Chapter II: The Temples and the Gods of Chaldaea (4)

* It follows from this passage that Ishtar could be
delivered only at the cost of another life: it was for this
reason, doubtless, that Ea, instead of sending the ordinary
messenger of the gods, created a special messenger. Allat,
furious at the insignificance of the victim sent to her,
contents herself with threatening Uddushanamir with an
ignominious treatment if he does not escape as quickly as
possible.

Dumuzi was a god, the lover, moreover, of a goddess, and the deity succeeded where mortals failed.* Ea, 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 favour which had been granted by Allat to Dumuzi.

* Merodach is called “the merciful one who takes pleasure in
raising the dead to life,” and “the lord of the pure
libation,” the “merciful one who has power to give life.” In
Jeremias may be found the list of the gods who up to the
present are known to have had the power to resuscitate the
dead; it is probable that this power belonged to all the
gods and goddesses of the first rank.

Drawn by Faucher-Gudin, from a Chaldaean intaglio.

When the dead body 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. This prospect of a dreary and joyless eternity was not so terrifying to the Chaldaeans as it was to the Egyptians. The few years of their earthly existence were of far more concern 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 a numerous 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 sepulture.” 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 battle-field, 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 revivifying waters; thither Ea transferred Xisuthros after the Deluge; Gilgames saw the shores of this island and returned from it, strong and healthy as in the days of his youth. The site of this region of delights was at first placed in the centre 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 Chaldaean 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 at 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.

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 Gilgames had dared of old the dangers of the desert and the ocean in order to discover the island of Khasisadra, so Etana 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 favours he had obtained from and rendered to the bird. It happened at last, that his wife could not bring forth the son which lay in 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 any one 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 Chaldaean 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.’”

Drawn by Faucher-Gudin, from a Chaldaean intaglio.

“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 him: ‘Friend, behold the earth what it is.--The face of the earth stretches out quite flat--and the sea is no greater than a mere.’ 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 is 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 possess 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 Shamash, the great righter of wrongs, 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 Shamash, crying for vengeance: “The evil she has done me, Shamash--behold it! Come to my help, Shamash! thy net is as wide as the earth--thy snares reach to the distant mountain--who can escape thy net?--The criminal Zu, Zu who was the first to act wickedly, did he escape it?” Shamash refused to interfere personally, but he pointed out to the serpent an artifice by which he might satisfy his vengeance as securely as if Shamash 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 will 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 entrails within. As soon as she begins to attack the inside, seize her by her wings, beat down her wings, the pinions of her wings and her claws, tear her and throw her into a ravine of the mountain, that she may die there a death of hunger and thirst.”

The serpent did as Shamash advised, and the birds of the air began to flock round the carcase 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 eaglet 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 leaping out seized her by the wing. Then “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, Shamash would take part against me; and the doom would fall upon me, which now I fulfil 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 Allat; 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 continued to remain vague, and never approached 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.