner of wise mothers. She carried away the serpent's young, and gave them as food to her own brood. The hissing serpent crawled as far as Shamas, crying for vengeance. The evil she has done me, Shamas, behold it! Come to my help, Shamas. Thy net is as wide as the earth. Thy snares reach to the distant mountain. Who can escape thy net? The criminal Zhu, Zhu who was the first to act wickedly. Did he escape it? Shamas refused to interfere personally, but he pointed out to the serpent an artifice by which he might satisfy his vengeance as securely as if Shamas himself had accomplished it. Set out upon the way, ascend the mountain, and conceal thyself in a dead bull. Make an incision in his inside. Tear open his belly. Take up thy abode. Establish thyself in his belly. All the birds of the air were pounce upon it, and the eagle herself will come with them, ignorant that thou art within it. She will wish to possess herself of the flesh. She will come swiftly. She will think of nothing but the end-trails within.  The serpent did as Shamas advised, and the birds of the air began to flock round the carcass in which she was hidden. The eagle came with the rest, and at first kept aloof, looking for what should happen. When she saw that the birds flew away unharmed, all fear left her. In vain did the wise eagle it warn her of the danger that was lurking within the prey. She mocked at him and his predictions, dug her beak into the carrion, and the serpent leaped out, seizing her by the wing. The eagle her mouth opened and spake unto the snake. Have mercy upon me, and according to thy pleasure a gift I will lavish upon thee. The snake opened her mouth and spake unto the eagle. Did I release thee, Shamas would take part against me. The doom would fall upon me, which I now fulfill upon thee. She tore out her wings, her feathers, her pinions. She tore her to pieces. She threw her into a cleft, and there she died a death of hunger and of thirst. The gods allowed no living being to penetrate with impunity into their empire. He who was desirous of ascending thither, however brave he might be, could do so only by death. The mass of humanity had no pretensions to mount so high. Their religion gave them the choice between a perpetual abode in the tomb, or confinement in the prison of Allah. If at times they strove to escape from these alternatives, and to picture otherwise their condition in the world beyond, their ideas as to the other life continue to remain vague, and never approach the minute precision of the Egyptian conception. The cares of the present life were too absorbing to allow them leisure to speculate upon the conditions of a future existence. CHAPTER III. CALDIAN CIVILIZATION PART I. The Caldian kings, unlike their contemporaries, the pharaohs, rarely put forward any pretensions to divinity. They contented themselves with occupying an intermediate position between their subjects and the gods, and for the purpose of mediation they believed themselves to be endowed with powers not possessed by ordinary mortals. They sometimes designated themselves the sons of Ia, or of Ninsun, or some other deity, but this involved no belief in a divine parentage, and was merely pious hyperbole. They entertained no illusions with regard to any descent from a god, or even from one of his doubles. But they desired to be recognized as his vice-gerents here below, as his prophets, his well-beloved, his pastors, elected by him to rule his human flocks, or as priests devotedly attached to his service. While, however, the ordinary priest chose for himself a single master to whom he devoted himself, the priest king exercised universal sacerdotal functions, and claimed to be pontiff of all the national religions. His choice naturally was directed by preference to the patrons of his city, those who had raised his ancestors from the dust, and had exalted him to the supreme rank. But there were other divinities who claimed their share of his homage, and expected of him a devotion suited to their importance. If he had attempted to carry out these duties personally in detail, he would have had to spend his whole life at the foot of the altar, even when he had delegated as many of them as he could to the regular clergy, there still remained sufficient to occupy a large part of his time. Every month, every day, brought its inevitable round of sacrifices, prayers, and processions. On the first of the second illo, the king of Babylon had to present a gazelle without blemish to sin. He then made an offering of his own choosing to shamash, and cut the throats of his victims before the god. These ceremonies were repeated on the second without any alteration, but from the third to the twelfth they took place during the night, before the statues of Merodak and Ishtar, in turn with those of Nebo and Tashmeet, of Malil and Ninlil, of Ayaman and of Zirbanit, sometimes at the rising of a particular constellation, as for instance that of the Great Bear, or that of the sons of Ishtar, sometimes at the moment when the moon raised above the earth her luminous crown. On such a date a penitential psalm or a litany was to be recited. At another time it was forbidden to eat of meat, either cooked or smoked, to change the body linen, to wear white garments, to drink medicine, to sacrifice, to put forth and eat it, or to drive out in a chariot. Not only at Babylon, but everywhere else, obedience to the religious rites weighed heavily on the local princes, at Urru, at Lagash, at Nipper, and in the ruling cities of Upper and Lower Caldea. The king, as soon as he succeeded to the throne, repaired to the temple to receive his solemn investiture, which differed in form according to the gods he worshiped. At Babylon he addressed himself to the statue of Bel Merodak in the first days of the month Nisan, which followed his accession, and he took him by the hands to do homage to him. From thence forth he officiated for Merodak here below, and the scrupulously minute devotions, which daily occupied hours of his time, were so many acts of allegiance which his fealty as a vassal constrained him to perform to his suzerain. They were in fact analogous to the daily audiences demanded of a great lord by his steward for the purpose of rendering his accounts and of informing him of current business. Any interruption not justified by a matter of supreme importance would be liable to be interpreted as a want of respect, or as revealing an inclination to rebel. By neglecting the slightest ceremonial detail the king would arouse the suspicions of the gods and excite their anger against himself and his subjects. The people had, therefore, a direct interest in his careful fulfillment of the priestly functions, and his piety was not the least of his virtues in their eyes. All other virtues—bravery, equity, justice—depended on it, and were only valuable from the divine aid which piety obtained for them. The gods and heroes of the earliest ages had taken upon themselves the tasks of protecting the faithful from all their enemies, whether men or beasts. If a lion decimated their flocks, or a urus of gigantic size devastated their crops, it was the king's duty to follow the example of his fabulous predecessors and to set out and overcome them. The enterprise demanded all the more courage and supernatural help, since these beasts were believed to be no mere ordinary animals, but were looked on as instruments of divine wrath, the cause of which was often unknown, and whoever assailed these monsters provoked not only them but the god who instigated them. Piety and confidence in the patron of the city alone sustained the king when he set forth to drive the animal back to its lair. He engaged in close combat with it, and no sooner had he pierced it with his arrows or his lands, or felled it with an axe and dagger, than he hastened to pour libation upon it, and to dedicate it as a trophy in one of the temples. His exalted position entailed on him no less perils in time of war. If he did not personally direct the first attacking column, he placed himself at the head of the band composed of the follower of the army, whose charge and an opportune moment was want to secure the victory. What would have been the use of his valor if the dread of the gods had not preceded his march, and if the light of their countenances had not struck terror into the ranks of the enemy? As soon as he had triumphed by their command he sought before all else to reward them amply for the assistance they had given him. He poured a tithe of the spoil into the coffers of their treasury. He made over a part of the conquered country to their domain. He granted them a tale of the prisoners to cultivate their lands or to work at their buildings. Even the idols of the vanquished shared the fate of their people. The king tore them from the sanctuaries which had hitherto sheltered them, and took them as prisoners in his train to form a court of captive gods about his patron divinity. Shamash, the great Judge of Heaven, inspired him with justice, and the prosperity which his good administration obtained for the people was less the work of the sovereign than that of the immortals. We know too little of the inner family life of the kings to attempt to say how they were able to combine the strict sacerdotal obligations incumbent on them with the routine of daily life. We merely observe that on great days of festival or sacrifice, when they themselves officiated, they laid aside all the insignia of royalty during the ceremony and were clad as ordinary priests. We see them on such occasions represented with short cut hair and naked breast, the loincloth about their waist, advancing foremost in the rank, carrying the heavily laden kufa, or reed basket, as if they were ordinary slaves, and as a fact they had for the moment put aside their sovereignty, and were merely temple servants, or slaves appearing before their divine master to do his bidding, and disguising themselves for the knots in the garb of servitors. The wives of the sovereign do not seem to have been invested with the semi-sacred character which led the Egyptian women to be associated with the devotions of men, and made them indispensable auxiliaries in all religious ceremonies. They did not, moreover, occupy that important position side by side with the man which the Egyptian law assigned to the queens of the pharaohs. Whereas the monuments on the banks of the Nile were veiled to us princesses sharing the throne of their husbands, whom they embraced with the gesture of frank affection, in Caldea the wives of the prince, his mother, sisters, daughters, and even his slaves, remain invisible to posterity. The harem in which they were shut up by custom rarely opened its doors. The people seldom caught sight of them. Their relatives spoke of them as little as possible. Those in power avoided associating them in public acts of worship or government, and we could count on our fingers the number of those whom the inscriptions mentioned by name. Some of them were drawn from the noble families of the capital. Others came from the kingdoms of Caldea or from foreign courts. A certain number never rose above the condition of mere concubines. Many assumed the title of queen, while almost all served as living pledges of allegiance made with rival states, or had been given as hostages at the concluding of a peace on the termination of war. As the kings, who put forward no pretensions to divine origin, were not constrained after the fashion of the pharaohs to marry their sisters in order to keep up the purity of their race, it was rare to find one among their wives who possessed an equal right to the crown with themselves. Such a case could be found only in troubleous times, when an aspirant to the throne of base extraction legitimated his usurpation by marrying a sister or daughter of his predecessor. The original status of the mother almost always determined that of her children, and the sons of a princess were born princes, even if their father were of obscure or unknown origin. These princes exercised important functions at court, or they received possessions which they administered under the suzerainty of the head of the family. The daughters were given to foreign kings, or to sirens of the most distinguished families. The sovereign was under no obligation to hand down his crown to any particular member of his family. The eldest son usually succeeded him, but the king could, if he preferred, select his favorite child as his successor, even if he happened to be the youngest, or the only one born of a slave. As soon as the sovereign had made known his will, the custom of primogeniture was set aside, and his word became law. We can well imagine the secret intrigues formed by both mothers and sons to curry favor with the father and bias his choice. We can picture the jealousy with which they mutually watched each other, and the bitter hatred which any preference shown to one would arouse in the breasts of all the others. Often brothers, who had been disappointed in their expectations, would combine secretly against the chosen or supposed heir. A conspiracy would break out, and the people suddenly learned that their ruler of yesterday had died by the hand of an assassin, and that a new one filled his place. Sometimes discontent spread beyond the confines of the palace. The army became divided into two hostile camps. The citizens took the side of one or the other of the aspirants, and civil war raged for several years, till some decisive action brought it to a close. Meantime, tributary vassals took advantage of the consequent disorder to shake off the yoke. The Blomites and various neighboring cities joined in the dispute, and ranged themselves on the side of the party from which there was most to be gained. The victorious faction always had to pay dearly for this somewhat dubious help, and came out impoverished from the struggle. Such an internecine war often caused the downfall of a dynasty, at times indeed that of the entire state. CHAPTER III The palaces of the Chaldean kings, like those of the Egyptians, presented the appearance of an actual citadel. The walls had to be sufficiently thick to withstand an army for an indefinite period, and to protect the garrison from every emergency, like that of treason or famine. One of the statues found at Telo holds in its lap the plan of one of these residences. The external outline alone is given, but by means of it we can easily picture to ourselves a fortified place, with its towers, its forts, and its gateways placed between two bastions. It represents the ancient palace of Lagash, subsequently enlarged and altered by Ueda, or one of the vice-gerents who succeeded him, in which many a great lord of the place must have resided down to the time of the Christian era. The site on which it was built in the garrison quarter of the city was not entirely unoccupied at the time of its foundation. Urbao had raised a ziggurat on that very spot some centuries previously, and the walls which he had constructed were falling into ruin. Gudea did not destroy the work of his remote predecessor. He merely incorporated it into the substructure of the new building, thus showing an indifference similar to that evinced by the pharaohs for the monuments of a former dynasty. The palaces like the temples never rose directly from the soil, but were invariably built on the top of an artificial mound of crude brick. At Lagash this solid platform rises to the height of forty feet above the plain, and the only means of access to the top is by a single narrow steep staircase, easily cut off or defended. The palace which surmounts this artificial eminence describes a sort of irregular rectangle, one hundred and seventy-four feet long by sixty-nine feet wide, and had, contrary to the custom in Egypt, the four angles oriented to the four cardinal points. The two principal sides are not parallel, but swell out slightly towards the middle, and the flexion of the lines almost follows the contour of one of those little clay cones upon which the kings were want to inscribe their annals or dedication. This flexure was probably not intentional on the part of the architect, but was owing to the difficulty of keeping a wall of such a considerable extent on a straight line from one end to another. And all Eastern nations, whether Caldean or Egyptian, troubled themselves but little about correctness of alignment, since defects of this kind were scarcely ever perceptible on the actual edifice, and are only clearly revealed in the plan drawn out to scale with modern precision. The façade of the building faces southeast, and is divided into three blocks of unequal size. The center of the middle block, for a length of eighteen feet, projects some three feet from the main front, and by directly facing the spectator, ingeniously mask the obtuse angle formed by the meeting of the two walls. This projection is flanked right and left by regular grooves, similar to those which ornament the façades of the fortresses and brick houses of the ancient empire in Egypt. The regular alternation of projections and hollows breaks the monotony of the facing by the play of light and shade. Beyond these, again, the wall surface is broken by semicircular pilasters some seventeen inches in diameter, without bases, capitals, or even a molding, but placed side by side like so many tree trunks or posts forming a palisade. Various schemes of decoration succeed each other in progressive sequence. Less ornate, and at greater distances apart, the further they recede from the central block and the nearer they approach the extremities of the façade. They stop short at the southern angle, and the two sides of the edifice running from south to west, and again from west to north, are flat, bare surfaces, unbroken by projection or groove to relieve the poverty and monotony of their appearance. The decoration reappears on the northeast front, where the arrangement of the principal façade is partly reproduced. The groove divisions here start from the angles, and the engaged columns are wanting, or rather they are transferred to the central projection, and from a distance have the effect of a row of gigantic organ pipes. We may well ask if this squat and heavy mass of building, which must have attracted the eye from all parts of the town, had nothing to relieve the dull and dismal color of its component bricks. The idea might not have occurred to us had we not found elsewhere and attempt to lessen the gloomy appearance of the architecture by colored plastering. At Uruk the walls of the palace are decorated by means of terracotta cones, fixed deep into the solid plaster and painted red, black, or yellow, forming interlaced or diaper patterns of chevrons, spirals, lozages, and triangles, with a very fair result. This mosaic of colored plaster covered all the surfaces, both flat and curved, giving to the building a cheerful aspect entirely wanting in that of lagash. A long, narrow trough of yellowish limestone stood in front of the palace and was raised on two steps. It was carved in relief on the outside with figures of women standing without stretched hands, passing to each other vases from which gushed forth two streams of water. This trough formed a reservoir, which was filled every morning for the use of the men and beasts, and those whom some business or a command brought to the palace could refresh themselves there while waiting to be received by the master. The gates which gave access to the interior were placed at somewhat irregular intervals. Two opened from the principal façade, but on each of the other sides there was only one entrance. They were arched and so low that admittance was not easily gained. They were closed with two-leaved doors of cedar or cypress, provided with bronze hinges, which turned upon two blackish stones firmly set in the masonry on either side, and usually inscribed with the name of the founder or that of the reigning sovereign. Two of the entrances possessed a sort of covered way, in which the soldiers of the external watch could take shelter from the heat of the sun by day, from the cold at night, and from the dews at dawn. On crossing the threshold a corridor, flanked with two small rooms for porters or waters, led into a courtyard surrounded with buildings of sufficient depth to take up nearly half of the area enclosed within the walls. This court was moreover a semi-public place to which tradesmen, merchants, suppliants, and functionaries of all ranks had easy access. A suite of three rooms shut off in the northeast angle did duty for a magazine or arsenal. The southern portion of the building was occupied by the State Apartments, the largest of which measures only forty feet in length. In these rooms Gudia and his successors gave audience to their nobles and administered justice. The administrative officers and the staff who had charge of them were probably located in the remaining part of the building. The roof was flat, and ran all round the enclosing wall, forming a terrace, access to it being gained by a staircase built between the principal entrance and the arsenal. At the northern angle rose a ziggurat. Custom demanded that the sovereign should possess a temple within his dwelling, where he could fulfill his religious duties without going into the town and mixing with the crowd. At Lagash the sacred tower was of an older date than the palace, and possibly formed a part of the ancient building of Urbal. It was originally composed of three stories, but the lower one was altered by Gudia, and disappeared entirely in the thickness of the basil platform. The second story thus became the bottom one. It was enlarged, slightly raised above the neighboring roofs, and was probably crowned by a sanctuary dedicated to Nin Girsu. It was indeed a monument of modest proportions, and most of the public temple soared far above it. But small as it was, the whole town might be seen from the summit, with its separate quarters and its belt of gardens, and beyond, the open country intersected with streams, studded with isolated villages, patches of wood, pools and weedy marshes left by the retiring inundation, and in the far distance the lines of trees and bushes which bordered the banks of the Euphrates and its confluence. Should a troop of enemies venture within range of sight, or should a suspicious tumult arise within the city, the watchers posted on the highest terrace would immediately give the alarm, and through their warning the king would have time to close his gates, and take measures to resist the invading enemy, or crush the revolt with subjects. The northern apartments of the palace were appropriated to Gudia and his family. They were placed with their back to the entrance court, and were divided into two groups. The sovereign, his male children, and their attendants inhabited the western one, while the women and their slaves were cloistered, so to speak, in the northern set. The royal dwelling had an external exit by means of a passage issuing on the northwest of the enclosure, and it also communicated with the great courtyard by a vaulted corridor which ran along one side of the base of the ziggurat. The door switch closed these two entrances opened wide enough to admit only one person at a time, and to the right and left were recesses in the wall which enabled the guards to examine all comers unobserved, and stab them promptly if there were anything suspicious in their behavior. Eight chambers were lighted from the courtyard. In one of them were kept all the provisions for the day, while another served as a kitchen. The head-cook carried on his work at a sort of rectangular dresser of moderate size, on which several fireplaces were marked out by little dividing walls of burnt bricks, to accommodate as many pots or pans of various sizes. A well sunk in the corner right down below the substructure provided the water needed for culinary purposes. The king and his belongings accommodated themselves in the remaining five or six rooms as best they could. A corridor, guarded as carefully as the one previously described, led to his private apartments and to those of his wives. These comprised a yard, some half-dozen cells varying in size, a kitchen, a well, and a door through which the servants could come and go, without passing through the men's quarters. The whole description in no way corresponds with the marvelous ideal of an oriental palace, which we form for ourselves. The apartments are mean and dismal, imperfectly lighted by the door or by some small aperture timidly cut in the ceiling, arranged so as to protect the inmates from the heat and dust, but without a thought given to luxury or display. The walls were entirely void of any cedar woodwork in laying with gold or panels of mosaics such as we find in the temples, nor were they hung with dyed or embroidered draperies such as we moderns love to imagine, and which we spread out in perfusion when we attempt to reproduce the interior of an ancient house or palace. END OF CHAPTER XXIX THE WALLS HAD TO REMAIN BEAR FOR THE SAKE OF COOLNESS.  The furniture was not less scanty than the decoration. There were mats on the ground, coffers in which were kept the linen and wearing apparel, low beds inlaid with ivory and metal and provided with coverings and a thin mattress, copper or wooden stands to support lamps or vases, square stools on four legs united by crossbars, armchairs with lion's claw feet resembling the Egyptian armchairs in Outline and making us ask if they were brought into Caldea by caravans or made from models which had come from some other country. A few rare objects of artistic character might be found which bore witness to a certain taste for elegance and refinement, as for instance a kind of circular trough of black stone probably used to support a vase. Three rows of imbricated scales surrounded the base of this, while seven small sitting figures leaned back against the upper part with an air of satisfaction which is most cleverly rendered. The decoration of the larger chambers used for public receptions and official ceremonies, while never assuming the monumental character which we observe in contemporary Egyptian buildings, afforded more scope for richness and variety than was offered by the living rooms. Small tablets of brownish limestone, let into the wall or affixed to its service by terracotta pegs, and decorated with inscriptions, represented in a more or less artless fashion the figure of the sovereign officiating before some divinity, while his children and servants took part in the ceremony by their chanting. Inscribed bricks celebrating the king's exploits were placed here and there in conspicuous places. These were not embedded like the others in two layers of bitumen or lime, but were placed in full view upon bronze statues of divinities or priests, fixed into the ground or into some part of the masonry as magical nails destined to preserve the bricks from destruction, and consequently to keep the memory of the dedicator continually before posterity. Stella engraved on both sides recalled the wars of past times, the battlefield, the scenes of horror which took place there, and the return of the victor in his triumph. Fighting or standing figures of diorite, Silicius' sandstone or hard limestone, bearing inscriptions on their rows or shoulders, perpetuated the features of the founder or members of his family, and commemorated the pious donations which had obtained for him the favour of the gods. The Palace of Lagash contained dozens of such statues, several of which have come down to us almost intact, one of the ancient Urbal and nine of Gudea. To judge by the space covered in the arrangement of the rooms, the vice-gerents of Lagash and the chiefs of towns of minor importance must, as a rule, have been content with a comparatively small number of servants. Their court probably resembled that of the Egyptian barons who lived much about the same period, such as K'numhapu of the Nome of the Gazelle, or Thotapu of Hermopolis. In great cities such as Babylon the palace occupied a much larger area, and the crowd of courtiers was stateless as great as that which thronged about the pharaohs. No exact enumeration of them has come down to us, but the titles which we come across show with what minuteness they defined the offices about the person of the sovereign. His costume alone required almost as many persons as there were garments. The men wore the light loincloth or short-sleeved tunic which scarcely covered the knees. After the fashion of the Egyptians they threw over the loincloth and the tunic a large abaya, whose shape and material varied with the caprice of fashion. They often chose for this purpose a sort of shawl of a plain material, fringed or ornamented with a flat stripe round the edge. Often they seemed to have preferred it ribbed or artificially kilted from top to bottom. The favorite material in ancient times, however, seems to have been a hairy, shaggy cloth or woolen stuff, whose close, fleecy thread hung sometimes straight, sometimes crimped or waved, in regular rows like flounces one above another. This could be arranged squarely around the neck like a mantle, but was more often draped crosswise over the left shoulder and brought under the right armpit, so as to leave the upper part of the breast and the arm bare on that side. It made a convenient and useful garment, an excellent protection in summer from the sun and from the icy north wind in the winter. The feet were shod with sandals, a tight-fitting cap covered the head, and round it was rolled a thick strip of linen, forming a sort of rudimentary turban which completed the costume. It is questionable whether, as in Egypt, wigs and false beards formed part of the toilette. On some monuments we notice smooth faces and close cropped heads. On others the men appear with long hair, either falling loose or twisted into a knot on the back of the neck. While the Egyptians delighted in garments of thin white linen, but slightly plaited or crimped, the dwellers on the banks of the Euphrates preferred thick and heavy stuffs patterned and striped with many colors. The kings wore the same costume as their subjects, but composed of richer and finer materials, dyed red or blue, decorated with floral, animal, or geometrical designs. A high, tower-shaped tiara covered the forehead unless replaced by a die-dem of sin or some of the other gods, which was a conical mitre supporting a double pair of horns, and sometimes surmounted by a sort of die-dem of feathers and mysterious figures, embroidered or painted on the cap. Their arms were loaded with massive bracelets and their fingers with rings. They wore necklaces and earrings and carried each a dagger in the belt. The royal wardrobe, jewels, arms, and insignia formed so many distinct departments, and each was further divided into minor sections for body linen, washing, or for this or that kind of headdress or scepter. The dress of the women, which was singularly like that of the men, required no less a staff of attendance. The female servants, as well as the male, went about bare to the waist, at all events while working indoors. When they went out, they wore the same sort of tunic or loincloth, but longer and more resembling a petticoat. They had the same abaya drawn round the shoulders or rolled about the body like a cloak, but with the women it nearly touched the ground. Sometimes an actual dress seems to have been substituted for the abaya, drawn into the figure by a belt and cut out of the same hairy material as that of which the mantles were made. The boots were of soft leather, laced and without heels. The women's ornaments were more numerous than those of the men, and comprised necklaces, bracelets, ankle, finger, and earrings. Their hair was separated into bands and kept in place on the forehead by a fillet, falling in thick plates or twisted into a coil on the nape of the neck. A great deal of the work was performed by foreign or native slaves, generally under the command of eunuchs, to whom the king and royal princes entrusted most of the superintendents of their domestic arrangements. They guarded and looked after the sleeping apartments, they fanned and kept the flies from their master, and handed him his food and drink. Eunuchs in Egypt were either unknown or but little esteemed. They never seemed to have been used, even in times when relations with Asia were of daily occurrence, and when they might have been supplied from the Babylonian slave markets. CHAPTER III. CALDIAN CIVILIZATION PART IV. All these various officials closely attached to the person of the sovereign, heads of the wardrobe, chamberlains, cup-bearers, bearers of the royal sorter of the flabella, commanders of the eunuchs or of the guards, had, by the nature of their duties, daily opportunities of gaining a direct influence over their master and his government, and from among them he often chose the generals of his army or the administrators of his domains. Here again, as far as the few monuments and the obscurity of the texts permit of our judging, we find indications of a civil and military organization analogous to that of Egypt. The divergencies which contemporaries may have been able to detect in the two national systems are afaced by the distance of time, and we are struck merely by the resemblances. As all business transactions were carried on by barter or by the exchange of merchandise for weighed quantities of the precious metals, the taxes were consequently paid in kind, the principal media being corn and other cereals, dates, fruits, stuffs, live animals and slaves, as well as gold, silver, lead, and copper, either in its native state or melted into bars fashioned into implements or ornamented vases. Hence we continually come across fiscal storehouses, both in town and country, which demanded the services of a whole troop of functionaries and workmen, administrators of corn, cattle, precious metals, wine and oil, in fact, as many administrators as there were cultures or industries in the country presided over the gathering of the products into the central depots and regulated their redistribution. A certain portion was reserved for the salaries of the employees and the pay of the workmen engaged in executing public works. The surplus accumulated in the treasury informed a reserve, which was not drawn upon accepting cases of extreme necessity. Every palace, in addition to its living rooms, contained within its walls large store chambers filled with provisions and weapons, which made it more or less a fortress, furnished with indispensable requisites for sustaining a prolonged siege, to against an enemy's troops or the king's own subjects in revolt. The king always kept about him bodies of soldiers who perhaps were foreign mercenaries, like the mazai of the armies of the Pharaohs, and who formed his permanent bodyguard in times of peace. When a war was eminent a military levy was made upon his domains, but we are unable to find out whether the recruits thus raised were drawn indiscriminately from the population in general, or merely from a special class, analogous to that of the warriors which we find in Egypt, who were paid in the same way by grants of land. The equipment of these soldiers was of the rudest kind. They had no cures, but carried a rectangular shield, and in the case of those of higher rank at all events, a conical metal helmet, probably of beaten copper, provided with a piece to protect the back of the neck. The heavy infantry were armed with a pike tipped with bronze ox-copper, an axe or sharp adds, a stone-headed mace, and a dagger. The light troops were provided only with the bow and sling. As early as the third millennium B.C., the king went to battle in a chariot drawn by onagers, or perhaps horses. He had his own peculiar weapon, which was a curved baton probably terminating in a metal point, and resembling the scepter of the Pharaohs. Considerable quantities of all these arms were stored in the arsenals, which contained depots for bows, maces, and pikes, and even the stones needed for the slings had their special department for storage. At the beginning of each campaign a distribution of weapons to the newly levied troops took place, but as soon as the war was at an end, the men brought back their accoutrement, which were stored till they were again required. The valor of the soldiers and their chiefs was then rewarded. The share of the spoil for some consisted of cattle, gold, corn, a female slave, and vessels of value. For others, lands or towns in the conquered country, regulated by the rank of the recipients or the extent of the services they had rendered. Property thus given was hereditary, and privileges were often added to it which raised the holder to the rank of a petty prince. For instance, no royal official was permitted to impose attacks upon such lands, or take the cattle off them, or levy provisions upon them. No troop of soldiers might enter them, not even for the purpose of arresting a fugitive. Most of the noble families possessed domains of this kind, and constituted in each kingdom a powerful and wealthy feudal aristocracy, whose relations to their sovereign were probably much the same as those which bound the nomarks to the pharaoh. The position of these nobles was not more stable than that of the dynasties under which they lived, while some among them gained power by marriages or by continued acquisitions of land, others fell into disgrace and were ruined. As the soil belonged to the gods, it is possible that these nobles were supposed, in theory, to depend upon the gods, but as the kings were the vice-gerents of the gods upon earth, it was to the king, as a matter of fact, that they owed their elevation. Every state, therefore, comprised two parts, each subject to a distinct regime, one being the personal domain of the sous-ran, which he managed himself, and from which he drew the revenues, the other was composed of fives whose lords paid tribute and owed certain obligations to the king, the nature of which we are as yet unable to define. The Chaldean, like the Egyptian scribe, was the pivot on which the machinery of this double royal and seniorial administration turned. He does not appear to have enjoyed as much consideration as his fellow official in the Nile Valley. The Chaldean princes, nobles, priests, soldiers, and temple or royal officials, did not covet the title of scribe or pride themselves upon holding that office side by side with their other dignities, as we see was the case with their Egyptian contemporaries. The position of a scribe, nevertheless, was an important one. We continually meet with it in all grades of society, in the palace, in the temples, in the store-houses, in private dwellings. In fact, the scribe was ubiquitous at court, in the town, in the country, in the army, managing affairs both small and great, and seeing that they were carried on regularly. His education differed but little from that given to the Egyptian scribe. He learned the routine of administrative or judicial affairs, the formularies for correspondence, either with nobles or with ordinary people, the art of writing, of calculating quickly, and of making out bills correctly. We may well ask whether he ever employed papyrus or prepared skins for these purposes. It would indeed seem strange that, after centuries of intercourse, no caravan should have brought into Kaldia any of those materials which were in such constant use for literary purposes in Africa. Yet the same clay which furnished the architect with such an abundant building material appears to have been the only medium for transmitting the language which the scribes possessed. They were always provided with slabs of refined plastic clay, fully mixed and kept sufficiently moist to take easily the impression of an object, but at the same time sufficiently firm to prevent the marks once made from becoming either blurred or effaced. When a scribe had a text to copy or a document to draw up, he chose one out of his slabs, which he placed flat upon his left palm, and taking in the right a triangular stylus of flint, copper, bronze, or bone he at once set to work. The instrument, in early times, terminated in a fine point, and the marks made by it when it was gently pressed upon the clay were slender and of uniform thickness. In later times the extremity of the stylus was cut with a bevel, and the impression then took the shape of a metal nail or wedge. They wrote from left to right along the upper part of the tablet, and covered both sides of it with closely written lines, which sometimes ran over onto the edges. When the writing was finished the scribe sent his work to the potter, who put it in the kiln and baked it, or the writer may have had a small oven at his own disposition, as a clerk with us would have his table or desk. The shape of these documents varied, and sometimes strikes us as being peculiar. Besides the tablets and the bricks we find small solid cones or hollow cylinders of considerable size on which the kings related their exploits or recorded the history of their wars or the dedication of their buildings. This method had a few inconveniences but many advantages. These clay books were heavy to hold and clumsy to handle, while the characters did not stand out well from the brown, yellow, and whitish background of the material. But on the other hand, a poem, baked and incorporated into the page itself, ran less danger of destruction than if scribbled an ink on sheets of papyrus. Fire could make no impression on it. It could withstand water for a considerable length of time, even if broken the pieces were still of use. As long as it was not pulverized the entire document could be restored, with the exception perhaps of a few signs or some scraps of a sentence. The inscriptions which had been saved from the foundations of the most ancient temples, several of which date back forty or fifty centuries, are for the most part as clear and legible as when they left the hands of the writer who engraved them, or of the workmen who baked them. It is owing to the material to which they were committed that we possessed the principal works of Caldean literature which have come down to us—poems, annals, hymns, magical incantations—how few fragments of these would ever have reached us had their authors confided them to parchment or paper, after the manner of the Egyptian scribes. The greatest danger that they ran was that of being left forgotten in a corner of the chamber in which they had been kept, or buried under the rubbish of a building after a fire or some violent catastrophe, even then the debris were the means of preserving them, by falling over them and covering them up. Protected under the ruins they would lie there for centuries, till the fortunate explorers should bring them to light and deliver them over to the patient study of the learned. The cuneiform character in itself is neither picturesque nor decorative. It does not offer that delightful assemblage of birds and snakes, of men in quadrupeds, of heads and limbs, of tools, weapons, stars, trees, and boats, which succeed each other in perplexing order on the Egyptian monuments, to give permanence to the glory of Pharaoh and the greatness of his gods. Cuneiform writing is essentially composed of thin, short lines, placed in juxtaposition or crossing each other in a somewhat clumsy fashion. It has the appearance of numbers of nails scattered about haphazard, and its angular configuration and its stiff and spiny appearance gives the inscriptions a dull and forbidding aspect, which no artifice of the engraver can overcome. End of Section 31 Read by Professor Heather Mby. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org